A Secret Service by Fred M. White — Read

The file fell from Avis' nerveless hand, and the paste gems lay neglected on the table. Israels had struck home with a vengeance. The whole thing was so dramatic, so swiftly unexpected and so disconcerting, that Avis could only groan and look to his partner for support. But if possible Vanstone was in rather worse condition than Avis. It seemed as if the baron had stretched a long arm out from the blue and caught them both in a vice-like grip. How had he worked it? How had he brought this strange thing to pass. Undoubtedly this was the very case which Arnold Gray had brought from Berlin on behalf of the Princess Zena Victoria of Bohn. This was the very case which had been stolen from the diplomatist when on his way from Dover to Charing Cross. And, of course, it was the same case which Jim Farrant had handed over to his allies. Either someone had played a cruel hoax, or the Princess had pawned or sold her jewels, and had them replaced with paste. The money already advanced by Israels would have to be refunded. Paste or gems, the articles were stolen, and if Israels turned nasty, the result would be disastrous. In the background, too, loomed the dread figure of Baron Ruperra. Evidently he knew all about them, and was bent upon treating them as an angler does a trout upon his line.

"Are they really bad?" Vanstone at last enquired, in a tone of hope against hope.