You have your choice.

The stones or--eh?
And it is to-night--NOW!" The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes that never wavered from the other.

Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead, stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinated gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestial countenance that confronted him.

And then, very slowly, in an automatic, machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his vest--and old Isaac cackled out in derision.
"So! You thought you could bluff me, eh--you thought you could fool old Isaac! Bah! I read you like a book! Did I not tell you a while back that you had them in your pocket?
I know your kind, my young friend; I know your kind very well indeed--it is my business.

You would not have dared to come here to-night without the price.