CHAPTER XXVI.
It remains for me, then, to relate how Thomas escaped that arm of the law equally as relentless as that of the police--the customs.
Perfectly innocent of intent, he was none the less a smuggler.
Killigrew took him before the Collector of the Port, laid the matter before him frankly, paid the duty, and took the gems over to Tiffany's expert, who informed him that these sapphires were the originals from which his daughter's had been copied, and were far more valuable.
Twenty-five thousand would not purchase such a string of sapphires these days.

All like a nice, calm fairy-story for children.
Immediately upon being informed of his wealth, Thomas became filled with a truly magnanimous idea.

But of that, later.
A week later, to be exact.
Around and upon the terrace of the Killigrew villa, with its cool white marble and fresh green strip of lawn, illumined at each end by scarlet poppy-beds, lay the bright beauty of the morning.

The sea below was still, the air between, and the heavens above, since no cloud moved up or down the misty blue horizons.

Leaning over the baluster was a young woman.