He passed several frowsy acquaintances of other days, and on two he bestowed small alms.

He felt great satisfaction in the fact that none of his former companions recognised Nickie the Kid in the well-groomed, well-dressed, sleek, whiskered citizen.
On the third afternoon Mr.Crips entered a jeweller's shop, and placing a small stone on the pad before the man behind the counter, said: "Would you be so good as to tell me the value of that diamond, sir?
I picked it up on the floor of a first-class railway carriage the other day, and having no means of testing it, I thought I might, eh, venture to ask an expert." The jeweller took up the stone, examined it, subjected it to a simple test, and handed it hack to Mr.Crips: "A good carbon, but practically valueless," he said.
Had Nicholas Crips received a blow full in the face he would not have betrayed greater consternation.

His cheeks turned grey, he gripped the counter, all his assumed ease fell from him, he dropped every precaution, forgot the grim necessity for care and cunning.
"It is not a diamond ?" he gasped.
The jeweller shook his head.

"It an awful disappointment," he said, "but you may be sure you'll hear of it pretty quickly if you ever have the luck to pick up a true diamond of that size." Nicholas hadn't the spirit to thank the man.

He turned into the street.
The buildings swam in a garish light, he felt his head rocking, and his feet seemed scarcely to touch the paving stones rising and dipping under him like a choppy sea.