He drifted into a bar, and drank brandy, and went forth again with renewed strength and revived hopes.
The jeweller was mistaken or ignorant, the diamonds must be genuine.
Nickie selected another stone, and told the same tale at a pawnbroker's shop in another part of the city.

The benignant Hebrew passed judgment after a glance.
"Paste, my boy," he said, "not vorth ninepenth." Grown rash in his anguish and anxiety, Nicholas Crips visited other shops.

The experts all told the same tale.

The chamois bag held nothing but carbon counterfeits! The prospect of a life of ease and elegance faded away.

It had been a vision, an illusion.