Hankinson made his preparations carefully.
First of all, he convinced himself that this hiding away of goods was a nightly performance.
Secondly, he made sure that the old man was always alone when the performance was gone through.
Thirdly, he came to know that the only other occupant of the house was a girl — quite a young girl, presumably Marcovitch's granddaughter — who appeared to live in the upper regions.
Hankinson formed the opinion — on good grounds — that this young woman retired to bed long before closing hours on Friday nights; at any rate, there was a window in the very upper room in which a light shone for a while every night at half-past nine. He grew to be positively certain that, beyond this girl, there was nobody on the premises save Marcovitch himself, and that Marcovitch was the only waking thing in the house when he put his goods in the safe on Friday evenings. Obviously, then, Friday was the day of excellent choice.
But Hankinson did not content himself with outside observation only. He felt it necessary to see the inside of that shop at close quarters. Therefore he invented a good excuse for visiting it twice — by taking something to mend and calling for the mended article a few days later. On these occasions he inspected this new hunting ground with due care.
After the second inspection he told himself that it was all right. The big safe in which old Marcovitch stowed his best things stood detached from the wall; between the wall and it there was a space in which a man could easily bestow himself unnoticed. The only difficulty was to secure an unobserved entrance to the shop. For long, vigilant observation had shown Hankinson that when Marcovitch was not behind his counter the curly-headed boy invariably was.
Hankinson watched for his opportunity on two successive Friday evenings. At ten minutes to eleven on the second opportunity came. For some reason or other the old jeweler sent the lad out of the shop. A moment later he himself quitted the counter, and disappeared into the rear premises. And thereupon Hankinson slipped in, and an instant later had hidden himself between the safe and the wall.
There were old coats and cloaks, dusty and — musty, hanging there, and they made good cover. If Marcovitch, when he came back, had narrowly inspected these ancient garments he might have found Hankinson's nose protruding at one place and his feet at another. But Marcovitch suspected nothing, and Hankinson was well skilled in holding his breath.
The usual routine of the establishment went on placidly. The curly-headed boy presently put up the shutters and went away, pocketing his wages. Marcovitch locked, chained and bolted his door. He disappeared into the pawn-broking part of his shop. Hankinson heard more bolting and barring.
Then, from some inner part of the premises, he heard the sound of a withdrawn cork, and a little gurgling and splashing. The old man, said Hankinson to himself, was about to refresh himself with a drink.
Then came the scent of a strong, pungent cigar, and presently Marcovitch returned into view, a cigar in one corner of his bearded lips, a steaming tumbler in his hand. An odor of rum, strong, insidious, penetrated to Hankinson and overcame the musty smell of the old garments. Because of his previous vigils, Hankinson was well acquainted with the accustomed routine.
Old Marcovitch began by unlocking the safe. Then he took out certain goods from the locked showcases on his counter. Better things came from a sort of wired-in enclosure which filled the center of the window — an enclosure of stout wire, closely meshed and clamped. There were trays in that which contained rings and necklaces and ornaments set with diamonds and pearls. Some of these things were ticketed, some were not.
But Hankinson, having often glued his nose to the thick plate-glass window, had a good idea that he could easily stow away a few hundreds of pounds' worth of stuff out of those trays in one of his pockets. Good stuff, he said to himself, lies in little room.
It was Hankinson's notion to hit Marcovitch when the trays from the window and the counter-cases had been laid on the counter previous to transferring them to the safe.
He had everything ready for the attack: the sandbag was already grasped in his right hand; in a left-hand pocket he had a gag all ready to insert in the old man's jaws; in another pocket a length of cord wherewith to secure Marcovitch's wrists. And the moment was drawing near, was almost there, when Marcovitch turned from his trays to the safe, took out of a drawer a small packet done up in brown paper with a tissue-paper lining, and, with a low chuckle of delight, shook out on the counter a quantity of loose diamonds.
Hankinson grew hot and cold and hot again as the light fell on those sparkling stones.
Here, indeed, was luck! Such luck as he had never expected. He was not versed in the lore of precious stones, but he knew diamonds from paste, and he had no doubt that these sparkling things were genuine products of the South African diamond fields.
And there was pretty nearly a handful of them. They must be good, for nothing but the thought of their extreme goodness would account for the self-satisfied way in which the old Jew chuckled as he bent over them, turning their shining facets over with his claw-like finger. And — now was the time.
Hankinson glided out of his cover and brought the sandbag crashing down on Marcovitch's bald head.
Marcovitch instinctively, spasmodically threw up his hands. He emitted one groan, reeled and was falling over on his side when Hankinson caught him. It was not part of Hankinson's game that Marcovitch should fall heavily on the floor. He let the old man slide gently down. In two minutes he had securely gagged him. In two more minutes he had drawn his hands behind his back and fastened his wrists together.
And it was as he rose from the accomplishment of these things that he suddenly heard a strange sound — the sound of something alive, drawing in its breath in a queer, sniffling, snuffling fashion, somewhere close at hand.
Instantly Hankinson recognized that sound. It was the sound made by an imprisoned animal which snuffs at the crack of its prison door.
"Lumme!" whispered Hankinson to himself. "A blinkin' dawg!"
He lost no time after that, and as he transferred the most valuable things to his pockets — diamonds here, gold there — he wondered how it was that he had never seen any dog about Marcovitch's premises.
Presently the sniffling sound died away; all became quiet again. And, without as much as a glance at the fallen man, Hankinson made round the counter to the door. In his opinion the man who has done his work effectually should go away as soon as his job is done. But going, he took care to turn out the gas.
Hankinson had manipulated the key, the chain and the bar, and was about to open the door in gingerly fashion when he heard a sound at the rear of the shop. He turned, muttering a curse. A door had noiselessly opened, and there, holding a lamp above her head, stood Marcovitch's granddaughter. She was in her nightgown, her hair — long, black, lustrous — fell far below her waist; her great eyes, dilated with alarm, shone like stars. And at her side, nuzzling against her knees, was the strangest, ugliest-looking beast of a dog that Hankinson had ever set eyes on.
It was queerly shaped, it was of no known breed, it was a vile yellow in color, and it had only one eye. It was borne in upon Hankinson, amidst the rush of thoughts which this new situation forced on his consciousness, that he would have bad dreams about that dog, and he cursed it without knowing that he was even thinking of it.
There were other things to think of just then. Hankinson realized his danger. He made a sudden dash back at the girl. The girl set up a loud scream, dashed the lamp in his face, drew back with the agility of a snake, and locked the door behind her.
Hankinson went too, then. He groped his way to the street door and let himself out. As he crossed the threshold he had an unpleasant feeling of a sinuous, wiry body that cannoned against his legs, and he kicked out at it in sheer frenzy of hatred. But when he reached the pavement and looked round him there was no dog there. And, with another oath, he made off.