were
diamond scales, and diagrams, and the usual photographs of queens
inspecting jewels. There were filing cabinets, and big clean windows,
because daylight is very important for diamond viewing. Mr. Briefel is
a tall, thin man, full of enthusiasm and talk. Mr. Lemer is a smaller
man who conceals his enthusiasm and hardly ever utters. It is Mr.
Briefel who handles whatever publicity may come the way of the firm,
but this isn't much. Cutters are like other people connected with
diamonds: they don't seek out the public prints on purpose to make
statements. Mr. Briefel, however, has lately appeared on
television, cleaving a diamond for the edification of the audience. It
was a very tense operation, as it always is. He did it because he
believes in educating people on the subject of gems and he is by
nature an outgoing sort of man, but it isn't a characteristic thing for
a diamond cutter to have done, and some other people in the profession,
possibly envious of him, have hinted that he was ill-advised. In
defense of Mr. Briefel I must protest that a cannier, more secretive
man never went on television. For all his bonhomie he doesn't really
tell a thing. For example, it is well known in the trade that his firm
a few years ago was entrusted with a wonderful pink diamond for
cutting. It was common knowledge that the stone was presented by the
famous mine owner, Williamson, in honor of the Coronation, to a
certain very exalted personage, as the Victorian newspapers
might have put it. The cutting was beautifully done—no Koh-i-nur
business about it. Counting the thinking and the discussions and
diagrams and markings and, finally, the actual deed itself, that
diamond was worked on for nearly two years. Mr. Briefel showed me the
work sheets; he let me heft a leaden model of the rough stone in my
hand; but would he tell me who owned
