they
were brought out of their hiding places in deep mines. One tragic
anecdote was of a big, beautiful diamond that had been carefully cut
and then, as it was being shown off by its proud worker, was dropped to
the floor, whereupon it burst into tiny splinters. Like most people I
knew that diamond, though it is the hardest substance in the world, is
brittle. Tapped sharply in the right, or rather in the wrong,
direction, it is likely to break in what mineralogists call the
conchoidal pattern, a series of curves that make a shallow cuplike
design of cracks. Some writers hold that these miniature explosions
are due to miniscule gas bubbles within the stone. I asked Mr.
Fuerstenberg if such things really happen, and he readily assented. He
went straight to his strong room and brought out a first-rate example
of just such an accident, a white diamond between one and two carats in
size that had cracked when the polisher was giving it the finishing
touch. I handled it gingerly. It wasn't in pieces and its outline
seemed unmarred, but it was cracked through and through like a bit of
shatterproof glass after a crash. Mr. Fuerstenberg said that cracking
is a well-known hazard in cutting. He puts it down to sudden
extraordinary changes in temperature. Quite often he has known it to
happen to a diamond, very hot from being on the polishing disk,
suddenly plunged into an acid bath to remove the oil and dust.
"By the way," said Mr. Goldmuntz as we were taking our leave, "do you know anything definite about Lodewyck van Bereken? When did he live exactly?"
Mr. Fuerstenberg laughed heartily. "Lodewyck was just a legend," he said.
On the way to the Diamond Club, Mr. Goldmuntz gave me a short description of its part in the life of the Belgian diamond
