Uncertain how many cigarettes he had smoked, his subordinate knocked on the door.
Sylvan Cheney rolled down the car window. "What is it?"
"Sir, it's me."
Sylvan saw that it was the spy he had sent out; he unlocked the car door and let him in.
The man carried the cold from outside, and as he sat down, he blew on his hands and handed Sylvan a box.
"It took quite an effort to retrieve it. The auction house had long since sold the ring for over a million. The intermediary sold it to a knowledgeable American, passing through many hands, and I traced it back." The man still gasped for breath, "Spent ten million to get it back from the last person. I don't understand jewelry, but you insisted on buying it back."
The man thought this price was unreasonable—just a regular ring, yet worth ten million? He couldn't comprehend the world of the wealthy.
However, those who handled it said the ring's quality was top-notch, the jewel unique, meticulously cut, and expertly designed.
