London, And So On: Low Company!

Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the gem industry.

(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:

I had not provided myself with letter of introduction to influential people as I might well have done. Being young, foolish and self-reliant, I thought these were superfluous. I know now that it was a mistake, for a single letter might well have saved me, as it turned out, years of drudgery, heartache and futile groping for that first rung of ladder which is most elusive of all.

As in Paris, the legitimate gem trade was a closed circle jealously guarded, but there was in London then no Diamond Club such as I had known on the Continent, where the dealers in gems could forgather daily and govern the trade for the good of them all. True, there was a meeting place of sorts for traders in gems in Hatton Garden which occupied the site facing the present sub post office in that thoroughfare. But this place was frequented by many shady characters and was as much visited by Scotland Yard men as by the ‘merchants’ themselves.

I visited the ‘African Café’ perhaps once or twice out of curiosity in all the years I knew of it before it was summarily closed down. It was a cramped basement parlor which let no sunlight in, and the traders who went there had to come up from the depths to inspect goods in the narrow entrance.

On the second occasion on which curiosity drew me there, I stood hesitating for a brief moment with one foot on the pavement and the other on the first worn flag of the steps, uncertain whether to venture down into those unsavory depths. Two foreign-looking bearded men scrutinized me closely and shouted out a warning to those below, but at that moment two gentlewomen came along the street, stopped close by me, and one of them said: ‘Is this the place where the diamond merchants meet?’

I said rather dubiously that it was. ‘Are you a diamond merchant, then?’ queried the other lady.

I hesitated in my answer, but before I could speak her companion save me from the temptation to lie and said smilingly: ‘Of course he is, dear, or he wouldn’t be here.’

Heaven knew that I was in sore need of turning an honest shilling. I did not deny the statement. I was not long left in doubt of the kind of service the ladies expected. They wished to dispose of some odds and ends of old-fashioned jewelry which had been left to them by a relative. Being somewhat strong-minded and not desiring to hawk the things about, they had come straight to Hatton Garden. I did not let them down. The next day I called on them in company of a well-to-do kerb merchant of good reputation who paid them a hundred and fifty pounds. I got a very welcome five pounds out of the transaction. But I had no illusions. Five pound notes do not fall out of the sky every day, even in London, city of marvels.

Although I never chose to have much to do with the habitués of the African Café, I nevertheless learned much of their doings and had pointed out to me many a fellow whom the Paris Service de Sûreté and London Scotland Yard would have given much to get into their hands. But they were such cunning devils that for many years they managed to evade the clutches of the law while living in great luxury on the proceeds of their interesting activities. Although most of these men have since gone to their long reckoning, it would be doing a disservice to their families to mention them by name. I know several professional men of good repute and sterling character who owed their first chances in life to a father with a mistaken idea of taking ‘desperate chances’ for the sake of his offspring.

London, And So On: Low Company! (continued)