“What do you think of all this?” I asked.
“She never was mad. Or if she was, this is the strangest recovery I ever heard of. So she is coming here with the rest! And uncle John thinks me a very fine fellow,” he added with a laugh, meant to be a little sarcastic, but which ended with the irrepressible ring of genuine happiness.
“I congratulate you,” I said. “I think the affair is as good as settled. You have only to wait a few weeks, and they will be here. By the by, I hope you do not mind Carvel’s frankness in telling me all about it?”
“Not in the least,” answered Paul, with a smile. “I believe you are the best friend I have in the world, and you are his friend. You will do good rather than harm.”
“I hope so,” said I. “But if any one had foretold a month ago that we should all be together again so soon, — and here, too, — I could have laughed at him.”
“It is fate,” answered Paul. “It would be better if it could be put off until we reach the end of our search, especially as we seem to be nearer the track than ever before. I am afraid that their arrival will hinder us — or, at least, me — from working as hard as I would like.”
“On the contrary,” I replied, “I fancy you will work all the harder. I have been talking to Balsamides about the watch. He feels sure that he can catch the man who took it to Marchetto.”
I explained to Paul the course Gregorios proposed to follow. He seemed to think the chance was a poor one.
“I have been pursued by an idea ever since this morning,” he said at last. “I dare say you will think it very foolish, but I cannot get rid of it. Do you remember the adventure in the Valley of Roses? I told you about it at Carvel Place. Very well. I cannot help thinking that the negro who took the watch to Marchetto was the one who accompanied those two Turkish women. The man was exasperated. He probably knew us by sight, for we had constantly met him and the lady with the thick yashmak. They had often seen us come out of the Russian embassy. No complaint was ever made against Alexander. It looks to me like a piece of private vengeance.”
“Yes,” I assented, struck by the idea. “Besides, if the fellow had succeeded in making away with your brother, it is natural that he should have waited a long time before disposing of his jewelry.”
“I wonder what became of the other things,” said Patoff. “Alexander had with him his Moscow cigarette case, he wore a gold chain with the watch, and he had on his finger a ring with a sapphire and two diamonds in a heavy gold band. If all those things have been disposed of, they must have passed through the bazaar, probably through Marchetto’s hands.”
At this moment Balsamides Bey’s pale, intelligent face showed itself at the door. He came quickly forward on seeing us, and drew up a chair. I told him in a few words what we had said. He smiled and twirled the end of his brown mustache.
“There is something in that,” he answered. “I fancy, too, that such a fellow would first part with the chain, then with the cigarette case, thirdly with the watch, and last of all with the ring, which he probably wears.”
“We must find out if Marchetto has sold the chain and the case for him,” I said.
“Leave Marchetto to me,” said Gregorios, confidently. “I will spend the day with him to-morrow. Have you ever seen the negro since that affair in the Valley of Roses?”
“Often,” replied Paul, somewhat to my surprise. “He goes to Yeni Köj every Thursday.”
“You seem to have watched his movements,” observed Balsamides, with a smile of admiration. “Did you never tell Griggs?”
“No,” said I, rather amazed.
“What would have been the use? I only watched the man because I fancied he might be in some way connected with the matter, but it seemed so absurd, until the finding of the watch made it look more probable, that I never spoke of it.”
“I am glad you have spoken of it now,” said Gregorios. “It is probably the key to the whole affair.”
We talked on for a few minutes, and Paul told Balsamides that his mother and the Carvels were coming, explaining his anxiety to hasten the search so as to have something positive to show when they arrived. Then Paul left us, and went to fulfill such social obligations as his position imposed upon him. He was not a man to forget such things, even in times of great excitement; and when he returned to Constantinople, his chief had expressed the hope that Paul would not shut himself up, but would go everywhere, as he had formerly done.
“This thing is beginning to interest me, Griggs,” said Gregorios, arching his eyebrows, and looking at me with a peculiar expression. “You are doing more than I am, and I will not bear it,” he added, with a laugh. “What is my little bit of evidence about the staircase in Santa Sophia compared to your discovery of the watch? I believe that in the end Marchetto will be the deus ex machina who will pull us out of all our difficulties. I believe, too, that the best thing to do is to confide the matter to him. I will go and see him to-morrow.”
“He will never break his oath to the Lala,” I answered.
“Perhaps not. But he has only sworn that he will not tell his name. He has not sworn that he will not let me see him. So the fellow goes to Yeni Köj on Thursday. Then he probably lives there, and chooses that day to come to Stamboul. You have seen him going home. If he goes to Stamboul, he most likely visits the bazaar early in the morning. If so, I will catch him to-morrow, and to-morrow night I will tell you whether he is the man or not. I will come upon Marchetto by accident, and he will of course want to show me the Rhodes tapestry; then I will spend the whole morning over the bargain, and I shall not miss the Lala if he comes.”
Balsamides was evidently fully roused, and as we smoked a last cigarette in his rooms that night he talked enthusiastically of what he hoped to accomplish on the next day. He kept his word, and very early in the morning I heard him go out. From the sound of his walk I could tell that he had no spurs, and was therefore in civilian’s dress. He told me afterwards what occurred.
At half past eight o’clock he was drinking a cup of coffee in Marchetto’s shop in the bazaar, and the Jew was displaying his tapestry, and swearing that it was birindjí, first quality. Balsamides wanted to produce the impression that he intended to make a bargain.
“Kaldyr! Take it away!” he exclaimed. “It is rubbish.”
Marchetto held the stuff up over his customer’s head so that the light from the little dome could fall upon it.
“There is not a hole in the whole length of it,” he cried enthusiastically. “It is perfect; not a thread loose. Examine it; is there a patch? By my head, if you can find such another piece I will give you a present.”
“Is that a color?” asked Balsamides contemptuously. “Is that red? It is pink. It is magenta. How much did you pay to have it made?”
“If I could make Rhodes tapestry, I should be as rich as the Hunkyar,” retorted Marchetto, squatting on the matted floor and slowly drawing the magnificent tapestry across his knees, so that Gregorios could see it to advantage.
“Do you take me for a madman?” asked the aid-de-camp. “I do not care for Rhodes tapestry. Kaldyr! If it were old, it would have holes in it.”
“I have Rhodes full of holes, beautiful holes,” observed Marchetto, with a grin.
“Fox!” retorted Gregorios. “Do you think when I buy tapestry I want to buy holes?”
“But this piece has none,” argued the Jew.
“You want me to buy it. I can see you do. You are laughing at my beard. You think I will give a thousand pounds for your rubbish?”
“Not a thousand pounds,” said Marchetto. “It is worth a hundred and fifty pounds, neither more nor less. Marchetto is an honest man. He is not a Persian fox.”
“No,” answered Balsamides, “he is an Israelite of Saloniki. What have I to do with such a fellow as you, who have the impudence to ask a hundred and fifty liras for that rag?”
“How shall the lion and the lamb lie down together?” inquired Marchetto. “And is it a rag?”
�
�I will tell you, Marchetto,” said Gregorios, gravely. “The lion and the lamb shall lie down together, when the lion lies down with the lamb inside of him.”
“Take, and eat!” exclaimed the ready Jew, holding out the Rhodes tapestry to Balsamides.
“A man who has fasted throughout Ramazán shall not break his fast with an onion,” retorted Gregorios, laughing.
“Who eats little earns much,” replied Marchetto. “Is it not the most beautiful piece of Rhodes you ever saw, Effendim? There is not a Pasha in Stamboul, nor in Pera, nor in Scutari, who possesses the like of it. Only a hundred and fifty pounds; it is very cheap.”
“I will give you ten pounds for it, if you will give me a good backsheesh,” said Gregorios at last. In Stamboul it is customary, when a bargain of any importance is completed, for the seller to make the buyer a present of some small object, which is called the backsheesh, or gift.
On hearing the offer, Marchetto looked slyly at Gregorios and laughed, without saying anything. Then he slowly began to fold the tapestry together.
“Ten pounds,” said Balsamides. “Pek chok, — that is quite enough, and too much.”
“Yes, of course it is,” answered the Jew, ironically. “I paid a hundred and nineteen pounds and eighty-five piastres for it. I only ask fifteen piastres profit. Small profits. Get rid of everything quickly. Who sells cheaply sells soon; who sells soon earns much.”
“I told you from the first that I did not want your Rhodes,” said Balsamides. “I came here to see what you had. Have you nothing else that is good?”
“Everything Marchetto has is good. His carpets are all of silk, and of the finest colors. His embroideries are the envy of the bazaar. Marchetto has everything.”
He did not finish folding the Rhodes, but thrust it aside upon the matting, and began to pull down other stuffs and carpets from the shelves. From the obstinacy Gregorios displayed, he really judged that he meant to buy the tapestry, and to make a good bargain he would willingly have turned everything in his little shop upside down.
Gregorios admired several pieces very much, whereupon the Jew threw them aside in disgust, well knowing that his customer would not buy them. The latter had now been an hour in the shop, and showed no signs of going away. Marchetto returned to the original question.
“If it is worth so much, why do you not take it to one of the embassies?” asked Balsamides at last. He had resolved that he would prolong the discussion until twelve o’clock, judging that by midday the negro would be on his way back to Yeni Köj, and that there would be no further chance of seeing him. He therefore broached the subject of Marchetto’s trade with the foreigners, knowing that once upon this tack the Jew would have endless stories and anecdotes to relate. But Gregorios was not destined to stand in need of so much ingenuity. He would never have made the attempt in which he was now engaged unless he had anticipated success, and he was not surprised when a tall, smooth-faced negro, of hideous countenance but exceedingly well dressed, put his head into the shop. He saluted Gregorios and entered. Marchetto touched his mouth and his fez with his right hand, but did not at first rise from his seat upon the floor. Balsamides watched the man. He looked about the shop, and then approached the old glass case in the corner. He had hardly glanced at it when he turned and tried to catch Marchetto’s eye. The latter made an almost imperceptible motion of the head. Gregorios was satisfied that the pantomime referred to the watch, which was no longer in its place. He continued to talk with the Jew for a few minutes, and then slowly rose from his seat.
“I see you have business with this gentleman,” he said. “I have something to do in the bazaar. I will return in half an hour.”
The Lala seemed delighted, and politely made way for Gregorios to pass, but Marchetto of course protested loudly that the negro’s business could wait. He accompanied Gregorios to the door, and with many inclinations stood looking after him for a few moments. At a little distance Gregorios pretended to be attracted by something exposed for sale, and, pausing, looked furtively back. The Jew had gone in again. Then Balsamides returned and entered a shop almost opposite to Marchetto’s, kept by another Spanish Hebrew of Saloniki, who made a specialty of selling shawls, — a smart young fellow, with beady black eyes.
“Good morning, Abraham,” he said. “Have you manufactured any new Kashmir shawls out of old rags of borders and French imitations since I saw you?”
Abraham smiled pleasantly, and began to unfold his wares. Before many minutes the sound of angry voices was heard outside. Gregorios had ensconced himself in a corner, whence he could see what went on without being seen. The quarrelers were Marchetto and the Lala.
“Dog of a Jew!” screamed the black man in his high, cracked voice. “Will you rob me, and then turn me out of your filthy den? You shall suffer for it, you Saloniki beast!”
“Dog yourself, and son of a dog!” bellowed Marchetto, his big face growing fiery red as he blocked the doorway with his bulky shoulders. “Behold the gratitude of this vile wretch!” he cried, as though addressing an audience. “Look at this insatiate jackal, this pork-eater, this defiler of his father’s grave! Oh! beware of touching what is black, for the filth will surely rub off!”
Exasperated at the Jew’s eloquent abuse, the Lala tried to push him back into the shop, flourishing his light cane in his right hand. In a moment a crowd collected, and the epithets of the combatants were drowned amidst the jeers and laughter of the by-standers, delighted at seeing the dandy keeper of a great harem in the clutches of the sturdy Marchetto.
Abraham looked out, and then turned back to his customer.
“It is Selim,” he said with a chuckle. “He has been trying to cheat Marchetto again.”
“Again?” repeated Gregorios, who had at last attained his end. “And who is Selim, Abraham?”
“Selim? Everybody in the bazaar knows Selim, the most insolent, avaricious, money-grabbing Lala in Stamboul. He is more like a Persian than anything else. He is the Lala of Laleli Khanum Effendi, who lives at Yeni Köj. They say she is a witch since her husband died,” added Abraham, lowering his voice.
“I have heard so,” said Gregorios calmly. But in reality he was triumphant. He knew now what had become of Alexander Patoff.
The noise outside was rapidly growing to an uproar. Gregorios slipped quickly out of the shop and made his way through the crowd, for he felt that it was time to put a stop to the quarrel. Many of the people knew him, and knew that he was an officer and a man in authority; recognizing him, they stopped yelling and made way for him.
“What is this?” he cried, violently separating Marchetto and the negro, who were screaming insults at each other and shaking their fists in each other’s faces. “Stop this noise,” he continued, “or I will send a score of soldiers down to keep you in order. If the Lala is not satisfied, he can go before the magistrate. So can Marchetto, if he likes. — Go!” he said to the negro, pushing him away and scattering the crowd. “If you have any complaints to make, go to the magistrate.”
“Who are you?” asked the fellow, insolently.
“It is none of your business,” answered Gregorios, dragging the man away in the nervous grip of his white hand; then lowering his voice, he spoke quickly in the man’s ear: “Do you remember the Bairam, a year ago last summer? If you are not quiet, I will ask you what became of the chain of that watch, of the silver box, and especially of that beautiful ring with the sapphire and two diamonds. Moreover, I may ask you what became of a certain Frank Effendi, to whom they belonged, — do you understand?”
The man trembled in every joint, and a greenish livid hue seemed to drive the blackness out of his face.
“I know nothing!” he gasped hysterically. But Balsamides let him go.
“Be quick,” he said. “The watch will be paid for, but do not venture to come to the bazaar again for some time. Fear nothing, — I have an eye to your safety.”
The last speech was perhaps somewhat ambiguous, but the man, being once released, dived int
o a narrow passage and disappeared. The crowd of Jews had shrunk into their shops again. Gregorios hastily concluded a bargain with Abraham, and then returned to finish his conversation with Marchetto. He found the latter mopping his forehead, and talking excitedly to a couple of sympathetic Hebrews who had entered his place of business. On seeing Balsamides they immediately left the shop.
“I have sent him away,” said Gregorios. “He will not trouble you again.”
“It is not my fault if the dog of a Turk is angry,” answered Marchetto.
“I hardly know. He says he had left a watch with you to be sold, and that now he can get neither the watch nor the money. You like to keep your customers waiting when they have anything to sell, Marchetto. How long is it since he gave you the watch?”
“On my head, it is only three weeks,” answered the Jew. “How can I sell a watch in three weeks and get the money for it? An Effendi took the watch yesterday to show it to Vartan, the jeweler. He is a friend of yours, Effendim; you first brought him here a long time ago. His name is a strange name, — Cricks, — a very strange name, like the creaking of an ungreased cart-wheel.”
“Oh, did he take the watch? I will speak to him about it. He will pay you immediately. How did the Lala come to have a watch to sell?”
“Allah bilir. He is always bringing me things to sell.”
“Other things?”
“He showed me a gold chain one day in the winter. But it was not curious, so he took it to a jeweler in the jeweler’s tcharshee, who gave him the value of the gold by weight.”
“Who is he?” asked Gregorios, judging that he ought to show some curiosity about the man.
“I cannot tell,” answered the Jew.
“That means that you will not, of course. Very well. It is your affair. Curiosity is the mother of deception. Will you give me the Rhodes for ten pounds?”
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 278