by C. S. Harris
“Tragic,” agreed Sebastian. “Could I speak with you a moment in private?”
“Of course,” said Hope, padding flat-footedly beside Sebastian toward the far end of the gallery. “I take it you’re still looking into the death of Daniel Eisler?”
“I am.” Sebastian hesitated. The man was so earnest and eager that it seemed the height of incivility to accuse him even of dissembling, let alone of something as sordid as murder. “I had an interesting conversation this morning with an individual who contradicted some of the things you told me the other day.”
“Oh?”
“In fact, he confirmed the information I was originally given.” Sebastian paused to rub the back of one knuckle against the side of his nose. “When one person tells me something, I generally try to keep an open mind about its veracity. But when two completely disparate individuals provide the same information, I’m inclined to believe them.”
Hope stared back at him, his eyes narrowing, his face hardening. The man might come across as affable and effete, but it would never do to forget that he owned a company that lent money to kings and emperors. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me be more blunt. I think the blue diamond Daniel Eisler had in his possession when he was killed was recut from the French Blue, and he was selling it for you. I can promise to try to keep the transaction private, but not at the expense of an innocent man’s life.”
Hope walked over to stand before a massive Rubens, his head tipping back as he stared up at the towering canvas. “I don’t think you quite understand what’s at stake here,” he said quietly. “This isn’t about the possibility of a legal challenge from the Bourbons. If the diamond is indeed the French Blue—and I’m not saying that it is—then it has been recut. So while there might be speculation, the association could never be proven.”
“True. But I don’t think it’s the Bourbons you’re worried about, is it?”
Hope cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the workmen on the scaffold and shook his head. His voice dropped even lower. “Napoléon Bonaparte has spent the last eight years in a determined effort to reassemble the French Crown Jewels. He sees the treasure’s loss as a blow to France’s honor, to the point that its recovery has become an obsession with him. And the most precious of all the French Crown Jewels was the diamant bleu de la Couronne. It’s why he was so determined to overrun the Duchy of Brunswick and ransack the palace—because he was convinced he’d find the French Blue there. And he was furious when he didn’t.”
“So Napoléon knows the revolutionary government bribed the Duke?”
“I doubt the world will ever know the truth of what happened at Valmy in 1792. But there have always been rumors. And one must remember that Napoléon is himself a general. I’ve heard it said that in his opinion, a bribe is the only explanation that makes sense out of what happened at Valmy. All I know is that, somehow, he found out Eisler had a large blue diamond for sale.”
“You know this for certain?”
Hope nodded. “One of his agents approached Eisler last Saturday morning.”
“Who?” asked Sebastian sharply. “Who was this agent?”
“Eisler wouldn’t say. He was very nervous, for obvious reasons. When it comes to the search for the French Crown Jewels, Napoléon has proven himself utterly . . .” Hope hesitated, as if searching for the right word, then settled for: “Ruthless.”
“Not to mention lethal,” said Sebastian. “So why not agree to sell him the stone?”
Hope gave a low laugh that rumbled in his chest. “The Emperor has a bad reputation when it comes to paying for his purchases. You’ve heard that Eisler provided the diamond necklace Napoléon presented to Empress Marie Louise as a wedding gift?”
“Yes.”
“The final payment was never made. Eisler lost a small fortune on the transaction. Napoléon’s attitude is that the honor of supplying his exalted personage should be reward enough.”
“It’s a tendency he unfortunately shares with the Prince Regent,” said Sebastian dryly.
“True. But anyone selling jewels to Prinny learned long ago to require payment up front and in cash.”
“So why not do the same with the Emperor?”
“Because Prinny’s agents don’t generally kill recalcitrant sellers and steal their merchandise. Napoléon’s do.”
“Are you suggesting that is what happened to Eisler?”
Hope gave another quick glance around. “It makes sense. Don’t you think?”
“So you’re saying the diamond is missing?”
Hope’s features contorted with a spasm of anxiety. “It is, yes.”
Sebastian studied the small man’s mobile, expressive face. “Who besides you knew Eisler had the blue diamond?”
“It’s difficult to say with any certainty. People talk. Someone obviously did, or else how did Napoléon’s agent know to approach Eisler?”
“And did this French agent know the identity of the stone’s true owner?”
“No. How could he? Unless Eisler told him.”
“Are you so certain that he did not?”
Hope looked momentarily confused. “Why would Eisler tell him?”
“In an attempt to save his own life, perhaps?”
Sebastian watched the banker suck his lower lip between his teeth as the color drained from his homely face. Taking pity on the man, Sebastian said, “If Napoléon’s agent did kill Eisler and recover the diamond, then the French would have no reason now to come after you.”
“Yes. But what if the French don’t have the diamond? What if someone else murdered Eisler and stole the gem? Or what if Eisler was murdered for some other reason entirely and Samuel Perlman now has the diamond?”
“Does Perlman know his uncle was handling the diamond for you?”
“Of course he does. I immediately laid claim against the estate for its value.”
“He’s refusing to pay, is he?”
Hope worked his mouth furiously back and forth. “He is trying.” He frowned down the length of the gallery, to where the workmen were resetting a pane of glass. Then he leaned in closer to ask quietly, “Do you think the French have recovered the diamond?”
“Actually, I’d be very surprised if they have.”
Hope looked surprised. “What makes you so certain?”
“Because I think they’re still looking for it.”
Chapter 35
S
amuel Perlman was watching a cricket match at an oval near Sloane Square when Sebastian walked up to him.
He glanced sideways at Sebastian and exhaled in exaggerated exasperation. “You do realize this is getting tiresome, don’t you?”
“For both of us,” agreed Sebastian, pausing beside him, his gaze on the batsman. “Let me give you a hint: It’s never a good idea to lie when there’s a murder involved. It tends to give people the impression you’ve something to hide. Something like guilt.”
Perlman laughed out loud. “Surely you aren’t still suggesting I had something to do with my uncle’s death?”
“You might. I don’t know yet. But as it happens, I was referring to a certain large, rare gem that’s gone missing. You remember the one—the big blue diamond you told me you’d never heard of, despite the fact you were already vociferously denying Thomas Hope’s claim against the estate for its value. Now, it’s always possible that whoever murdered your uncle also took the diamond. Or, you could simply be pretending that he did.”
Perlman’s dark curly hair quivered against his fashionably pale cheeks. “Don’t be insulting. If I had any desire to acquire that diamond, I would simply have purchased it.”
“Ah. So you admit you did know about it.”
“All right. I did, yes. But I certainly did not steal it. To even suggest such a thing is ridiculous. I’m a wealthy man.”
Sebastian kept his gaze on the pitch. “The problem with wealth is that appearances can be deceptive. Trade is always so fickle,
is it not? Particularly in time of war. I suspect that between the depredations of Napoléon and the Americans, your interests have not been performing well lately.”
“My holdings and investments are performing just fine, thank you. So if you’re looking for some poor sod to pin this murder on, you’re going to need to look elsewhere.”
Sebastian gave a slow, nasty smile. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I hope you have your affairs in order.” He bowed and started to move away.
Perlman raised his voice. “Wait! What does that mean? What are you going to do?”
Sebastian pivoted to face him again. “I don’t need to do anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if the French already suspect that the stone they’re looking for might now be in your possession. You see, Napoléon is under the impression Hope’s diamond once formed part of the French Crown Jewels. And as you know, the Emperor is not averse to killing in order to get the jewels back.”
“But I don’t have it!”
“Somehow, I suspect Napoléon’s agents won’t be content to simply take your word for it.”
Perlman threw a quick glance around and lowered his voice. “Someone’s been watching me.”
“Really?”
Perlman nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen them once or twice. But usually it’s just a feeling I get. It’s unpleasant. Not to mention . . . unsettling.”
“Have you told the authorities?”
“So they can laugh at me? Hardly.” Perlman licked his lips. “Listen; I’ll tell you what I know. But if you try repeating anything I say in a court of law, I’ll deny it to your face.”
“Go on.”
“You’re right; Uncle was selling the diamond for Hope. He even showed it to me several days before he was killed.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“I was under the impression your uncle didn’t like you much. So why did he show it to you?”
“You didn’t know my uncle, did you?”
“Fortunately, no.”
“He was obsessed with beauty and inordinately proud of the items that came into his possession—even if they belonged to someone else. He liked to show them off.”
“So where is the diamond now?”
“I don’t know. He had it in a red Moroccan leather presentation case when he showed it to me. I found the empty case on the floor of the parlor the morning after the murder. Presumably, Yates took it when he killed my uncle.”
“Except that Yates didn’t kill Eisler.”
A condescending smirk spread across the other man’s face. “The authorities seem to disagree with you.”
Sebastian ignored the jibe. “Have you searched the house for it?”
“Of course I’ve searched for the damned thing! You think I want to pay what Hope is demanding for it?”
“Did you ever find your uncle’s account books?”
“No, I haven’t found those either.” A tart edge had crept into Perlman’s voice.
“Did it ever occur to you that both the diamond and your uncle’s books could very well be hidden in the same place?”
“Yes, it has occurred to me. Do you take me for a fool? I tell you, I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve even started sorting through stuff that obviously hasn’t been shifted in decades.”
“Do you mind if I have a look around the house myself?”
Perlman laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
The other man stared thoughtfully into the distance for a moment, then shrugged. “Have a go at it, if you like. I’ll send a message to Campbell, telling him to expect you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“Uncle had some peculiar interests.”
“What kind of interests?”
But Perlman simply shook his head and said, “You’ll see.”
“I don’t get why this nephew fellow ’as suddenly up and decided to be all cooperative like,” said Tom as Sebastian turned his horses toward Holburn.
“Perhaps because he’s afraid that whoever killed his uncle might try to kill him too.” Sebastian guided his horses around a brewer’s wagon drawn up before the pub at the corner. “Or it could be because he killed his uncle himself, and now he’s afraid he’s got Napoléon’s agents after him. Fear can be a powerful motivator.”
Tom opened his eyes wide. “Ye reckon ’e might be next?”
“It’s certainly possible. We seem to be dealing with some decidedly lethal-minded people.”
Tom lapsed into a thoughtful silence but broke it only a few minutes later, saying, “What ye expectin’ to find in that old house? Ye already been there twice.”
“True. But my previous ventures were both interrupted.”
“What ye think ye mighta missed?”
“At this point? Far too much.”
Sebastian was raising his hand to rap Eisler’s tarnished knocker when the door was jerked open and held wide by a beaming Campbell.
“I’ve just received Mr. Perlman’s message,” said the aged retainer with one of his trembling bows. “And may I say, my lord, how thrilled I am to be allowed to assist you with one of your investigations? Positively thrilled.”
“Ah . . . excellent,” said Sebastian, stepping inside. He was beginning to realize that an overly enthusiastic witness could in its own way be as much of a problem as a stubbornly taciturn one.
Campbell beamed. “Where shall we start? The attics? The basement? The parlor?”
“How about back here?” said Sebastian, crossing the jumbled old hall to the low archway beside the stairs. Reaching out, he turned the handle of the first door on his left. It was still locked.
“Do you have the key to this room?”
“Unfortunately, no, my lord. Mr. Eisler always kept the key to this particular room. Neither Mrs. Campbell nor myself was ever allowed inside it.”
“When Mr. Perlman searched the house, did he have a key?”
“He did, my lord. I believe he discovered one in Mr. Eisler’s office safe. But I’m afraid he carried it away with him.”
“I see.” Sebastian took off his driving gloves and thrust them into a pocket. “Very well. Thank you. I’ll ring if I need you.”
Campbell’s face fell with disappointment. But he bowed with a sigh of resignation and tottered away.
Sebastian waited until the old man had shuffled out of sight. Then he removed from his pocket a set of metal shafts on a ring. It was called a picklock, a device with which Sebastian had become adept during his time as an exploring officer. It required only a keen sense of hearing and a deft touch, both of which Sebastian possessed. Easing the appropriate bent tip into the lock, he carefully slid aside the lock’s gates.
The door popped open.
The room beyond lay in near total darkness. Closing the door behind him, Sebastian crossed to the window to jerk open the thick curtains, then turned.
The chamber was empty except for a trunk and a long table upon which a small number of objects were neatly arranged. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was scrupulously clean, the walls freshly painted, the worn flagstone-paved floor well scrubbed. There was no rug. Instead, a design had been traced onto the floor with what looked like chalk.
His muscles oddly tense, Sebastian walked slowly toward it.
He was standing on the edge of an enormous circle superimposed on a square, with three smaller circles inside it. Four even smaller circles occupied what he suspected were the compass points, each containing a strange geometric symbol within it. More symbols were strategically placed between the second and third inner circles, along with what looked like a verse written in a strange script. At the very center of the figure stood an earthenware vessel filled with burnt charcoal; the scent of frankincense and aloe, vervain and musk hung heavy in the air.
Sebastian felt a faint, inexplicable chill run up his spine.
Turning, he let his gaze rove over the objects laid out on th
e long, narrow table. Two knives, one with a white hilt, the other with a black hilt, lay beside a short lance. The tips of all three were stained dark with what looked like blood. Beside the blades rested a trumpet flanked by two white candles.
Frowning, Sebastian went to throw open the lid of the trunk and found himself staring at a white linen robe with a series of curious geometric symbols embroidered on the breast in red silk thread. Beneath the robe lay a pair of white leather slippers covered with more strange designs also in red, and a square package wrapped in black silk.
Opening it gingerly, he exposed a pile of snowy white, newly made vellum sheets. Each sheet contained a single figure composed of circles, symbols, and geometric forms similar to that on the floor, but differing in subtle ways. Some were drawn in brilliant blues and reds, others in gold and green or black and silver. He flipped through them, pausing at one in particular that seemed to both repel and attract him at the same time.
At its center lay what looked like a spinning disk within a triangle. Around the triangle were drawn two circles, one within the other, between which was written what looked like a verse. He hesitated a moment, then rolled the parchment like a scroll and thrust it inside his coat. Replacing the remainder of the vellums and the white garments, he lowered the lid of the chest and went to close the curtains.
He found himself wondering what Samuel Perlman must have thought when he first unlocked the door to this room. Or had Perlman already known of his uncle’s peculiar interests before he began searching the house on Fountain Lane?
Sebastian shut the door behind him, then went in search of the aged butler.
With a deliriously excited Campbell once more at his side, he examined the rest of the house, from the attics and dusty, crowded bedrooms down to the kitchen basement. But his search was perfunctory, for he had no real expectation of finding anything.
Men like Daniel Eisler did not give up their secrets easily.
Chapter 36
T
he little girl looked to be eight or nine years old, although she told Hero she would be twelve the week before Christmas. Hero was beginning to realize that she was hopeless when it came to estimating children’s ages.