Miles Banham’s eyes twinkled. Matthew Waring continued to drum on the table, and said dryly:
“I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Oakley. Peter, however, can tell us Come, Peter, did your mother ever speak to you of the Annam Jewel?”
Peter frowned. His eyes went from one face to another. Cousin Ruth Spottiswoode was wiping her eyes. Uncle Matthew had a red face and grey hair. He didn’t like Aunt Emily—he felt sure that he would never like Aunt Emily. Uncle Miles was the best of the lot; he didn’t jaw, and he didn’t say, “Poor Olivia!”
Miles Banham put out a sunburnt hand to him. “Come on, Peter,” he said; “did you ever hear of the Annam Jewel?”
Uncle Miles had eyes like a monkey, little, and bright, and brown. Peter met them full, and said gruffly:
“Perhaps.”
“No manners at all,” said Charlotte Oakley quite audibly.
But with that one word Peter had gained the respect of his Uncle Matthew and the affection of his Uncle Miles.
Miles Banham laughed.
“Won’t be pumped, eh? Quite right, too. Better take him into your business, Waring. Soul of discretion, eh? Well, look here, Peter, you won’t be pumped, but will you do a swap? All on the level, and between gentlemen. You tell us what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. I do know something,” he added, with a nod that included everyone at the table. “Well, is it a bargain?”
Peter had dropped his piece of string. He dived into his right-hand pocket, rejected a slate-pencil, a stick of sealing-wax, and an apple, and produced about a yard of crumpled pink ribbon. He nodded at Miles Banham and began to make knots in the ribbon.
“She did tell him something, then,” said Emily Waring in a sharp whisper, every word of which reached Peter’s ears.
“I was quite sure of it.” Miles Banham’s tone was curt. “Well now, Peter—”
“You first,” said Peter, struggling with his knot.
“What nonsense!” said Emily Waring. “Peter, if your mother ever told you anything, it’s your absolute duty to let us know what it was. It’s most important. A little boy like you cannot possibly understand how important it is, but you can understand that it is your duty to tell us everything that you know at once. And do, for goodness’ sake, stop fiddling with that horrible piece of pink ribbon,” she ended sharply.
“Peter, come here,” said Miles Banham. His voice sounded cool and easy after Emily Waring’s rasp.
Peter came nearer warily. He hated being touched; but Miles Banham merely twinkled at him and said:
“So you want to hear me first? And after that you’ll tell us what you know? Honour bright? All right. I don’t mind.”
He was sitting with one elbow on the table, leaning hard against the arm of his chair, which he had pushed askew. His little brown face was covered with fine lines. He was clean-shaven, and had lost two of his front teeth.
“Well, here’s my yarn,” he said.
Miss Oakley leaned forward. Mrs. Spottiswoode let her handkerchief fall into her lap. The scent of heliotrope hung in the air.
“The story begins with your Uncle James.” He coughed slightly, threw a whimsical glance over his shoulder at Matthew and Emily, and again addressed Peter. “He—er, was what is called wild; rather like myself, in fact; didn’t pass his exams; didn’t get into a profession; didn’t write home very regularly; in fact—er, all that sort of thing. Well, twelve years ago your Uncle James was in Annam—don’t ask me how he got there, or what he was doing, because it’s a case of least said soonest mended—but he was there, for some weeks at any rate. We know that for certain, and we also know, or I should say believe, that whilst he was there he came into possession of a very remarkable stone, known as the Annam Jewel. We don’t know that for certain, but the evidence is tolerably convincing. We don’t even know for a fact that there is or ever was, such a stone. I’ve heard rumours of it for twenty years; and I’ve met old men who had heard the same stories when they were young, but I’ve never met anyone who had actually seen it.
Peter had dropped the pink ribbon. His deep-set eyes were fixed on Miles Banham’s face, his grubby hand pressed against Miles Banham’s knee.
“What is it?” he said. “The Jewel?”
“No one knows,” said Miles Banham in his quick, cool voice. “No one knows, because no one has seen it. They call it the Annam Jewel; and Annam means ‘The Hidden Way’. It was a hidden thing, a sacred jewel, kept in a most secret place. I believe James Waring had it in his possession. He is known to have gone inland. He had two companions, a man called Henderson, and a man who went by the name of Dale—it wasn’t his real name, I believe. They quarrelled and parted.
“Now we come to another part of the story. Your father, Henry Waring, was at that time a captain in the Gunners at Hong Kong. He and your mother had been married about six months. He had no idea of his brother James’ whereabouts until he got a cable from him. It was in a cipher which they had made up and used when they were schoolboys. It told him to come at once to Tourane, which is one of the ports of Annam. It said that he had secured a great treasure, but had no money and could not get it away alone. It besought Henry to come without delay. Your mother didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him to go at all, but he overbore her and went. They were very hard up, and he wanted to make money for her. She hated the East, and he wanted to get her out of it. He wanted to settle at home in the country with a bit of land, and horses, and dogs; and the idea of the treasure got hold of him.
“Well, he went off, and your mother had letters from him. I don’t know what was in them, for she wouldn’t tell me. You see, I’m being quite frank with you, Peter. From first to last she only told me two things. The first was that your Uncle James was dead or dying when Henry got there; and the other was that Henry had had an accident and was coming back. Well, he came back, and you were born; and he lived six months after that. He was utterly changed, and very bitter. I saw him several times—I was coming and going round Hong Kong at the time—but he never told me anything, and Olivia never told me anything either. Once he said something about enemies following him, and several times he began talking as if he expected to be very rich. The last time I saw him he said: ‘Peter will have it, but not till he’s twenty-five. I’m done for.’ That’s all I know.”
Peter drew a very long breath.
Ruth Spottiswoode took up her handkerchief again.
“Now, Peter, it’s your turn,” said Miles Banham. “You’ve had my yarn. Now let’s have yours. What did your mother tell you about the Annam Jewel? Out with it!”
“She said—she said …” Peter went back a pace, shoved both hands into his pockets, and faced his relations. “She only said never to have anything to do with it.”
Published by Dean Street Press 2016
Copyright © 1923 Patricia Wentworth
Introduction copyright © 2016 Curtis Evans
All Rights Reserved
The right of Patricia Wentworth to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her estate in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 1923 by Hodder & Stoughton
Cover by DSP
ISBN 978 1 911413 10 3
www.deanstreetpress.co.uk
The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith: A Golden Age Mystery Page 27