cleaning that off, working careful-like again, you know, and underneath the dirt and paint and enamel and God knows what all, what do you think he found?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rock crystal. The pommel was made out of rock crystal. Some of them were back then. Not many, but some. But then he takes another look and it’s not rock crystal at all-Uncle Norbert paused in his story and looked around, smiling because apparently he enjoyed the way he had told it.
“All right,” I said, “if it wasn’t rock crystal, what was it?”
He leaned across the table toward me, his mouth full of lamb. “A diamond as big as an egg, that’s what it was. A perfect, uncut diamond as big as an egg and weighing 146.34 metric carats, that’s what it was that Louis had stuck on the end of his hilt and what do you think of that, Mr. St. Ives?”
“I think Eddie’s right,” I said. “I think it would be a real bargain at three million pounds.”
Chapter Eight
T HE PORTUGUESE MAID SERVED the sweet, which turned out to be some kind of yellow pudding with dark things stuck in it. Raisins, probably. I chose to pass. The rest of them ate theirs and seemed to like it. When Ceil Apex asked if I would like coffee, I declined. There are some things that it is better not to risk in England.
After dessert they seemed to be waiting for me to say something so I said, “Why me?”
“Why you as go-between?” Ned Nitry said.
“That’s right.”
“That’s a fair question.”
“I’ve got a few more.”
“I’d think so. Well, to be plain about it, Mr. St. Ives, you weren’t our first choice. Eddie here was.”
“They wouldn’t go for it, though,” Apex said.
“The thieves?”
“That’s right,” Apex said. “They seemed to be all too familiar with my past exploits.”
“So we drew up a short list,” Ned Nitry said, “and read it to ’em over the phone. After a couple of hours they called back and said you’d do.”
“How’d you know I was into the go-between thing, Eddie?”
He smiled. “I’d heard it around.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” I said.
“Okay. Remember that pearl necklace you handled a couple of years ago back in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was a friend of mine, I suppose you could say. Or at least an acquaintance. He worked the states for a couple of years. When the insurance company called you in on the pearls, he was a little suspicious, so he checked you out. You’ve got an impressive reputation, my friend thinks. So when the thieves asked us about you, Ned told them to talk to this friend of mine. He must have given you a glowing report. He also told me that we should get in touch with you through your Mr. Greene, so I did.”
“All right,” I said. “When was it stolen?”
“Five days ago,” Uncle Bert said.
“From where?”
“From here.”
“A safe?”
“No. No, not a safe, but a damn stout room, it is.”
“Wired?”
“Course it is. Electric eyes and all that. The best. But it didn’t bother them none.”
“They’re pros, they are,” Ned Nitry said.
“Is that what the police think?” I said.
“No police, Phil,” Eddie Apex said in a flat tone.
“No police,” I said, making it a statement rather than a question.
“No,” Uncle Norbert said. “No police.”
I leaned back in my chair and looked at them. “You said that the man who owns the sword is your client. I may not be going about this in the right way, but I’m going to have to ask you just what the hell kind of business are you in?”
It was Ned Nitry who decided to answer my question, after using an almost imperceptible glance to check it out with his brother. “We specialize in fine works of art,” he said. “We sell them on consignment for a modest fee.”
“So does Sotheby’s,” I said, “but they advertise in The Times .”
“So they do,” Uncle Norbert said. “We’re more discreet.”
“I bet you are,” I said. “I bet you’re so discreet
“I don’t know.”
“Rock crystal. The pommel was made out of rock crystal. Some of them were back then. Not many, but some. But then he takes another look and it’s not rock crystal at all-Uncle Norbert paused in his story and looked around, smiling because apparently he enjoyed the way he had told it.
“All right,” I said, “if it wasn’t rock crystal, what was it?”
He leaned across the table toward me, his mouth full of lamb. “A diamond as big as an egg, that’s what it was. A perfect, uncut diamond as big as an egg and weighing 146.34 metric carats, that’s what it was that Louis had stuck on the end of his hilt and what do you think of that, Mr. St. Ives?”
“I think Eddie’s right,” I said. “I think it would be a real bargain at three million pounds.”
Chapter Eight
T HE PORTUGUESE MAID SERVED the sweet, which turned out to be some kind of yellow pudding with dark things stuck in it. Raisins, probably. I chose to pass. The rest of them ate theirs and seemed to like it. When Ceil Apex asked if I would like coffee, I declined. There are some things that it is better not to risk in England.
After dessert they seemed to be waiting for me to say something so I said, “Why me?”
“Why you as go-between?” Ned Nitry said.
“That’s right.”
“That’s a fair question.”
“I’ve got a few more.”
“I’d think so. Well, to be plain about it, Mr. St. Ives, you weren’t our first choice. Eddie here was.”
“They wouldn’t go for it, though,” Apex said.
“The thieves?”
“That’s right,” Apex said. “They seemed to be all too familiar with my past exploits.”
“So we drew up a short list,” Ned Nitry said, “and read it to ’em over the phone. After a couple of hours they called back and said you’d do.”
“How’d you know I was into the go-between thing, Eddie?”
He smiled. “I’d heard it around.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” I said.
“Okay. Remember that pearl necklace you handled a couple of years ago back in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was a friend of mine, I suppose you could say. Or at least an acquaintance. He worked the states for a couple of years. When the insurance company called you in on the pearls, he was a little suspicious, so he checked you out. You’ve got an impressive reputation, my friend thinks. So when the thieves asked us about you, Ned told them to talk to this friend of mine. He must have given you a glowing report. He also told me that we should get in touch with you through your Mr. Greene, so I did.”
“All right,” I said. “When was it stolen?”
“Five days ago,” Uncle Bert said.
“From where?”
“From here.”
“A safe?”
“No. No, not a safe, but a damn stout room, it is.”
“Wired?”
“Course it is. Electric eyes and all that. The best. But it didn’t bother them none.”
“They’re pros, they are,” Ned Nitry said.
“Is that what the police think?” I said.
“No police, Phil,” Eddie Apex said in a flat tone.
“No police,” I said, making it a statement rather than a question.
“No,” Uncle Norbert said. “No police.”
I leaned back in my chair and looked at them. “You said that the man who owns the sword is your client. I may not be going about this in the right way, but I’m going to have to ask you just what the hell kind of business are you in?”
It was Ned Nitry who decided to answer my question, after using an almost imperceptible glance to check it out with his brother. “We specialize in fine works of art,” he said. “We sell them on consignment for a modest fee.”
“So does Sotheby’s,” I said, “but they advertise in The Times .”
“So they do,” Uncle Norbert said. “We’re more discreet.”
“I bet you are,” I said. “I bet you’re so discreet
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