We parted with mutual expressions of good will. I said, "I expect I
shall have to come often to you for help."
"I expect you to," he said earnestly. "I want you to. Myself and my
establishment are at your service. Let no question of expense hamper
you."
I found later that he really meant this. I was, however, very
reluctant to draw on him.
When I saw Miss Hamerton the next day I asked her a question or two
concerning Mr. Alfred Mount with the object of finding out if he were
really such an old friend as he made out.
"I have always known him," she said simply. "That I happen to buy
things from him is merely incidental. He was a friend of my father's
and he is a very good friend to me. He has proved it more than once."
I was tempted to ask: "Then why were you so reluctant to take him into
your confidence?" But I reflected that since she had already refused
to tell me, I had better keep my mouth shut, and find out otherwise.
"Mr. Mount asked if we had notified the police," I said, merely to see
how she would take it.
I regretted it. Her expression of pain and terror went to my heart.
She was no longer the remote and lovely goddess, but only a suffering
woman.
"Oh, you did not, you have not?" she stammered.
"Certainly not," I said quickly. "I knew you didn't wish it."
She turned away to recover herself. What was I to make of it? One
would almost have said that she was a party to the theft of her own
jewels.
And yet only a few minutes later she burst out in a passionate plea to
me to discover the thief.
"It tortures me!" she cried, "the suspense, the uncertainty! This
atmosphere of doubt and suspicion is suffocating! I wish I never had
had any pearls! I wish I were a farmer's daughter or a mill girl!
Please, _please_ settle it one way or the other. I shall never have a
quiet sleep until I _know_!"
"Know what?" I asked quietly.
But she made believe not to have heard me.
4
I spent the next two or three days in quiet work here and there. The
most considerable advance I made was in picking an acquaintance with
McArdle, the property man of Miss Hamerton's company. Watching the
stage door I discovered that the working-force behind the scenes
frequented the back room of a saloon on Sixth avenue for lunch after
the show. The rest was easy. By the third night McArdle and I were on
quite a confidential footing.
From him I heard any amount of gossip. McArdle was of the garrulous,
emotional type and very free with his opinions. The star was the only
one he spared. From his talk I got the principal members of the
company fixed in my mind. Beside Mr. Quarles there was George
Casanova, the heavy man, a well-known actor but, according to McArdle,
a loud-mouthed, empty braggart, and Richard Richards, the character
heavy, a silly old fool, he said, devoured by vanity. Among the women
the next in importance after the star was Miss Beulah Maddox, the heavy
lady, who in the opinion of my amiable informant giggled and ogled like
a sewing-machine girl, and she forty if she was a day.
Discreet questioning satisfied me that McArdle was quite unaware that a
robbery had been committed in the theatre. If he didn't know it,
certainly it was not known.
Out of bushels of gossip I sifted now and then a grain of valuable
information. He informed me that Roland Quarles was in love with the
star. For some reason that I could not fathom he was especially bitter
against the young leading man. He would rail against him by the hour,
but there seemed to be no solid basis for his dislike.
"Does she favour him?" I asked.
"Nah!" he said. "She's got too much sense. He's a four-flusher, a
counter-jumper, a hall-room boy! Lord! the airs he gives himself you'd
think he had a million a year! He's a tail-ender with her, and he
knows it. He's sore."
"Who seems to be ahead of him?" I asked with strong curiosity.
"There's a dozen regulars," said McArdle. "Two Pittsburgh
millionaires, a newspaper editor, a playwright and so on. But if you
ask me, the jeweller is ahead in the running."
"The jeweller?" I said, pricking up my ears.
"Spanish looking gent with whiskers," said McArdle. "Keeps a swell
joint on the avenue. Mount, his name is. He's a wise guy, does the
old family friend act, see? He's a liberal feller. I hope he gets
her."
This bit of information gave me food for thought. I thought it
explained my intuitive dislike of Mount. The thought of that old
fellow presuming to court the exquisite Irma made me hot under the
collar.
I went to the store of Roberts, the manufacturer of artificial pearls.
This place was as well-known in its way as Mount's, since Roberts had
sued the Duke of Downshire and the public had learned that the pearls
His Grace had presented to Miss Van Alstine on the occasion of their
marriage were--phony. It also was a very fancy establishment but like
its wares, on a much less expensive scale.
I fell in with a sociable and talkative young salesman, who at my
request showed me a whole tray full of pearl necklaces. Among them I
spotted another replica of Miss Hamerton's beautiful string.
"What's this?" I asked carelessly.
"Blue pearls," he rattled off. "Latest smart novelty. A hit. Mrs.
Minturn Vesey had one sent up only yesterday. She wore it to the opera
last night."
"There isn't such a thing really as a blue pearl, is there?" I asked
idly.
"Certainly. These are copies of genuine stones like all our stock.
Some time ago a customer sent in the real necklace to have it copied,
like they all do. This was such a novelty Mr. Roberts had a pattern
made and put them on sale. It's a winner!"
"I wouldn't want a thing everybody had bought," I said.
"I don't mean everybody," he said. "But just a few of the very
smartest. It's too expensive for everybody. Seven hundred and fifty.
The original is priceless."
"How many have you sold?"
"About ten."
"Who else bought them?"
He reeled off a string of fashionable names.
"That's only six."
"The others were sold over the counter."
The affable youngster was a little aggrieved when I left without buying.
Mr. Mount was both surprised and deeply chagrined when I told him that
exact replicas of Miss Hamerton's pearls were to be had at Roberts' by
anybody with the price. He didn't see how he could stop it either. It
appeared there was a standing feud between Roberts and the fashionable
jewellers, in which Roberts had somewhat the advantage because the
regular trade was obliged to employ him. No one else could make such
artificial pearls.
With Mr. Mount's assistance I had the sales of the replicas quietly
traced. Nothing resulted from this. All but two of the sales were to
persons above suspicion. These two had been sold over the counter, one
to a man, one to a woman, and as the transactions were over two months
old, I could not get a working description of the buyers.
On another occasion I went into Dunsany's, the largest and best-known
jewelry store in America, if not in the world, and asked to see some
one who could give me some information about pearls. I was steered up
to a large, pale gentleman wearing glasses, very elegantly dressed, of
course. I put on my most youthful and engaging manner. I heard him
addressed as Mr. Freer.
"Look here," I said, "I expect you'll want to have me thrown out for
bothering you, but I'm in a hole."
My smile disarmed him. "What can I do for you?" he asked impressively.
"I'm a fiction writer," I said. "I'm writing a story about blue
pearls, and somebody told me there was no such thing. Was he right?"
"Sometimes the black pearl has a bluish light in it," said Mr. Freer.
"But it would take an expert to distinguish it. Such pearls are called
blue pearls in the trade."
"I suppose you haven't got one you could show me?" I said.
He shook his head. "They rarely come into the market. There is only
one place in New York where they may be found."
"And that is?"
"Mount's. Mr. Alfred Mount has a hobby for collecting them. Naturally
when a blue pearl appears it is generally offered first to him. You'd
better go to see him. He knows more about blue pearls than any man in
the world."
"One more question?" I said cajolingly, "in my story I have to imagine
the existence of a necklace of sixty-seven blue pearls ranging in size
from a currant down to a pea, all perfectly matched, perfect in form
and lustre. If there was such a thing what would it be worth?"
When I described the necklace I received a mild shock, for the pale
eyes of the man who was watching me suddenly contracted like a
frightened animal's. The muscles of his large pale face never moved,
but I saw the eyes bolt. He smiled stiffly.
"I couldn't say," he said. "Its value would be fabulous."
"But give me some idea," I said, "just for the sake of the story."
He moistened his lips. "Oh, say half a million," he said. "It would
not be too much."