by John Creasey
‘You could hold it for a collector who’ll pay more,’ Wray said, briskly, ‘but how many are there with that kind of money? They’ll haggle, anyway. And you can’t fool me with all this museum atmosphere; you’re in business for what you can get out of it. I’ve made some inquiries about you. Seventy-five thousand pounds for the Red Eye of Love is a competitive price, and if you were offered it from a collector this week, you’d take it. And you’d make yourself a tidy pile too. I know more or less how much you paid for it. So how about a deal? I want that Red Eye, and that’s weakening my position in bargaining, but I get good advice and I’m advised that you trade on the level. Is it a deal?’
He was in absolute earnest.
‘God bless my soul!’ exclaimed Sylvester, and sat down heavily on an oak chair which had been carved as a labour of love four hundred years ago.
‘If it’s the money you’re worried about, come round to my bank,’ invited Theodorus Wray.
‘It isn’t the money,’ said Mannering, and felt the need to take this Theodorus much more seriously than he had. ‘There are certain other factors which have to be taken into account.’
‘You had an offer?’ Wray barked.
‘No, not yet, but—’
The shop door opened.
It was positively unique that it should open without anyone noticing the light which glowed in several places, warning the staff that somebody else was coming in. The light system was another precaution against theft. But no one had seen a light or heard a sound, and the first indication of the opening door was a firm, feminine voice.
‘Theo, you’re not to do it.’
Everyone started, and turned or stared towards the door. There stood a girl, quite young, neat, probably nice-looking, although her back was towards the window, and her face and figure in shadow. She was slim, though, and not very tall. The door closed of its own volition, and she came forward, making no sound at all on the strip of carpet between the door and Mannering’s office.
‘Hi, honey!’ Wray greeted, and waved to her; then burst out laughing. ‘Mind you don’t fall over Tom, Dick, and Harry!’ By then, Thomas and Richard were making way for the girl, and Henry was almost out of sight and certainly out of her way. ‘I want you to meet the most beautiful girl in the world,’ Wray went on. ‘Nothing’s too good for my fiancée.’ He studied Mannering’s face, as if wanting to make sure that he was properly impressed.
Mannering was.
As the girl drew nearer and he could see her clearly, he realised that there were many who would agree with Theodorus Wray about her beauty. But it wasn’t ethereal, and it wasn’t the picture postcard kind. This was the beauty one might find unexpectedly in a crofter’s cottage in the Highlands, or a farm on the Sussex Downs: it was a natural quality, which make-up helped a little but certainly didn’t create. She moved beautifully too. She was dark but not raven-haired; her complexion was more fair than dark, her eyes gave the impression that she could laugh easily.
‘Honey, this is John Mannering, the guy with quite a reputation. You want to know what I found out about him? His pedigree’s full of blue blood, if you’re interested. He’s worth plenty; he’s said to know more about lumps of ice and strings of pearls than anyone in England; he’s an expert antiquarian – but that’s not the best bit. He … ‘
The girl was looking at Mannering with an expression which seemed to say helplessly, ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no way of stopping him.’
‘… is the most famous private eye in England. What do you know about that? You should see what the newspapers say about him. I’ve looked up some old files, and are they pleased with the great John Mannering! Quote. “Consulted by Scotland Yard on all matters concerned with objets d’art and precious stones.” End quote. And his wife—’
‘We’ll leave my wife out of this,’ Mannering said, through another chuckle. ‘Would you mind telling me the name of the most beautiful girl in the world?’
Wray’s eyes lit up.
‘You agree about that?’
‘I most certainly do.’
‘You know, honey, I like this guy,’ said Theodorus Wray. ‘Never mind his reputation, I like him.’ He took the girl’s left hand and squeezed it, touched the engagement finger with his lips, and went on, ‘Sure, she’s got a name. Rosamund. With a U. Can you beat it? Rosamund Morrel, M–O double–R–E–one L. Honey, I’ve got a hunch that it’s going to be a perfect fit.’ He looked up at Mannering. ‘How about fetching that ring and trying it on?’
‘Josh, will you fetch the ring?’ asked Mannering.
‘Theo, I don’t intend to try it on, and I’m not going to let you make a fool of yourself,’ Rosamund Morrel declared, but she did not withdraw her hand. ‘There are thousands of engagement rings that will show everyone what a rich man you are; you needn’t try to prove that you’re the richest man in the world.’
‘I never said I was,’ denied Theodorus Wray. ‘Some of the others guys are pretty cagey about how much they’ve got. I consider I’m in the first dozen, that’s all.’ He was still completely in earnest. ‘There’s just one engagement ring for you, honey. When I read about it in the Collector and Connoisseur last night, I got busy. First I checked on Mannering and this shop, and they stood up, then I checked on the Red Eye of Love, and that stood up. So here I am, with a firm offer, and I’ve a feeling that Mannering isn’t going to turn it down. If it’s too big or too small,’ he added anxiously, ‘can it be altered to fit?’
‘It can be adjusted,’ Mannering assured him solemnly. ‘Quickly.’
Larraby was already at the window.
‘It’s a complete waste of time,’ Rosamund insisted. ‘I refuse even to try it on.’
‘How about that?’ Wray appealed to Mannering, with a broad smile. ‘Most girls would be wondering what they could make me buy next, but not my Rosamund; she tries to save me money. She doesn’t realise that I don’t have to save. I couldn’t spend all I’ve got if I lived to be a thousand years, which I won’t.’ He saw Larraby approaching with the ring on a small velvet pad, opened his mouth to go on, but stopped.
The beauty and the glory of the ring silenced him.
Larraby bore it on both hands, as if it were an offering. Although the light was not good, it seemed to take fire near the ring itself. Near Mannering was another lamp, and its light fell upon the ring and made the fires burn with unutterable beauty. It was as if the ring were a living, breathing creature.
From the centre diamond there stabbed scintillas of flame-red.
The girl stood as if overwhelmed. Mannering, who had heard of this ring’s fame for many years, and had always longed to see it, felt as he so often did: that life was rewarding if one could gaze upon such splendour even once. Theodorus Wray tightened his lips as the ring came nearer, and the red of the centre stone seemed to reflect in his pale blue eyes.
He broke the silence, huskily. ‘Gee,’ he said, ‘that’s a honey.’
“Theo, I tell you—’ Rosamund’s voice broke. ‘Oh, it’s unthinkable. Please take it away, Mr Mannering.’
‘You don’t seem to understand, honey, that’s for you,’ said Wray. His voice was still a little husky, as he looked from the diamond to her eyes. They were grey and very clear, and just now touched with a kind of anguish, as if the temptation to accept this priceless gift was fighting with her knowledge that it was not only absurd but a kind of sacrilege.
‘Okay for me to handle it?’ Wray asked Mannering, and Mannering nodded. He was aware of the tension in Larraby, could imagine that his manager was thinking that this might be a trick, after all, that some sleight of hand would make the ring vanish; or else, at this very moment, that accomplices would storm into the shop.
Wray picked up the ring slowly. Obviously he was surprised to find how heavily it weighed. He hesitated; then, with his free hand, took Rosamund’s.
She tried to snatch herself free.
He held her so that she couldn’t, and moved the ring closer to her fingers
. The beauty seemed to make her powerless, as if mesmerised. Very slowly and reverently Wray placed it on her engagement finger. Then he kissed the finger.
Mannering saw the girl’s eyes film with tears; Wray’s eyes were soft, and his smile gentle. ‘Okay, honey?’ His voice was soft as well.
‘It—it’s madness.’ She could hardly bring the words out, and was still mesmerised by the stone; and now those red scintillas flashed red into her eyes, like subdued fire.
‘I’ve got the money and you’ve got the ring,’ Wray declared. ‘How about my offer, Mannering? This is just about the first thing in my life I’ve allowed a man to know how badly I want a thing. You’ve only got to state your price.’
‘My price is seventy-five thousand pounds,’ Mannering responded, just as quietly.
There was silence.
Then the girl snatched her hand away, pulled at the ring so that it came off, and thrust it blindly towards Mannering, crying, ‘No, I can’t! Take it back. I won’t have it, I don’t want it! Theo, you must be mad!’
She turned and rushed towards the door and the street.
She ran out.
The ring was in Mannering’s hand.
Theodorus Wray was smiling that gentle smile again. ‘Well, what about that?’ he inquired proudly. ‘There’s integrity for you. Integrity is the rarest quality I know anywhere in the world. You’d agree about that, Mannering. Now, I want to settle the deal and I want to have that ring just as soon as I can. Rosamund will see it my way with a little persuasion. You want to know something? That girl didn’t know I was worth a penny when we met, or when she promised to marry me. No, sir, she didn’t know a thing. We met by accident, and the moment I saw her I told myself that she was mine for keeps. Yes, sir. And now she is mine for keeps, so the Red Eye of Love is hers for keeps. How long will it take to fix it? I anticipated you would want a surety, so I arranged that with my bank.’
‘Before you go any further,’ Mannering demurred, ‘are you positive you’re right? That ring is worth a fortune. Your fiancée is justifiably terrified of it. She couldn’t wear it, except on special occasions, and—’
‘Why not?’ Wray was suddenly aggressive.
‘Surely it’s obvious. She would be in danger all the time; you’d have to have protection.’
‘I’m all the protection Rosamund and the ring need,’ said Wray crisply. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of such a thing as insurance? Let me tell you something, Mannering. I don’t hold with collecting precious things like this and shutting them up and permitting a few people to take a peek at them occasionally. No, sir. Jewels weren’t meant to be in a museum or a vault; they were meant to be on a woman’s body. Don’t tell me you disagree. Didn’t you see the way that ring changed when it was on Rosamund’s finger? Why, it glowed so red that it came alive! That’s one ring which isn’t going to be hidden away from the world. She’s going to wear it. And maybe a lot of other people will start wearing their jewels, too. The younger they are, the better; you don’t expect diamonds to come to life on an old woman with one foot in the grave, do you?’ He stopped, challengingly.
‘No,’ Mannering agreed, very deliberately. He did not add that he had never heard a man express greater love for precious stones, although probably Wray did not yet realise that he loved them. ‘Mr Wray, if you want to buy the ring, you can. I’d rather you thought it over and talked it over with Miss Morrel before you finally make up your mind. Shall we leave it for twenty-four hours? Then I can check your credentials, anyhow.’
‘Okay,’ Wray said abruptly. ‘Sleeping on it won’t make any difference. I’ll be here for it at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Here’s a letter from Hemming and Hemming, saying I’m good for unlimited credit, and here’s another letter from the All State Bank of Australia, saying the same thing, and if you want it, the Australian Minister to London knows me, and he’ll vouch for me.’
He was thrusting folded documents into Mannering’s hand.
‘That’ll be enough,’ said Mannering, almost weakly. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thank you.’ Wray nodded, and turned on his heel – and startled everyone but Mannering by the speed of his movements. ‘Okay, John,’ he said, and the name seemed to rocket back at Mannering as he reached the door. ‘Hi, Tom, hi Dick, hi Harry!’
He went out, shot into the car, and the engine seemed to start and the wheels to turn in the same moment, and it was hard to believe that it was an illusion.
Larraby, Sylvester, and Tom, Dick, and Harry, let out their breath as the car disappeared, in a pent sigh.
Mannering’s hands closed round the ring.
‘Put something else in the window, Josh,’ he said to Larraby. ‘I’ll look after this.’
Larraby said in a shaken voice, ‘I’m almost persuaded of the gentleman’s integrity, sir, but is it possible that the girl did know—’ He left the question in mid-air.
‘I’m going to do a little checking,’ Mannering declared, and turned back into his office.
Before he closed the door, he heard an urgent, ‘Can you spare a moment, sir?’ and turned to find massive Thomas hurrying forward.
‘Yes, Tom. What’s on your mind?’
‘I—er—I was nearer the window than anyone else, as you know, sir,’ said Thomas, ‘and I happened to notice a man on a motor-cycle draw up just behind the Caddy – the American car, sir. He followed again just now. As Mr Wray appears to be such a wealthy person, and as he visited here, it is conceivable that—’
‘He was being followed to be robbed, or being followed by a bodyguard,’ said Mannering quickly. ‘Is your Vespa parked in the usual place?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Nip out and try to see where they go,’ said Mannering. ‘They’ll have to turn round in the car park; you’ve half a chance.’
‘Right, sir!’ Thomas proved that bulk did not prevent him from being quick, and he hurried; but his movement was a crawl compared with Theodorus Wray’s. Yet when the monster Cadillac slid past the window and a man on a red motorcycle followed, Thomas followed in turn, huge upon the seat of a pale blue Vespa.
‘Let’s wish him luck,’ Mannering said, and turned at last into his office.
The Red Eye of Love lay on his desk, only half alive. Wray was quite right: a woman’s body was needed to give real life to this jewel of such beauty.
Chapter Three
Rosamund Says No Again
Rosamund Morrel opened the front door of the house in Kensington where she had a two-room flat, and stepped inside. Then she turned round and looked along the street, as if expecting to see the monstrous car swing round the corner and come hurtling towards her. A little three-wheeler came trundling, instead. She closed the door and walked briskly up the narrow stairs. There were three floors and three flats; hers was at the top. An old brown hair carpet, threadbare in places, covered the stairs, and there was a strip at each landing.
Rosamund reached her own front door, hesitated, then inserted the key and opened it.
‘I’ll bet he’ll be here in the next ten minutes,’ she said in a tone of resignation, and gave an odd little laugh as she added, ‘Bless him!’ She took off her hat and put it on the arm of an easy chair. This was the living room; beyond was the bedroom, with a tiny cubicle in between known as the kitchen. The bathroom led off the bedroom. The house was old, the ceilings high, and the decoration could have been much less attractive. In this room, for instance, there was a pale grey paper with a tiny red motif. For furnished rooms the furniture wasn’t at all bad, either. She finished ruffling her hair, and went to the window. This overlooked a small back garden, and between houses beyond she could see the High Street.
Cars and buses passed swiftly by.
She might catch a glimpse of the red and green Cadillac.
‘Oh, you fool,’ she said, quite loudly. ‘What is there about him?’
The door leading from the cubicle and the bedroom opened, and as she spun round, in fierce alarm, Theodorus Wray said mildly, ‘He
’s just a nice guy, I guess.’
‘Theo, you fool! You made me jump so much that my heart’s pounding now.’
That’s just because I’m near.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘I stole your spare key last night.’
‘Don’t you realise that if the neighbours saw you, they’d—’
‘I know no neighbours, see no neighbours, hear no neighbours,’ declared Theo. He reached her, took her in his arms, and hugged her, making her hold her head back so that she could not avoid looking at him. It was as if he knew that her heart was thumping with excitement because of him, as if he knew that there wasn’t a thing that she could deny him.
Except perhaps make her take that fantastic ring.
‘Honey,’ he said chidingly, ‘you shouldn’t have done that in front of Tom, Dick, and Harry. They’re good guys. They’re a bit strait-laced, but who wouldn’t be, living among all those relicts?’
‘You don’t know what a relict is. You mean relic’
‘You’re too smart for me, honey!’ He kissed her gently; he could be remarkably gentle. ‘That Mannering’s quite a guy.’
‘If you say “guy” again, I’ll scream!’ Rosamund was only half laughing as she eased herself out of his arms and stepped back. ‘And if you think you’re going to make me change my mind, you’re absolutely wrong.’
‘That John Mannering,’ said Theo, in a plummy, pseudo-Oxford voice. ‘He’s quite a fellah, eh, what? What a wallah, what ho?’ He didn’t smile, except with his eyes. ‘You know what he did, hon? He sent Tom to follow Charley. He’s a wise G man all right. You should have heard what the editor of the Daily Globe said about him. I like that chappie.’ He grinned at her, showing his fine white teeth.
‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to have that ring.’
‘Honey, how you do keep on! Have I said anything about a ring since I stepped in here?’
