The Green Jade Dragon

by Evelyn James

  “His uncle brought it home last century,” Clara said.

  “Yes. But, such an item would be very treasured in Japan. I find it hard to imagine how it fell into the hands of an ordinary, albeit wealthy, English gentleman. Had the item been gifted to a member of the British Royal family I could understand it. But precious objects like that don’t just land in the hands of ordinary people.”

  Clara was startled.

  “Are you suggesting the dragon might have been stolen before it came into Mr Jacobs’ collection?”

  Dr Vanderstom shrugged.

  “I just found it all very curious. Objects like that usually have a provenance. We have hundreds of netsuke in the museum, most are very ordinary, but a few items are special and all of these can be traced back to their origins. That the green jade dragon had so mysteriously arrived in England bothered me a little,” Dr Vanderstom admitted all this slowly. “Look, might I pass you on to someone who could offer you a greater insight? I might be the head of the Oriental department, but my expertise tends to be on Chinese artefacts. I know someone who shared my views on the dragon and who would be better placed to advise you.”

  Dr Vanderstom took up a piece of paper and scribbled down a name and address.

  “I could call him and see if he is available to speak with you today?”

  “Please do,” Clara answered as she took the slip of paper. “You have piqued my curiosity.”

  “Honestly?” Dr Vanderstom gave a wan smile. “My curiosity is piqued too. Not only that, but I feel my suspicions have been proved founded.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Clara countered. For Mr Jacobs’ sake she really hoped she was not about to discover that his uncle had been a commonplace thief.

  Chapter Ten

  Dr Vanderstom’s acquaintance was a Scotsman by the name of Gregory McFry. He had made a success of himself exporting canned meals to the various fringes of the empire, where beef stew was a luxury rather than a staple. McFry had spent some of the vast fortune he had amassed on a passion for all things Japanese. When Clara came upon him in his office, after Dr Vanderstom had kindly telephoned ahead, she found him surrounded by antiques, all of them Japanese. Mr McFry, himself, had abandoned his suit jacket for the afternoon and was wearing a Japanese blue silk robe. Other than the robe, there was nothing Japanese about him. He was well over six foot, a towering man with vast hands and muscles like those of a bullock, and he had the thickest Scottish accent Clara had come across in a while. When he spoke fast she had to listen very carefully to understand him.

  “You must be the lass Dr Vanderstom was sending over?” McFry said, holding out one of those vast hands and shaking Clara’s outstretched one. “He briefly explained you were investigating a stolen netsuke?”

  “Yes. It was one loaned to the British Museum for their recent Japanese exhibition.”

  “Ah, now let me guess!” McFry held up a thick figure to forestall her saying more. “The exhibition had a small display of very ordinary netsuke, not worth a lot but they attracted people for their novelty. But there was that very special one, a green jade dragon loaned by a gentleman. I remember looking at that one and thinking it was a very fine piece, very fine. Would that be the one that is missing?”

  “You would be correct,” Clara nodded. “The dragon netsuke belongs to Mr Jacobs of Brighton and just over a week ago it was stolen from his home. The robbery was very professional and seems to suggest the people involved knew what they were looking for.”

  McFry became sombre, which animated his broad face in a new fashion, reminding Clara of one of the scowling masks on Dr Vanderstom’s office wall.

  “I had my concerns about that piece,” he said softly.

  “Dr Vanderstom said as much. He outlined those concerns but said you would be able to explain them better.”

  “Aye, well maybe I can,” McFry settled back in his chair, the springs creaking a fraction under his giant frame. He folded his hands across his chest. “You see, I have been a collector of all things Japanese since I was a mere lad. Back in Scotland, in the little town I grew up in, no one knew what a Japanese person was. Then one day there was this rare old shipwreck on the rocks. It was a terrible stormy night and this freighter ship, far off course from where it should have been, crashed upon the rocks and shook itself to pieces.

  “All the lifeboatmen were roused from their beds and set out to sea in their cork life-vests and rubber boots. They rescued a fair few souls that night, others were dragged ashore by the women that went down to the beach and helped those nearest out of the waves. When dawn broke the rumour ran about the village that these rescued men were strange foreigners, with funny eyes and a peculiar tongue. Naturally, as a curious lad of twelve I went to look for myself.

  “One of the rescued fellows spoke a little English, though not Scotch! You could see his eyes watering as he tried to understand the people about him, much like yours are right now!”

  McFry roared with laughter. It was a generous, innocent laugh and Clara knew he meant no ill by it and, yes, she was working hard to keep up with his speech.

  “I befriended this man, being curious and all,” McFry continued when his amusement had subsided. “He told me he was Japanese and all about his homeland. He had worked on a lot of ships and travelled to both Britain and American, learning a number of tongues along the way. Not knowing where he had at first landed up, he thought we might be Russian when we opened our mouths to him. Poor soul only realised he was in Britain when he heard a word or two of English. He said he thought the Scottish were a peculiar folk.”

  McFry chuckled again.

  “Anyhow, they were all stuck there until a ship was sent to rescue them or they had instructions to go someplace else. So I spent a lot of time with Hiro, learning all about Japan which sounded so very different to the town I had been born and bred in. When he finally left, he gave me a parting gift. I still carry it with me always.”

  McFry reached into his shirt and pulled out a leather cord, upon which hung a small piece of carved ivory.

  “Is it a netsuke?” Clara asked.

  “No, it’s an ornament to be carried or worn. A lucky charm in the form of a toad,” McFry removed the cord, lifting it over his head, and handing the lucky toad to Clara.

  It reminded her of the netsukes in the way it was carved to favour the natural curves of the material it was made of. The artist had taken pains to ensure the grain flowed across the toad’s body naturally, the whirls and knots being used to shape the form of the creature. Clara handed it back.

  “And so a lifetime’s passion was born?” she said.

  “Not quite so simply,” McFry shrugged. “It was years before I came across another Japanese object, when I was a grown man and in London promoting my business. Then I spotted a Japanese fan on a stall in Covent Garden. The seller only wanted a few pence for it, so I took it away and ended up at the British Museum asking about it. I found my way into the Japanese gallery and came home loaded with catalogues and books on Japanese art. That was when it truly began. I have specialised, honing my knowledge, to the point that occasionally Dr Vanderstom will even ask my opinion. Of course, there are experts in the British Museum, but sometimes they are blinkered by their university educations. I am a free-soul when it comes to learning. Dr Vanderstom calls me a breath of fresh air.”

  McFry winked at Clara. He was such an affable, agreeable man that just being in his company raised the spirits and Clara had almost forgotten why she was really there. Almost.

  “Dr Vanderstom said he had concerns about the green jade dragon?” she said. “And that you shared them?”

  “Green jade is a very precious thing, and very important to the Japanese. It is highly prized, the sort of thing only an emperor and his favourites should possess. Of course, the Imperial Court of Japan has softened over the years, like our own monarchy. Now especially wealthy Japanese men might own jade objects, but it is still very treasured and considered peculiarly Asian,” McFry flick
ed his eyes about his office, glancing at his collection. “In all my years of collecting, owning a piece of green jade has proven to be most elusive. The items come onto the British market rarely and attract huge sums. The Japanese are very coy about letting significant objects leave their hands. I have seen a few jade netsuke for sale, but mostly modern pieces created in the last fifty years to sate the foreign market. Antique jade is almost unheard of.”

  “Which made Mr Jacobs’ dragon special?”

  “From the moment I saw it, and Dr Vanderstom was good enough to let me see it before the exhibition and inspect it closely, I could tell the dragon was not one of these modern pieces. The craftsmanship was exceptional, for a start, the details most intricate and not worked with modern tools,” McFry agreed, getting into his stride again. “There were, on the dragon’s leg, some very small characters. I studied them for nearly an hour, before I was confident enough to draw copies on a piece of paper. They were clearly the initials of the craftsman who had made the item and I proposed to Vanderstom that tracing the craftsman might offer us a clue to the object’s origins.

  “Many of the netsuke do not have such marks. But those crafted by a clever artisan sometimes do. It is like the signature on a painting. But not all these artisans are known to us. I had to refer to some Japanese guides I had imported to help me. I fortunately read Japanese, if not speak it.”

  McFry winked again, implying that to twist his big Scottish tongue around Japanese syllables was a challenge he had tried and failed.

  “Anyhoo, I trawled through my guides and after many long hours by the reading lamp I found the name of the artisan who made the dragon listed. I was excited to find the man had lived during the sixteenth century, or rather our sixteenth century as the Japanese would have been using a different calendar system,” McFry rocked his chair making it give out those complaining groans again. “More importantly, this craftsman was almost exclusively employed to work on objects for Japanese royalty, including the emperor himself. Now I was certain that Mr Jacobs’ dragon had arrived in Britain by unusual means. It was not the sort of object the Japanese would relinquish easily, even if someone was prepared to pay a fortune for it.”

  Clara found herself returning to thoughts of Mr Jacobs’ long dead uncle. How had he come across the object that he handed so freely to his nephew? Surely he had not stolen it himself?

  “I am not implying that any of Mr Jacobs’ kin knew it was stolen,” McFry mistook Clara’s silence for anger at his suggestion. “I would propose that someone removed the article from the Imperial Palace and sold it to Mr Jacobs’ uncle. Such things do happen.”

  “They do,” Clara agreed. “Sadly, the uncle died before he could explain to Mr Jacobs’ the origins of the dragon.”

  “How did he die?” McFry asked curiously.

  “I believe it was a coach accident,” Clara answered. “Mr Jacobs did not know all the details himself.”

  McFry took his turn to be silent as he thought over this information. Clara read his mind.

  “Perhaps it was not mere coincidence he died so soon after arriving home with the dragon?” she suggested.

  “Oh, these things happen,” McFry brushed off his concerns. “Some of these Imperial objects are said to have been cursed by their makers, to bring harm to any who gets hold of them illegally. I could as much argue the case for that, as to suggest the unfortunate uncle was the victim of someone trying to retrieve the dragon off him.”

  “Mr Jacobs has certainly not suffered from his ownership of the dragon,” Clara concurred. “But, I can’t help but think that someone realised its significance when they saw it in the case at the British Museum and opted to steal it.”

  McFry scratched at his chin. He had the stubble of a beard just growing there.

  “One way or the other, the dragon is valuable enough to attract the attention of a thief. A collector would give their right arm for it,” McFry produced a big grin. “I know I would.”

  “And that brings me back to my starting point,” Clara sighed. “I still have no better idea of who the thief, or rather his employer, might be. I doubt the dragon is going to appear on the open market.”

  “No,” McFry agreed. “And I have not heard about such an object being offered for sale. Though I will keep my ears open. There is a part of me who feels it is such a shame Mr Jacobs offered the dragon for loan to the museum.”

  “I believe it was the first time the dragon has been on public display in Britain,” Clara agreed. “I wonder how many people would have realised its true worth when they saw it. The museum catalogue did not suggest its value, but someone looked at that object, realised it was priceless and wanted it.”

  “Or they guessed it was an Imperial treasure long ago stolen,” McFry pointed out.

  “Without seeing the maker’s marks?”

  “You might not need to, if you happened to know that several decades ago a jade dragon was stolen, if it was stolen. We can only postulate on that.”

  “Indeed,” Clara felt she had gained insight into the dragon’s origins if nothing else, but she was no closer to pinpointing a suspect in its disappearance. “Do you know of anyone who would be as astute as you and Dr Vanderstom were to the dragon’s significance?”

  “There aren’t that many British collectors with the depth of knowledge either I, or Vanderstom, have,” McFry said, though it was an innocent remark, not meant to be immodest. “There are a handful of Japanese businessmen in the country, one or two of whom might have an interest in collecting antiquities from their homeland. I could find out their names for you?”

  “I would very much appreciate that,” Clara said gratefully. “And thank you for your time, I have certainly found our conversation enlightening.”

  McFry rose and showed Clara to the door of his office.

  “It’s strange, but the moment I set eyes on that dragon I felt something odd. A chill crept over me almost,” McFry chuckled to himself, slightly embarrassed by his confession. “I am not particularly superstitious, but I concluded that the dragon was not something I would want in my possession. It had a bad feeling to it.”

  “The curse?” Clara teased him.

  “Perhaps I am superstitious,” McFry was amused with himself. “I did grown up among people who lived and breathed magic and folklore. My gran put out milk and bread for the fairies every night, though I remember my mother finding it rather foolish.”

  “Well, as long as the dragon realises I am only seeking the truth and pose it no threat,” Clara smiled, shaking hands once again with the Scottish giant, “then I should be fine.”

  “As long as you bear all that in mind lassie,” McFly tapped the side of his nose. “No knowing what lurks out there.”

  Clara went away from McFry most amused. The only things she feared lurking out there were the criminals who had robbed Mr Jacobs’ house. Clara didn’t believe in curses, that was for certain.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clara ran out of time to pursue anymore enquiries in London and was glad to get home. All the walking and travelling had exhausted her, but at least she now had a better idea of the circumstances surrounding the thief’s first sighting of the green jade dragon. Whether the thief had chosen to steal it because of its value, or because they wanted to right the wrong of it being stolen in the first place was impossible to say for the moment, but it was curious, nonetheless.

  Clara had just eased off her shoes and was sitting in her favourite armchair when there was a rap on the front door. Clara had her eyes shut, trying to ignore the twinge of a headache playing about her temples. She barely noticed the summons, and did not pay heed to Annie going to open the door. She was close to drifting into a happy doze when Annie appeared at the door of the parlour.

  “Clara? Are you awake?”

  Clara lifted up her head and murmured that she was – just.

  “Bob is here, if you would care to see him?”

  Clara almost groaned, but then she realised that Bob wo
uld not have called so late were it not important, and she had asked for his help. She opened her eyes and sat upright in the armchair.

  “Send him in,” she nodded.

  A moment later Bob appeared in the parlour. He was still in his work overalls and there was the pleasant aroma of sawn wood about him.

  “How is the house building going?” Clara asked, motioning for him to sit in the armchair opposite her.

  Bob gave a grin.

  “Seems ok,” he shrugged. “I just do the wood.”

  Clara smiled with him, it was just the sort of light-hearted comment Bob would make.

  “I have some news for you,” Bob said. “I have been asking around, as you wanted.”

  “Anything good come up?” Clara leaned forward in her chair.

  “Quite a bit, actually,” Bob replied, his smile drifting away as he became more serious. “More than one fellow is rather unhappy about the burglary. Talk among them is it was done by an outsider.”

  That probably meant a Londoner, Clara mused.

  “Anything else?”

  “Lots of grumbling about why some rich fellow didn’t hire a local lad for the job.”

  “They know who the employer of the thief was?”

  “No,” Bob shook his head. “But they all say that there was money behind the job. It wasn’t some opportunist working alone. The thief was hired.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” Clara sighed. “Makes it more complicated.”

  “And there were others,” Bob continued.

  “Others?”

  “No one explained it specifically, but I gathered there were men watching the house and gathering information.”

  Clara nodded, that was logical enough. This had been very carefully planned out in advance.

  “The local boys are really not pleased,” Bob said. “They feel offended, like they aren’t good enough for such a job. And the way the fellow just walked into The Black Sheep all bold as brass has gotten right up their noses.”