The Blue Diamond

by Joan Smith

  “Nonsense. He handles jewels worth ten times what those were worth. Why risk his reputation on such a paltry bit? He could duplicate for thousands, hundreds of thou­sands, if that were his game. A jeweler’s reputation is his most valuable asset. He would not risk it for worlds. I trust Eynard completely.”

  “He would not deceive you, but he might take advan­tage of an unknown foreigner like myself, with no power to have revenge on him,” Miss Feydeau suggested.

  “She could be right, Papa,” Maria said. As she went over and over the matter in her head, she could find no other solution.

  “I’ll speak to him again. Certainly he is innocent, but he can at least give us a description of this Madame Clair­mont who commissioned the replicas, and tell us when it was done too. We’ll see if she resembles your Madame Lalonde,” Kruger said to Miss Feydeau.

  “The copies were made after I took them to him for selling,” Mademoiselle insisted.

  “Copies are not made in a day, Mam’selle,” he pointed out.

  “He had them longer than a day, Monsieur.”

  They exchanged an appraising glance. It was the lady who averted her glance. “Naturally I do not hold your daughter responsible,” she said.

  “I accept full responsibility for my daughter’s rashness in performing this errand for you. You will be repaid. It will be better if you deliver your own parcels in future, however. Come along, Maria.” He left without saying good evening, pulling his daughter away by the arm. Over her shoulder, Maria saw a tear forming in the tenant’s eye. She wanted to reassure her, but it was impossible with her father present. She would return soon.

  “You were hard on her, Papa,” she said after they had left. “She cannot be held at fault.”

  “I have a good mind to ask her to leave. I would do so, if it were not for the looks of it. It would make me look guilty, to send her packing now. I rue the day I let her ­into my house.”

  It was still not late when they entered their own saloon, to find Monsieur Chabon just being shown in. “I came to see if I could be of any assistance, Herr Kruger,” he said. “Your precipitate departure from the party led me to be­lieve the earrings were found to be forgeries. It is so?”

  “I’m afraid it is. We are indebted to you for noticing it. What do you know of this Feydeau woman? Maria tells me she is being watched from the French headquarters.”

  “That is true. No special attention has been paid her till the present, but she is known to be partial to the Bonapartist cause. Her whole family were supporters. Her father, one of the Olde Garde, her brother killed at Moscow, and a fiancé, I believe, took part in the last campaign. It seems, from what I hear, that she has somehow got hold of the King’s collection of diamonds, stolen at the time of the Revolution, and is selling them off in bits and pieces.”

  “How should she have got this collection?” Kruger asked.

  “It is pretty widely accepted in France they had come into Bonaparte’s hands. Her father was in his confidence. She tells some story of Napoleon giving a jewel here and there to his loyal supporters. I do not believe he would have the poor judgment to disperse the crown jewels of France. He gave them to old Feydeau for safekeeping, I expect. With the Emperor abdicated, she sells them for her own profit. An adventuress.”

  Maria looked and said nothing. Kruger it was who said, “If she is pro-Napoleon, as you say, then she is more likely selling them for him.”

  “This is possible,” Chabon admitted. “I would appre­ciate it if you said nothing about this matter, however. Prince Talleyrand is most anxious that the story not get about. Many nations are only tentatively committed to the return of the Bourbons, you understand. Any sugges­tion that Napoleon is not finished would make negotia­tions impossible for him.”

  “It seems to me, Monsieur, that a young lady who sits on the crown jewels of France would have to be extremely stupid indeed to make her first sale a forgery. Who will buy from her again?”

  “Her first sale was not a fake. It was the star ruby, purchased by Lord Palgrave.”

  “Well, the second then. Little difference.”

  “An excess of greed might account for it,” Chabon thought.

  “You mentioned calling on Eynard, Papa,” Maria re­minded him. “I suggest you call on Baron Hager first, and take a search warrant with you. You may very well find the genuine original diamonds in his safe.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Chabon conceded. “You are mistaken, Miss Kruger, but it will prove Eynard’s innocence.”

  “Let’s go,” Kruger said, and called for his cape. “I have been meaning to congratulate you on that piece of detec­tion, Monsieur Chabon. How do you come to have such a knowledge of gemstones and diamonds? I count myself something of an expert, but I could not have been certain, just at a glance.”

  “I had my suspicions alerted when your daughter told me of her errand. That’s all. My family have long been active in the field of jewels. You must have heard of the case some years ago of the pink diamond in the crown jewels of Russia that was passing for a rare ruby red one? It was my father who discovered the hoax—the foil dyed red that was used behind the diamond in the setting. Not very popular with the Tsar when he discovered it,” Chabon laughed.

  “Know anything at all about jade?” Kruger asked, smil­ing at the man with a kinder eye than he had hitherto cast on him.

  "A little something.”

  “Well, let us be off then.”

  “Don’t forget to take Hager with you!” Maria reminded them.

  “Let us pander to her whim,” Chabon said, with a fond smile at Maria.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  The streets of Vienna were always crowded, with the vis­itors from all the western countries come to work and make merry. Even at this hour of the night one’s carriage was held up at every intersection. The luxurious equipages of the visiting dignitaries, rushing happily from one party to another, vied for road space with the more simple gigs of the local inhabitants. There were pedestrians aplenty, and, several mounted riders. The rich carriages accom­panied by soldiers or livened postboys alerted onlookers to the possibility of a crowned head within. “Where is Eynard’s place?” Chabon asked.

  “Two blocks farther along. We’ll pass it to get to Hager’s headquarters. The Baron won’t be there himself, but we’ll take along a minion of the law to lend us authority. Not that it is necessary. He is above suspicion, Eynard. I have known him from the cradle.”

  After another ten minutes of careful driving, Kruger’s carriage turned off into a side street. "That’s Eynard’s shop there,” he said to Chabon. “Seems to be something going on. Those are the uniforms of the Austrian police.”

  “Maybe we should stop,” Chabon suggested.

  “That’s Hager himself,” Kruger exclaimed, pulling the check string to have his carriage stopped. He leapt out, with Chabon following closely at his heels. “What’s afoot here, Hager?” he asked.

  “Murder, my friend. The first of the Congress. We prided ourselves on the peacefulness we have contrived till the present. Not a robbery of note, not a murder—nothing but rumors of disaster. It is old Eynard, the jeweler, who got it. Shot in the back, just as he was about to enter his shop. A very stupid murder it was. The thief would have done better to allow him to first enter his shop, open his safe, and then shoot him after taking the loot. This was a senseless business. Nothing stolen. The shot was heard—a neighbor came running out, and the mur­derer-thief took to his heels, without even having time to rifle Eynard’s pockets. The work of an amateur obviously, or a drunkard.”

  “When did it happen?” Chabon asked.

  “Three-quarters of an hour ago.”

  “Who was the neighbor who saw the murder?”

  “Ruysek, the lace seller next door. He has no descrip­tion. A man in a dark coat. A gentleman he thinks. That leaves me only a hundred thousand or so suspects. This will be an unsolved case, I fear.”

  “I would like to speak t
o you in private, Baron Hager,” Kruger said. “Can we go into the shop? I may have some light to shed on this matter.”

  “I hope it is not political. Metternich will be down my throat, making me arrest someone for the looks of it.”

  “Quasi-political,” Kruger said apologetically, as he fol­lowed Hager into the shop. In approximately forty-five minutes, the three gentlemen came out.

  “The diamond earrings were not there. Not in Eynard’s pockets, not hidden in any of the drawers nor in his safe. There was no evidence of chicanery. No unusually large sums of money. Just the pieces of jewelry he was working on, each carefully noted in his books. Well, Eynard has no reputation for double-dealing. This was a senseless murder by some fellow who hoped to steal a fistful of diamonds,” Baron Hager said.

  “So it seems. Thank you for your trouble. Guten nacht,” Kruger said, and he left with Chabon.

  “Back to Mademoiselle Feydeau,” Kruger said in a thoughtful voice.

  “She is more dangerous than I had thought,” Chabon replied.

  “What—you think she had something to do with Eyn­ard’s murder?”

  “Who else? No man would be foolish enough to shoot him in the back, as he stood on the street. A thief would have managed it more adroitly. This was assassination, Herr Kruger. Nothing to do with theft. I did not mention it to Hager, wishing to keep the French out of it, but certainly Eynard was killed by Mademoiselle. She hired someone, that is, for of course she had not time to pull the trigger herself.”

  “Why should she do that? She accuses him of theft. His removal with no trace of the diamonds leaves only her­self.”

  “There has to be a good deal more to it than that.”

  “I’m afraid you have lost me along the way, Chabon. What are you getting at?”

  “Just this. Mademoiselle was one of very few who knew where Eynard was to be. She knew she had substituted fake diamonds—knew he would be called to authenticate them, so had a man put on duty to watch him.”

  “But why kill him after he spots the forgery. On the way in to Poronovitch’s house possibly, but after he had left? The horse had already bolted. Why bother to lock the door?”

  “To conceal further announcements from Eynard, per­haps. This is a much larger enterprise than you know. She does not work alone. It would not surprise me at all if the entire pro-Napoleon faction in the city is in on it. It is my belief, in short, that she had Eynard make replicas of the entire collection of crown jewels, even including the fab­ulous Blue Tavernier diamond, and has executed him to prevent his telling it. The man is discreet almost to a fault. You know that yourself. He was obliged to admit to the making of the replicas of the diamond earrings, but there was no reason to speak of other duplicates yet. With luck she could have palmed off any number of them. How many people can spot a forgery as good as Eynard makes, Herr Kruger? You—myself, a handful of experts. Set a good white sapphire or zircon in a good mounting, and it will fool ninety-nine out of a hundred. At such a time as this, with deals made at a back door, people thinking they get a great bargain—pooh! It was mere chance that Made­moiselle got caught out in her maiden attempt.”

  “I can’t believe that slip of a girl is so deeply into crime. She is hardly more than a child—Maria’s age.”

  “She is twenty-four, and has been on the streets since she was fourteen. She is as clever and vicious a woman as you would hope to find. She has killed once. Cross her, and she would put a knife or a bullet in your back as quick as she would wink.”

  “I must get her out of my house!” Kruger said at once, his mind flashing to Maria.

  “You think of your daughter. Certainly you must keep her away from Mademoiselle, but as to asking her to move . . . I wish you would not. As a favor to me—the French. It is convenient for us to have her where we can put a finger on her. Watch her, see who she communicates with. If she leaves, God knows where she will go, or if we will be able to find her.”

  “Can you not have her arrested at once?” Kruger asked.

  “That would give her a warning. She did not with her own little white hands shoot Eynard. She has an alibi—it could hardly be better, as she was with yourself and your daughter. There is no evidence to hold her yet. Let us give her rope, and hope she proceeds to hang herself. And along the way, she will lead us to the whole group who work to overthrow Louis, King of France.”

  Kruger sat in the darkness of the carriage, considering the position he was being pushed into. Having some dip­lomatic training, he realized he was being manipulated. Why should he, an innocent citizen, be asked to house a criminal? But still, at this particular time in history, with Austria and France in an alliance of sorts, his refusal would appear an unfriendly act. It would displease Met­ternich, and it was coming dreadfully to look as though that gentleman’s good graces would be required to find him a position—a Hofrat for example, would give some salary without too much expenditure of time. Money—a sordid, commercial, crass thing, was required to live. One could marry it (in the person of Countess von Rossner), or one could earn it. He was not at all sure which was the lesser of the two evils. After a longish silence, he spoke.

  “My daughter feels that Mademoiselle did not exchange the earrings. She is quite certain she carried the diamonds when she left the house.”

  “If Mademoiselle did not exchange them, who did? I had access to her reticule, Countess von Rossner had, Miss Uzell perhaps, and Count Rechberg. Rechberg is short of funds. You have heard this rumor?”

  “No man whose father is alive is ever rich, Monsieur. Rechberg has good expectations.”

  “I know that very well, but the fact is, he is in debt over his head,” Chabon insisted.

  “The fact is also true that whoever palmed those for­geries off on my daughter was in on the affair from the beginning. Rechberg would not be likely to have a dupli­cate pair of earrings in his pocket, unless he worked with Mademoiselle Feydeau.”

  “I realize the full implications of what I say, Herr Kruger."

  “I have known him forever—grew up with his father.”

  “You did not allow him to marry your daughter.”

  “I disallow it? Nothing of the sort. We discussed dowry, settlements—business, and mutually agreed it was not a suitable match at this time. That is all.”

  “You also are short of funds, Herr Kruger? I would not have guessed it from your style of life.”

  “If your eye is as good as your latest performance would indicate, Chabon, you would realize that my daughter’s diamonds are also baked zircons. My Rembrandt is a Kruger, painted with my own hands and baked in an oven, like the zircons, to give it the patina of age. I am very short of funds, but I did not try to cheat my friend, the Countess Poronovitch, nor did Count Rechberg. You push civility too far to imply anything of the sort."

  “I did not imply you were involved, Sir. The likeliest explanation is that Feydeau made the substitution herself when Maria’s back was turned. I do not believe you are involved, despite Talleyrand’s insinuations about your taking Mademoiselle into your house . . ."

  “He said that! He dared to suggest such a thing!” Kruger shouted.

  “Only in the greatest privacy. It does look odd, how­ever.”

  “This comes to sound remarkably like blackmail, Sir. I keep the trollop in my house, or stand accused of being her dupe, or accomplice.”

  “No, no, it is diplomatic cooperation. You help us catch Mademoiselle, and we help you replace your daughter’s zircons with the original diamonds.”

  “Hah, now you become interesting, Monsieur,” he said, his voice thawing. “How much . . ."

  “That depends on the degree of success we achieve. I have taken the trouble to look in the archives of France to discover this fact. In 1793 the French National Con­vention decreed that one-twentieth part of all found trea­sures turned over to France would be rewarded to the finder. This related in particular to the gems stolen from the Garde Meuble. That reward has not been rescinded. If w
e recapture the lot, there would be a reward of two hundred thousand pounds, at a modest estimate. One hundred thousand pounds each. Not a bad month’s rent, hein, Herr Kruger?”

  “A man likes to do his duty,” Kruger replied in a self-justifying voice, then laughed. “As to Rechberg having anything to do with it . . ."

  “My own belief is that his occasional calls on Feydeau have to do with lovemaking. I don’t see why she would involve him.”

  “He has been there!”

  “Oh yes, twice. But he would be aware of her presence through Maria of course, and is only enjoying a little dal­liance I expect.”

  “That is entirely possible,” Kruger nodded, neither shocked nor offended, but only sorry that Rechberg had succeeded where he had failed.

  When the carriage pulled up in front of Kruger’s house, two smiling faces emerged. “We will drink to this,” Kruger said.

  “Another time. I have to make my report. You under­stand.”

  “But of course. You must tell Prince Talleyrand de Périgord I am delighted to do my bit for la belle France.”

  “About Talleyrand . . ." Chabon said, rather reluctantly. “He is not wholly aware what is afoot here. He has heard of Feydeau and the Star of Burma, of course. He does not actually know that Feydeau has the entire collection. Of­ficially he does not wish to know. I expect it was himself who led Bonaparte to it, you see, and he is not at all eager for the subject to arise. This suits me very well, as it is one less to share the reward money. He is so wily, there is no trusting him.”

  “Hmm,” Kruger said, nodding. “Yes, he was once a sup­porter of Bonaparte. That is very true. We say nothing to him then. It is a good idea.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Chabon said, laying his finger to his lips. Then he bowed and left, walking down the street.