The Blue Diamond (13 page)

“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 we 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.

Herr Kruger stood looking after him, his head reeling with splendid thoughts. Then he turned around and began whistling the new waltz everyone was playing. He waltzed to the bottom of the steps, then performed a most unusual act. He peered about him to ensure privacy, then lifted his two hundred pound bulk into the air and clicked his heels together. “A hundred thousand pounds!” he laughed softly, rubbing his hands in glee. “I’m rich!”

Chapter Thirteen

Maria waited on thorns for her father’s return. She foresaw dreadful consequences of this night’s work—even an appearance in court was not impossible, to convict Eynard. She was unhappy with her own folly in acting as Mademoiselle’s messenger on such an errand, and knew her father would be furious with her. Imbroglios of this sort did a girl’s reputation no good.

When her father entered, smiling broadly and calling her his “little imp,” her heart soared with relief. It was all a mistake then. Eynard had accidentally taken the wrong earrings back to the shop. Really it had been hard to think Eynard a thief. “What happened? What did he say?” she asked.

“Say? Who?” her father asked, still smiling from ear to ear.

“Eynard, of course. What did he say about the diamonds?

“Nothing. He was dead—murdered.” That took the smile from his face, but still there was no evidence of worry, or sorrow either.

“Murdered! Papa, what can it mean? Who did it?” she asked, nonplussed.

He hunched his shoulders. “A drunkard, Hager thinks. A senseless killing, with nothing stolen.”

“Were the diamond earrings found?”

“No, not a trace. He didn’t have them.”

“What is our position then?” she asked, confusion increasing with every speech.

Kruger rubbed his hands merrily and laughed, an exultant warble of sheer good humor. “As to that, I don’t think there is any need to repay Mademoiselle. Chabon does not think it necessary.”

“She gave me the diamonds, and got back zircons—we must repay her, Papa,” Maria replied, shocked at her father’s scandalous suggestion. “You said you would. She is not well off—she needs the money.”

“Well, we shall see,” he parried, but from long familiarity, Maria knew he had no intention of doing what he ought. “I don’t want you to see the woman again, Maria. She is not at all the sort of person you should have anything to do with.”

“What is it you aren’t telling me?” she demanded.

“It has come to my attention that Mademoiselle Feydeau is a renowned thief and rascal, well known as such in France."

“Did Hager tell you so?”

“Hager, how should he know? Chabon told me. I think we shall include Chabon in our
petit souper
this week, my dear. Send him a card. He can replace Moncrief. These Englishmen are demmed dull company when it comes down to it.”

She was curious as to why this change was to be made. Moncrief was much more eligible—indeed till this very evening her father had always spoken against Chabon. Her queries only sent him into a pucker, without her learning a thing.

It was not necessary to await the
petit souper
to see Chabon again. He came to call the next morning, asking for her father, but as he was out, she saw him herself, to see what she could learn from him. Papa was certainly hiding something. She knew he often concealed life’s unpleasantness from her, or tried to. This was the first occasion on which he seemed to be hiding good news. Chabon, when she quizzed him, was equally secretive.

“It is not for you to worry your head, Miss Kruger. You were used by the woman. That is all you need to know. Do not feel guilty, but rather be grateful the trick was discovered, or there might be some feeling your father should pay for the earrings.”

“I do feel that restitution should be made to Mademoiselle.”

“You are overly solicitous on her behalf. It is not to be thought of.”

“But what if she is innocent? To have lost such a sum—and it is not even her own money.”

“Very true. The jewels were stolen to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

“That she is very dangerous. You must avoid her in future.”

“If she were dangerous, Papa would not let her stay on with us.”

“That was my doing, and it will also be my concern to see she does not harm you. Now, enough of this unpleasant business. Where do we waltz this evening?”

“I’m afraid I will not be seeing you this evening, Monsieur. Countess von Rossner is having us to dinner and a party.” It did not need to be stated that Chabon would not be amongst the Countess’s carefully selected guests.

“You must give me an hour this afternoon then,” he pleaded, smiling a winsome, adoring smile.

“Half an hour this morning is all I can spare,” she answered, wondering why she told this lie. She had her afternoon free, but a plan was forming that would displease Chabon, and more especially her father. She must speak to Mademoiselle. She did not for one moment believe these stories about the woman. She knew she had not substituted the false diamonds—had seen with her own eyes those Eynard authenticated being handed directly over to herself.

Chabon was gallant and amusing, but his gallantries did not please, and his amusing speeches did not much amuse. The half hour seemed much longer, till finally he was gone.