The Paternoster Ruby Part 4

He paled, but met my level look steadily enough.

As I have already said, he was a good-looking chap, dark of hair, his eyes gray, and he possessed an honest, open countenance that stood a whole lot in his favor. He was tall, with a well-knit, athletic figure that made me fancy he had been an heroic member of his university football team.

But I have known just such men--steady, upright and governed by high standards of conduct--to become in the twinkling of an eye red-handed a.s.sa.s.sins.

Your man of lofty ideas and honor, in truth, is the more deeply sensible of injury and sometimes the easiest incensed. He is the more keenly hurt when his most sacred feelings are suddenly outraged.

Finish off his equipment with a hot, pa.s.sionate temper, and his resentment is likely to strike as blindly and as effectively as a bolt from a surcharged thunder-cloud. It is the motive that either palliates or makes the crime. A moment's previous reflection often stays the hand from a deed which a lifetime of after regret can not recall.

I could a.s.sociate these possibilities with Maillot, and yet extend to him my sympathy; for controlling impulses are infinitely various and sometimes not to be held to account.

And so, too, could I have done with Burke, if he had betrayed one trait of a nature to inspire sympathy or engage my goodwill. Still, I meant not to be in the least influenced by my own feelings in the matter, nor do I now believe that I was; I determined to be as just and impartial as possible. Bear in mind that, as yet, I had been given no hint of possible motive.

After a bit Maillot said very soberly:

"The possibility of such a thing never for instant occurred to me; but--Swift--I suppose must meet it somehow."

"You 're beginning excellently," I returned sincerely. "That's the way to look at a thing of this kind. If you 'll not forget that I 'm inclined to be kindly disposed toward you, why, I dare say we can, between us, clear up whatever mystery there is in one-two-three order.

"For example, why you came here last night--your business with Mr.

Page--when you tell me that perhaps--"

I stopped. Maillot's face had suddenly become a mirror of consternation.

"Good G.o.d, Swift!" he gasped, recoiling, "I--I can't do that!"

I promptly grew grave. And then, from the head of the stairs, came the slow, colorless voice of Alexander Burke.

"How about the Paternoster ruby, Mr. Maillot?" inquired he.

Maillot's hands closed spasmodically; his teeth clicked together; and he slewed round like a released spring.

Next instant, had it not been for the intervening stairs and Stodger's and my quick interposition of our bodies between the two men, matters certainly would have gone hard with the private secretary. Maillot's temper was like gunpowder; the quiet question seemed to sting him to an unreasonable fury.

"You--you spy! You dirty sneak!" he snarled viciously.

CHAPTER IV

THE RUBY

Unless I wanted affairs to get away from me entirely, it was high time to a.s.sume complete control of them, and immediately to abandon all temporizing measures.

I turned Maillot about without ceremony.

"Go with this man to the library, Stodger," I peremptorily directed.

"Burke, you come with me."

In the next ten seconds I had the big library table between the two, Burke impa.s.sive, while Maillot glared at him savagely. I wanted to give them time to cool--Maillot, at any rate; so I took advantage of the opportunity to scribble a note to the Captain, hinting at the complications promised by Felix Page's death, and requesting that I be permitted to retain Stodger as an a.s.sistant--for I liked the stout, cheerful man who was willing and quick to act upon no more than a hint, and at the same time not disposed to interfere at all with my own modes of procedure. This message I gave to him, requesting that he entrust it to either Callahan or O'Brien for delivery. "Tell 'em to clear out," I added; "I have no use for them here."

Then I thrust my hands into my coat pockets, and fell to pacing the floor while I reflected. That is to say, I reflected after I had secured a good, firm grasp upon the thoughts which skurried helter-skelter, like a flushed covey of quail, through my brain.

_The Paternoster ruby!_

Here was the very thing I had tried so futilely to recall when the Captain first mentioned Felix Page's death!

Like a flash, the phrase had opened up to me an illimitable vista of possibilities. I went over in mind all that I had ever heard of this famous gem, and wondered--indeed, to tell only the bare truth--I thrilled with the very idea: could it have had any part or place in the financier's death?

_The Paternoster ruby!_

Those three words were an illumination; memory was flooded; and I glowed with a satisfaction that, in accordance with my custom in such matters, I had collected and preserved every available sc.r.a.p of information which had in any way to do with this same Paternoster ruby.

And right here some of that data must be presented.

First of all, this magnificent gem's known history hinted at no religious a.s.sociation whatever, as its name might seem to imply. In more than one journal I have seen it seriously affirmed that at one time it was a property of that celebrated pope, Alexander VI, Rodrigo Borgia, father of Caesar and Lucrezia--thus investing it with an antiquity and romance which the facts did not warrant.

But, after all, am I not premature in making this last a.s.sertion?

Perhaps it will appear before we are through.

The gem first became known to the world and acquired its name through one Luca Paternostro, an Italian dealer in precious stones having his place of business in London, who claimed to have purchased it in the rough from some adventurer whose name is unknown to history. This occurred in the early '80's.

Subsequently it was carefully cut in Amsterdam, a paste replica made for purposes of display in the course of trade, and then added to Paternostro's stock--perhaps not because he expected to dispose of it to the first chance customer, but rather by reason of the prestige which the ownership of so superb a jewel would give him; it was an excellent advertis.e.m.e.nt.

On the fourth night after he received the cut ruby from the Dutch lapidaries, Paternostro was murdered and the gem stolen from his apartments in Hatton Gardens.

Of course, a stone so celebrated was easy to identify; not alone by means of the paste replica and an accurate preserved description, but its extraordinary and distinguishing features--to say nothing of its value--were not likely to be forgotten by experts who had seen and handled it.

And so, when it appeared in Paris a few months later, Paternostro's heirs and successors in the gem-importing business were promptly on hand to claim their property; an enterprise in which they succeeded after the determination of some legal complications; and the Paternostros started with the ruby on the return to London.

Incidentally, the a.s.sa.s.sin and thief--an Oriental of undetermined nationality--was also apprehended and, the red-tape of extradition having been gravely untangled, conveyed to England and duly hanged.

Ill-luck, however, followed the ruby. On the boat over from Calais to Dover a confidential employee of the gem merchants, who had accompanied them to Paris, was lost overboard while the vessel was entering the home port. Although this man was known to be an expert swimmer--notwithstanding the attempts at rescue, the proximity of land and the numerous craft of all sorts in the vicinity--a strange fatality seems to have carried him straight to the bottom. After the man vanished beneath the waves, no sign of him was seen again.

In the following year no less than four attempts were made to steal the stone from the Paternostros; but as they had learned caution from their unfortunate predecessor's death--to the extent, at least, of keeping such treasure in bank--these attempts were abortive.

Later several tentative overtures on the part of one of Europe's richest monarchs toward the purchase of the Paternoster ruby came to naught; the price set upon it by the Paternostros was prohibitive; and gradually it came to be forgotten by the public, until the year '84, when interest concerning it was again revived, this time to fever heat.

And now we have Alfred Fluette and Felix Page arrayed against each other once more. Everybody, of course, still remembers the sudden rivalry between these two American citizens, which sprang up in June of that year, for the gem's possession. The complexity of causes which simultaneously inspired them with an inordinate desire for the Paternoster ruby--a desire which seemingly could be appeased only by possession, regardless of cost--was much of a mystery, and afforded the energetic correspondents a fruitful text for many a day. Both, as is well known, had unlimited means with which to indulge their sudden whim; where kings and princes resigned themselves to the melancholy fact that the gem was not for them, these two men battled for it with an unlicensed tendering of fortunes that amazed the world; and one may easily imagine the sleepless anxiety of the Paternostros, as first one and then the other of the millionaires ran up his bid with true American prodigality.

Only--and this the mystifying feature of the episode--Felix Page could never honestly be accused of prodigality in any circ.u.mstances. He secured the ruby--at a fabulous price; but in the operation he made at least one bitter, implacable enemy. Alfred Fluette returned to the United States, smarting with the stings of defeat, and pledged to a commercial warfare on the successful millionaire speculator. It waged merrily thenceforward.

Why did Felix Page want the Paternoster ruby? It was impossible even to surmise a tenable theory. His parsimony was notorious; he was a bachelor without known kith or kin, and had never before been known to evince the slightest interest in precious stones.

On the other hand, Mr. Fluette was not only a collector of gems, but his collection was and still is one of the most famous in the world.

Perhaps Page was willing to sacrifice a fortune merely to thwart a rival's ambition; perhaps he was only satisfying some old grudge about which the world knew nothing--it was all speculation, and speculation of a most unsatisfying sort, too. He got the stone, at any rate; and here we have another instance of the man's peculiar disposition.

Whatever he did with the ruby n.o.body knew. There were many connoisseurs and jewelers on this side of the water who were naturally curious to see a gem of such renown; but with characteristic selfishness the new owner refused one and all, not only a glimpse of his costly prize, but would not even impart any information about it.

His was a dog-in-the-manger att.i.tude; with no appreciation whatever of his possession, he refused bluntly to allow anybody else to enjoy it.