Brett Halliday: Blood on the Stars

Walter Voorland had been designed by nature for the position he held as manager of the most exclusive and expensive jewelry shop in the most exclusive and expensive resort center in the United States. He carried his well-fleshed body with an air of dignified respectability which held none of the subservience of the common shopkeeper, yet with no trace of the insolent hauteur too often found in such an establishment. He was a big-boned man, wearing a conservative brown business suit, a soft white shirt and a subdued flowered cravat. His head was completely bald and pink, and his ruddy face glowed with health and intelligence. His heavy brows were bleached a light tan by the Miami sun, and his gaze was direct and pleasant and friendly. He had a firm handclasp for Mark Dustin, and his voice was strong and warm with only a faint touch of his native Holland accent sounding through the cultivated tones:

“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and will be happy to be of service to you if I may.”

“My name is Dustin,” Mark told him. He had risen to greet the manager. “Mark Dustin, from Colorado,” he added, “and this is Mrs. Dustin.”

Voorland bowed stiffly from the waist as he took Celia’s hand. “Delighted,” he said in a tone which made them believe he was, indeed, delighted. “I am at your service.” He drew up a chair to the opposite side of the table and lowered his solid bulk into it, planting his feet together in front of him and placing the palms of his hands on his knees.

“We were told,” said Mark, “that your store carries the finest stock of good jewelry in Greater Miami. That’s why we came here.”

Mr. Voorland said, “Naturally.”

Dustin spread out his hands in a half-humorous gesture. “I had rubies in mind. Perhaps a bracelet. But your clerk brought only one cheap one for us to look at.”

“Rubies?” Voorland studied Celia intently, nodding his bald head. “Perfect. With your hair, Mrs. Dustin-and your exquisite complexion. Rubies, definitely. Are you a connoisseur, Mr. Dustin?”

“Not a bit of it.” Dustin laughed. “I’m just in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and this is our anniversary and I’m looking for something very special to celebrate the occasion.”

Voorland lifted his right hand from his knee and reached inside his coat to get a pack of chewing gum from his shirt pocket. It was a new pack, and he carefully peeled the cellophane off one end, pulled two of the sticks out and offered them in turn to Celia and Mark Dustin. When they declined, he gravely slid one stick from its paper and thrust it in his mouth. His attitude was one of contemplative devotion. He had big jaws, and he munched the small piece of gum a moment before settling back contentedly.

“My only major vice,” he confided. “I find that I think better and more clearly while chewing gum. It was very trying for me during the war when gum was so scarce.”

Neither of them said anything while he munched meditatively. Mark was beginning to look bored, and Celia was losing some of her bright expectancy in disgust and irritation at his smacking.

Presently Voorland said, “Precious gems are my vocation and my avocation, Mr. Dustin. They are my life. I know them all, have studied them all, from the far places whence they come through the great markets and cutting centers of the world. It is curious that you should come to me for rubies. Or, perhaps it is not curious at all. Perhaps you came to me because you have heard I am the greatest authority in the world on rubies.” He rolled up the rumpled lids of his deepset eyes and looked at them inquiringly.

Dustin shook his head. “We just happened to drop in,” he said with a touch of asperity. “If that dinky bracelet your man showed us is the best-”

“I am about to tell you about rubies, Mr. Dustin,” Voorland interrupted, holding up a smooth beefy hand to silence him. “Rubies are the most royal of gems. Diamonds? Bah! Cold and glittering on the surface. Emeralds? They have color and brilliance, but without warmth or vitality. Green is an unpleasant color. It betokens jealousy and hatred. A dangerous color. The sapphire? Better-yes. One could stand to make friends with a true blue sapphire and live with it. It has brilliance and depth and a certain warmth. But the ruby?” His voice changed like that of a lover whose beloved suddenly appears on the scene. He munched his gum noisily, smacking his lips while a beatific expression spread over his heavy features like that of a dipsomaniac contemplating his first drink after a sodden week-end.

“The ruby is alive,” he continued, shifting his eyes from Celia to Mark. “Caught within its depths are the fires of passion, the red glow of eternal desire, the crimson hue of the rising sun. There is a strength and a fierceness and a clean burning fury in the blood-red flames that mark the true, perfect ruby. Formed by nature in the roaring cauldrons of hell itself.”

“All right, Mr. Voorland,” Dustin interrupted, “you don’t have to sell me on rubies. I’m here to buy some. If you haven’t anything in stock, we’ll go along.”

Voorland sighed deeply. He skinned another piece of gum and put it between his jaws and munched ruminatively for a moment, then said, “I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, Mr. Dustin. The true ruby is far more rare than any other stone. There are no Cullinans, no Kohinoors. Two of the largest known to history are those belonging to the King of Bishenpur in India. Fifty four and three-quarter, and seventeen and one-half carats, both of which are priceless. The bracelet you were shown is a beautiful example of selection and design.

“Each stone is perfect and uniform, the result of years of tireless seeking among the great markets of the world. The price you were asked-”

“That may all be true,” Dustin interrupted him with a careless gesture, “but it doesn’t look like much. Nobody except an expert will glance at it twice. I want Celia to have something that will make people sit up and take notice.”

Voorland sighed and got unwillingly to his feet. “I am a poor salesman,” he said apologetically. “No businessman should traffic in articles that are close to his heart. I have what you want. I hesitate to show it to you for fear you will buy it.” He smiled shamefacedly, like a small boy who had hidden a friend’s toy and was forced to admit his guilt by producing it. “I will be but a moment.” He turned away, munching his gum.

“Poor man,” said Celia. “The way he feels about rubies is the way-”

“The way what?” asked Mark, the impish curls standing up and his mouth quirked at the corners.

“Well-the way a dog-lover is about running a pet shop,” she said. “They want to keep every damned puppy that comes in.”

“He acts like a nut,” said Mark disgustedly. “How can he make any money in this business if he doesn’t want to show his stock to a customer.”

Celia wanted rubies now, above all other gems. They were her stones. They were like her love for Mark. She said, quietly, “I think he’s pathetic.”

“He’s probably honest,” Mark admitted. “The way he’s hipped on rubies I don’t think he’d gyp a man on the price. That’s one good thing about dealing with a man who tries to mix an artistic temperament with the profit motive,” he added, lowering his voice as Mr. Voorland once more approached them.

The proprietor carried a square, hand-tooled leather gem casket between his two hands, holding it carefully as though it were a tray of over-full cocktail glasses. He set it down on the table and stood for a moment looking down at the closed case while he absently popped another stick of gum into his mouth.

He then seated himself and leaned forward to press a small golden knob on the front of the leather case. The top sprang up at the touch, and a round linked bracelet of beautifully filigreed platinum was revealed against a background of blue velvet.