James Chase - You Have Yourself a Deal

He locked the file away. The time was 12.30 p.m. He would see Yew that afternoon. Ginny should be back at any moment. Erica had been on her own for more than two hours. A little reluctantly, Girland went upstairs, tapped on her door and entered.

Erica, still sitting by the window, turned and smiled at him.

“Have you finished work, Mark?” she asked, holding out her hand to him.

“For the moment.” He came over and kissed her fingers. “But I have to go out this afternoon. Have you been bored?”

“No, I have been thinking.” There was a pause, then she asked, “Mark... have we been in Paris lately?”

“Yes. We have just come from Paris. Why do you ask?”

“My mind is walking through clouds. Sometimes the clouds get thinner and then I can see where I am walking. Do you understand?”

“Of course. Do you remember Paris?”

“I remembered I stayed at a hotel. You weren’t with me.”

“What was the hotel?”

She didn’t hesitate as she said, “Hotel Astorg.”

“Your clothes are missing. They could be at the hotel. I had better telephone them.”

She frowned.

“What happened in Paris?”

“I don’t know. We were staying at George V. I went out on business, when I returned you had gone with your luggage.”

“Do you think I was planning to run away from you?”

Girland smiled.

“I don’t think so. You probably woke up after I had gone, found you had lost your memory, got frightened and walked out.”

She shook her head helplessly.

“I suppose so. Would you telephone the hotel? I would like to have my things.”

“I’ll do it now. Nurse Roche is in Nice at the moment getting you something to wear. I’ll be right back.”

Downstairs, he put a call through to Dorey. When Dorey came on the line, Girland said, “She stayed at the Astorg Hotel. She could have left her luggage there.”

“So she’s beginning to talk?”

“Looks like it.”

“Has she come out with anything else?”

Girland thought of the Black Grape. He hesitated, then said, “Not so far.”

“I’ll get O’Halloran to check the hotel. All right at your end?”

Thinking of the service he was getting, Girland said, “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t want complications with you and this woman or with the nurse. Do you understand?”

“I get the drift,” Girland said and grinned. “Any news of Malik?”

“No, but he hasn’t gone south.”

“Where is he then?”

“I don’t know. For the moment we have lost track of him, but I am satisfied he hasn’t gone south.”

“You and who else?” Girland asked mockingly. “If you have lost track of him, then it’s a safe bet he is right here,” and he hung up.

He went out onto the terrace, watched by Jo-Jo in his hide-out on the mountainside, walked down the steps and talked to Sergeant O’Leary. He warned O’Leary that Malik might be preparing for an attack. O’Leary said everything was under control and that trouble was his business. Girland regarded him thoughtfully, resisted a sarcastic retort and as he began to return to the villa, Ginny with Diallo came driving through the gateway.

Ginny was wearing a big sun hat that hid her face and her hair and Jo-Jo, staring through the telescopic sight wondered if she was Erica Olsen or some visitor. He mustn’t make a mistake, he told himself. He had been told that Erica was tall and blonde. He had plenty of time. He would only have one shot.

While Diallo was preparing a quick lunch, Girland and Ginny went up to Erica’s room.

“Here’s Nurse Roche,” Girland said. “She has some clothes for you. I called the hotel. They will be calling back.”

“Thank you, Mark.” Erica got to her feet. Girland’s expression of admiration as he looked at her was not lost on Ginny who began to unpack the suitcase she had with her.

An hour later, Girland drove into Monte Carlo. Parking the car with some difficulty, he walked briskly along Boulevard des Moulins and entered Jacques Yew’s shop.

Yew was sitting at an ornate desk examining a piece of jade he was planning to sell to a rich American tourist staying at the Hotel de Paris. He was a small, thin, effeminate looking man with sandy hair and artistic features. He stared for a moment as Girland came to rest at his desk, then recognising him, he jumped to his feet, his face lighting up with a genuine smile of welcome.

“My dear boy! How good it is to see you again!” He offered a small limp hand. “Sit down. What are you doing in this ghastly little village?”

“On vacation. How are you, Jacques?”

Yew grimaced, then shrugged.

“So... so. Business is bad and that always depresses me. There is no real money about these days. And how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Girland paused to light a cigarette, then went on, “Can I ask you a question without you asking me one?”

Yew looked bewildered.

“What an odd request. Yes, of course. What is the question?”

“Have you ever heard of the Black Grape pearl?”

Yew’s small eyes opened wide.

“Well, of course. It belongs to the Kung family and at the moment it is in Pekin. What...?”

“Remember? No questions, Jacques. Tell me about it.”

“Well, it is, of course, utterly unique. It belonged to Shi Huang-ti who you may know built the Great Wall. It was supposed to have been found by a fisherman in an oyster bed off the Persian Gulf. This was around the 3rd Century B.C. It isn’t known how it got into the Kung family’s hands. Around 1887 the present Kung’s father compiled an illustrated catalogue of his treasures and this was the first time dealers and collectors knew the Black Grape was in the Kung’s collection.” He got to his feet and walked over to a bookcase crammed with Art books. “I have a copy of the catalogue somewhere.” He searched for a moment, then pulled out a heavy volume bound in white vellum and brought it to the desk. He flicked through the pages, then turned the book to face Girland. “Here’s a photograph of the pearl. It is absolutely unique.”

Girland studied the photograph. It showed a jet black pearl, the size of a large grape, resting on the back of a Chinese dragon carved in gold.

“I had no idea a real black pearl existed,” Girland said, studying the photograph.

“There are lots of so-called black pearls, although in fact they are grey. This is the only real black pearl. There is a theory for what it is worth that the oyster became impregnated by the ink from an octopus. Just a theory, but an interesting one. The dragon is also a beautiful piece.” Yew put the book away, then turned and regarded Girland. “I must say, my dear boy, your interest in this pearl raises my curiosity.”

“What’s it worth?” Girland asked, tapping ash into the silver ashtray on Yew’s desk.

“Worth?” Yew smiled wistfully. “You couldn’t put a price to it. If it came up for auction, the collectors of the world would scramble for it. I doubt if enough money exists these days to buy it.”

“But suppose Kung wanted to sell?” Girland asked. “Suppose he was short of cash. What could you sell it for?”

Yew shook his head.

“I wouldn’t attempt to sell it. It is much too important a piece. It should go to Christies for the world to bid for it.”

“But suppose this had to be an undercover deal? Suppose Kung didn’t want his government to know about the sale. Do you know a collector who would buy it?”

Yew regarded Girland thoughtfully, his eyes suddenly hooded.

“Yes, I know three or four collectors who would buy it.”

“What kind of price?”

Yew shrugged.

“That’s not easy. I would try for three million dollars.”