Lawrence Block - The Burglar in the Rye

“Didn’t you say five thousand?”

“That was John’s original idea, but he’d agreed I could go as high as ten if I had to. I barely mentioned the lower number, and then went right to the top. Why bargain with a woman you’ve just been to bed with, especially when it’s somebody else’s money?” He sighed. “The sum didn’t bowl her over. I sensed she’d had the pieces appraised, or at least had some notion of their value. Her position never changed-she couldn’t take the money because she didn’t have the rubies. They’d been stolen, and she hadn’t reported the theft because she’d taken it for granted it was John’s doing.”

“And she didn’t have title, so what good would it do her to report the loss?”

“Exactly,” he said. “When I saw you, Bernie, I didn’t think about you in connection with John and Isis and the rubies, because I didn’t as yet know they’d been stolen. Then afterward I remembered passing you in the lobby.”

“But they were gone when she was dressing for lunch, and you’d already had lunch when you ran into me.”

“Who’s to say when you arrived, or how many visits you might have paid to the hotel? But it might not have been you. It could have been anyone John commissioned to go after the necklace and earrings. So I called him, and he was astonished at her effrontery. He flatly denied having anything to do with the jewelry’s disappearance, and took it for granted she was lying, and was amazed she’d turned out to be such a devious bitch. The intensity of his reaction was convincing, and helped dispel any guilt I might have had about sharing a tender moment with the girl. I hadn’t been poaching on my friend’s preserve, because their relationship had clearly run its course.”

“So you believed them both. Somebody took the rubies, but it wasn’t him.”

“That’s correct. And then I thought of you once more, and I was going to call you today. But something made me call Isis last night, and she told me about the excitement at the Paddington. How she’d confronted a suspicious character in the hallway, and how he turned out to be a burglar and a murderer.”

“A burglar perhaps, but-”

“You don’t have to tell me, Bernie. I know the woman’s death wasn’t your doing.”

“Everybody seems to know I’m not capable of murder,” I said, “and all the same I keep getting arrested for it. You did me a big favor, bailing me out.”

“I’m only sorry you had to spend the night in a cell. But, if you’re inclined to return the favor…”

“How?”

“The rubies.”

“Ah, the rubies,” I said. “Who’ll you give them to, have you decided? Your old buddy or your new girlfriend?”

“That’s a question,” he acknowledged. “And merely one of many. What sent you after the rubies? Was it sheer coincidence? Or did John know a shady private detective after all?”

“I don’t know any private detectives,” I said, “shady or otherwise. And I’d never heard of John Considine, and I guess I missed that Molnár revival, because I’d never heard of Isis Gauthier, either. I didn’t go to the Paddington for the rubies. I went for Gulliver Fairborn’s letters.”

“And the woman who was murdered-”

“Was his agent, and she had the letters, and yes, I went looking for them. Somebody else found them first, and killed her, and the next thing I knew I was wearing handcuffs and hearing all about my constitutional rights.”

“You didn’t know about the rubies.”

“No.”

He looked at me, looked away, looked down at his hands. “I’m going to have another drink,” he said, and raised a hand for the waiter. “Perrier for you this time?”

“No, rye’s fine.”

“I thought you wanted to keep a clear head.”

“It’s too late for that, and I’m beginning to think clear heads are overrated. I had a clear head last night, and what did it get me?”

The drinks came and we went to work on them. Then he said, “This is difficult, but there’s no getting around it. You’ve just said you knew nothing about the rubies, and the last thing I want to do is call you a liar, and yet…”

“And yet you think I’m lying.”

“Bernie, how on earth did you know the jewels were rubies?”

“You said they were.”

“No.”

“Of course you did, Marty. Burmese rubies set in twenty-two-karat gold. Remember?”

He shook his head. “First I mentioned the necklace she’d worn in the play, and I said John offered her a replacement. ‘A ruby necklace,’ you said, and only then did I describe the necklace and earrings. But how did you know they were rubies?”

“I could say something about the whole world of psychic phenomena, of which we understand so little.”

“I suppose you could.”

“But I won’t,” I said, and drank some more of my rye, hoping it would do more than Milt or malt to make me feel blameless. “I was lying, but at the same time I was telling the truth.”

“Oh?”

“I never heard of Considine, or Isis, or the rubies. I went looking for some letters and found a dead body. All I wanted to do was get out of there.”

“And?”

“And on my way out I took a shortcut through another room, and guess what I found in the underwear drawer?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. I wasn’t looking for rubies, not specifically. I’d have preferred cash, to tell you the truth, but what I found was rubies, and to my not entirely untrained eye they looked pretty good. So I took them.”

“Because, after all, that’s what you do.”

“It seems to be. But she looked for the rubies that morning and couldn’t find them, isn’t that what she told you?”

“Yes.”

“I hadn’t even been to the hotel at that point. I didn’t check in until a few minutes before I saw you. Anyway, she must have been telling you a story, don’t you think? Unless she looked in the wrong drawer and honestly thought they’d been stolen.”

He thought that one over. “I don’t know,” he said. “That sounds a little far-fetched, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t she go through all the drawers and make sure?”

“Probably, but-”

“She could have been lying,” he said, “though it’s hard to know why. Still, the possibility had occurred to me.”

“You mentioned as much. You said maybe the rubies were stuffed in Paddington’s boots.”

“Paddington’s-oh, the bear. Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t even notice a bear in her room. It certainly wasn’t on top of the dresser.”

“She kept it on the bed. It, uh, got moved to the little chair.”

“I must have looked at the bed,” I said, “but if there was a bear on it I never noticed. I don’t remember a bear on the little chair, either.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember a little chair. Just a big Morris-type armchair.”

“Well, I don’t recall an armchair, but I can’t say I was paying much attention to the furnishings. I remember the little side chair because she moved the bear to it, but I should be hard put to describe it to you. The only decorative note that sticks in my mind is that godawful painting.”

“What painting was that?”

“Elvis on black velvet. I guess my horror showed. ‘It’s a black thing,’ she told me. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ I’m sure she was being ironic, but-”

“Elvis on black velvet.”

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you? In the same sort of shops that sell pictures of dogs playing poker. I always wondered who would buy something like that, and now I know.”

“I don’t know how I missed it. I was in a hurry to get out of there, but it’s not like me to be that oblivious to my surroundings. And it’s a dangerous trait in a burglar. But I’d just seen a corpse and escaped from a murder scene while the cops were knocking on the door, and maybe that threw me off. I was too grateful to be off the fire escape to pay attention to where I was.”