Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

The Chinese reappeared, holding something in his hand.

“I have to keep it in very exclusive safe place, you know.”

It was a very small lacquered box. He opened it first, then removed a false bottom from it.

Lyons’ face dropped for a minute. He thought it was just some sort of knickknack or curio.

“Come over here, by light.” He placed a little mat of cotton batting on the counter. And on it throbbed a diamond, the biggest one that Lyons had ever seen.

Lyons’ face was a study in impassivity. “Haven’t you got any electricity in this place?” he grumbled. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

“No ’lectric.” But he brought out a coal miner’s lamp with a bright tin reflector. It cast a pool of bleach on the counter, as white as spilled borax. In it the diamond seemed to turn blue. Rays came from it like silver quills shooting from a porcupine.

Lyons took a long time before saying anything.

“What am I supposed to do, buy it?”

The Chinese merely dropped his eyes in complacent assent.

Lyons waited another long time. “Why me?”

“You have plenty money; I see you in bar. You American, you pay good. Also, you pay in American money, best money there is in world.”

“How do I even know it’s real?” parried Lyons.

“It has to be. Is too big not to be. If was going to be imitation, false, would be smaller, maybe only medium-size, to fool somebody easier, sell easier. Is so big, nobody want to believe it real. So what good is it? That show it must be real.”

He had a point there, in a roundabout way.

Lyons had another question. “Suppose it is real. Still and all, what makes you think I want it?”

“I study you good, in bar. You the kind of man buy this, no other kind but you. It go with your character, your personality. You reckless, you take chance, you live dangerous. You not think you going live too long, and you not care. You live wild and fast while you can. I see how you act with money, with drink, with girl, even when music play for dancing. You the kind of a man to buy a diamond, sudden, from a stranger, in the middle of the night, even when you don’t need. Live for the moment — because tomorrow maybe never come.”

Lyons didn’t answer, but his slow smile did. “How’d you happen to come across it?” he asked curiously.

The Chinese sighed. He sat down alongside of him and lit a cigarette reflectively. He left the cotton-bedded jewel exposed there on the counter, but took the precaution of moving it a good deal nearer to himself, and out of easy reach of Lyons. The Strand-accented night-flower outside was allowed to cool her heels and wait.

“Is a long chain of circonstances. Was in our own country for a while. They say two men fight a duel, and one kill the other with it. Maybe not so, maybe only story, I don’t know. Then, they say, partner of man killed steal it from coffin his friend body lie in, run away, take it with him to where he go, big city, New York. Big high-up man there, boss whole city, buy it from him. How you say — like mandarin?”

“Boss?” repeated Lyons, trying to help him out. “Political boss, you mean?” Association of words brought back the only name he could readily recall in that bracket. “Someone like Boss Tweed?”

“Him,” said the Chinese with instant certainty. “Same name.”

“Quite a history,” admitted Lyons, absorbed in spite of himself. “So then?”

“He gave it to actress, him sweetheart. He thrown out, lose job, because he too crooked.”

“I’ve heard,” said Lyons drily.

“She not have good luck anymore, either. All plays bad; one time police close for indecent, one time fire in theater, many people die. One night in play she fall downstairs on stage, break leg, have to wear thing like stone—”

“Cast.”

“—for six month. When she walk, never can walk again without cane. No more good for acting. She retire, go to Europe, every night play gambling table at Monte Carlo—” He made a circle with his hand.

“Roulette?” suggested Lyons.

He nodded. “Wheel spin. Ball fall in hole. Every night she lose, every night more and more. Never win. Until everything gone. Everything she have from that man you say name of. She come out with diamond one night, only thing she got left. Casino won’t accept, only can play with money. But Russian grand duke standing next to her at same table, he see it. He buy it from her.”

“So after that she won, I suppose.”

“She lose even what he give her. She go outside casino, take little lady gun — you know, pearl handle, only so big—”

“Killed herself.”

“No. Only make herself blind in both eyes, from way bullet push in brain. She live very old, never see again.”

“Very spooky,” grimaced Lyons. “Only I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I only know what I hear from last man had it. He say all this. I no can tell is true or isn’t.”

“Go on,” Lyons said. “How’d it get to you?”

“Grand Duke go back to Russia with it. This before revolution. People not like Czar or czar-government or czar official. Somebody put bomb underneath seat of his carriage. When he get in with family to go to church Sunday, all blown up. Him, wife, son and daughter. Even little pet dog on lap. Only one son escaped because sick in bed with mump, can’t go to church.”

“And what happened to him?”

“Came bad things afterward. He marry Russian princess, they have son. Little boy fall down, scratch knee, one day. All little boy do is fall down, scratch knee. But they find out he have sickness where once blood start, never can stop again.”

“I’ve heard of that.”

“Twenty-four hour after, he dead. From little bit of scratch on knee. When revolution come, revolution army burn down house while he not home. They take his wife, put her in a little room in military headquarter. All night long soldiers wait in line, go in there. Next morning they forget to watch her little bit. She take two silk stocking, hang herself from window bar.”

“And him?”

“He hide in freight car, go across Siberia, many many days, finally get out of country. So cold he have to cut off own hand with hatchet.”

“Frostbite?”

“I see it, my own eyes. Arm end at wrist. I meet him in Harbin, up north, Manchuria. He have nothing left, only the diamond. He eat from garbage cans, sleep under newspapers on doorsteps of houses. He stop me and beg one day. I take him to restaurant, buy him meal. Then he take it out from between toes and show it to me. He have only rags on feet, no shoes. I give him money, buy it. He kneel down, kiss my feet, cry.”

“A grand duke’s son,” mused Lyons.

“I have to run away myself pretty soon after,” the Chinese went on. “I make enemy of warlords in Manchuria, they take my business, all my property. Send soldiers after me. If I stay, they shoot me. I come down here to Hong Kong, where man I used to know up there have this little store. He let me sleep in back, give me rice and tea.

“Once I rich businessman myself. Now—” He looked at the diamond sadly.

Lyons looked at it, too.

He reached over, picked it up and held it in his open hand. It was like holding a ball of white fire, only without burning yourself.

The Chinese kept watching his expression closely, but Lyons wouldn’t say the first word. He knew good psychology from bad.

His silence broke the Chinese down finally.

“You can have for five thousand American dollar.”

“You’ve been smoking opium,” Lyons told him tersely.

“Two thousand.”

“You’re not in a position to bargain. You’re strapped. You talked so much you’ve boxed yourself in.”

“One.”

“Never mind the count-down. I’ll name it, not you. Now look, I’ve had a lot to drink so I’m an easy mark, a pushover, a sucker. Give you five hundred for it, and I’ll hate myself in the morning.”