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.
Six large pigeon’s-blood rubies were evenly spaced around the bracelet. They were truly impressive stones, and from the center of each ruby there radiated those six curious rays of light which mark the true asteria, the so- called star ruby, which occurs only rarely in rubies and in its sister gem, the sapphire, and in no other really precious stone.
Mr. Voorland settled back with both hands on his knees, narrowly studying Mark Dustin’s face from beneath half-lowered lids. The westerner showed neither surprise nor approval as he looked at the bracelet. His face was as devoid of expression as that of the professional gambler who picks up a pat royal flush.
Celia was not so phlegmatic. She squealed with delight and reached a hand out toward the bracelet, halted it as though frightened by her own audacity, then picked it up gently, impelled by some power beyond her strength to resist.
A tall man wearing loose gray tweeds and a dark snap-brim felt hat pushed far back on his forehead entered the store as Celia fondled the bracelet. He was broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, and had a lined face with bristling red eyebrows above keen gray ayes. His hands were big-knuckled and rough, and he carried his weight with deceptively graceful ease.
A young, brown-haired girl had her hand in the crook of his arm and stood close beside him as he stopped inside the doorway to slowly survey the interior. She wore a yellow skirt and a white blouse with a ruffled neck and pleats down the front. The crown of her shining brown head scarcely came above her companion’s shoulder. She looked gay and happy, as though it were springtime and she was in love for the first time. Her brown eyes danced with eagerness and she let her cheek gently touch the rough tweed of the man’s coat.
The floorwalker started toward the couple, but the man saw Voorland at the rear of the store and moved forward, shaking his head at the floorwalker. They came up to the seated trio without being noticed, and stopped beside the table to look down at the scene with interest.
Celia was slowly turning the bracelet around and around in her hands, her eyes riveted upon it. Her husband was watching her face, a set smile on his lips.
Mr. Voorland was observing Dustin with appraising thoughtfulness while his big jaws worked methodically on the wad of gum between his teeth.
He was the first to look up. His expression changed immediately when he saw the couple standing there. He got to his feet and held out his hand, saying heartily, “Mike Shayne! And this is-” He looked inquiringly at Shayne’s companion.
“Miss Hamilton, my secretary from New Orleans,” Shayne told him. “She has an allergy to pearls, particularly the simulated variety, and we brought along a string to trade in on something she does like.”
Chapter Three
“I’mvery glad to meet you, Miss Hamilton.” Mr. Voorland made his formal bow with as great a show of pleasure as if the transaction involved a string of real pearls. “Your taste in secretaries is far better than in pearls. This little lady looks like the authentic article.”
