Oh, well—he shrugged his shoulders. All that was forty years ago, and much had happened since. Sally’s marriage to Fred Jordan, for example, and then, a few years later, the birth of her only child, Victor. Eden smiled grimly. How ill-advised she had been when she named that foolish, wayward boy!
He went over to his desk and sat down. No doubt it was some escapade of Victor, he reflected, that was responsible for the scene shortly to be enacted here in this office in Post Street. Yes, of course, that was it. Victor, lurking in the wings, was about to ring down the final curtain on the drama of the Phillimore pearls.
He was deep in his mail when, a few moments later, his secretary opened the door and announced: “Madame Jordan is calling.”
Eden rose. Sally Jordan was coming toward him over the Chinese rug. Gay and sprightly as ever—how valiantly she had battled with the years! “Alec—my dear old friend—”
He took both her fragile hands in his. “Sally! I’m mighty glad to see you. Here.” He drew a big leather chair close to his desk. “The post of honour for you. Always.”
Smiling, she sat down. Eden went to his accustomed place behind his desk. He took up a paper-knife and balanced it; for a man of his poise he appeared rather ill at ease. “Ah—er—how long have you been in town?”
“Two weeks—I think—yes, two weeks last Monday.”
“You’re not living up to your promise, Sally. You didn’t let me know.”
“But I’ve had such a gay round,” she protested. “Victor is always so good to me.”
“Ah, yes—Victor—he’s well, I hope.” Eden looked away, out the window. “Fog’s lifting, isn’t it? A fine day, after all—”
“Dear old Alec.” She shook her head. “No good beating round the bush. Never did believe in it. Get down to business—that’s my motto. It’s as I told you the other day over the telephone. I’ve made up my mind to sell the Phillimore pearls.”
He nodded. “And why not? What good are they, anyhow?”
“No, no,” she objected. “It’s perfectly true—they’re no good to me. I’m a great believer in what’s fitting—and those gorgeous pearls were meant for youth. However, that’s not the reason I’m selling. I’d hang on to them if I could. But I can’t. I—I’m broke, Alec.”
He looked out the window again.
“Sounds absurd, doesn’t it?” she went on. “All the Phillimore ships—the Phillimore acres—vanished into thin air. The big house on the beach—mortgaged to the hilt. You see—Victor—he’s made some unfortunate investments—”
“I see,” said Eden softly.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Alec. Victor’s a bad, bad boy. Foolish and careless and—worse, perhaps. But he’s all I’ve got, since Fred went. And I’m sticking by him.”
“Like the good sport you are,” he smiled. “No, I wasn’t thinking unkindly of Victor, Sally. I—I have a son myself.”
“Forgive me,” she said. “I should have asked before. How’s Bob?”
“Why, he’s all right, I guess. He may come in before you leave—if he happens to have had an early breakfast.”
“Is he with you in the business?”
Eden shrugged. “Not precisely. Bob’s been out of college three years now. One of those years was spent in the South Seas, another in Europe, and the third—from what I can gather—in the card-room of his club. However, his career does seem to be worrying him a bit. The last I heard he was thinking of the newspaper game. He has friends on the papers.” The jeweller waved his hand about the office. “This sort of thing, Sally—this thing I’ve given my life to—it’s a great bore to Bob.”
“Poor Alec,” said Sally Jordan softly. “The new generation is so hard to understand. But—it’s my own troubles I came to talk about. Broke, as I told you. Those pearls are all I have in the world.”
“Well—they’re a good deal,” Eden told her.
“Enough to help Victor out of the hole he’s in. Enough for the few years left me, perhaps. Father paid ninety thousand for them. It was a fortune at that time—but today—”
“Today,” Eden repeated. “You don’t seem to realize, Sally. Like everything else, pearls have greatly appreciated since the eighties. Today that string is worth three hundred thousand if it’s worth a cent.”
She gasped. “Why, it can’t be. Are you sure? You’ve never seen the necklace—”
“Ah—I was wondering if you’d remember,” he chided. “I see you don’t. Just before you came in I was thinking back—back to a night forty years ago, when I was visiting my uncle in the Islands. Seventeen—that’s all I was—but I came to your dance, and you taught me the two-step. The pearls were about your throat. One of the memorable nights of my life.”
“And of mine,” she nodded. “I remember now. Father had just brought the necklace from London, and it was the first time I’d worn it. Forty years ago—ah, Alec, let’s hurry back to the present. Memories—sometimes they hurt.” She was silent for a moment. “Three hundred thousand, you say.”
“I don’t guarantee I can get that much,” he told her. “I said the necklace was worth it. But it isn’t always easy to find a buyer who will meet your terms. The man I have in mind—”
“Oh—you’ve found someone—”
“Well—yes—I have. But he refuses to go above two hundred and twenty thousand. Of course, if you’re in a hurry to sell—”
“I am,” she answered. “Who is this Midas?”
“Madden,” he said. “P. J. Madden.”
“Not the big Wall Street man? The Plunger?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Only through the newspapers. He’s famous, of course, but I’ve
