Blood on the Stars Read online

  Mark scowled at him. “Do I look like a guy who would want a pendant or a pin for a wife like mine?” He turned to Celia and asked, “What do you think, dear? I had thought of a glamorous bracelet.”

  “Oh, Mark, I’d love seeing everything before I make up my mind. I’m terribly confused. Everything is so beautiful—”

  The clerk cleared his throat and his Adam’s apple raced up and down. “May I ask what price range you are interested in, sir? The ruby is an extremely expensive gem, particularly in the larger sizes.”

  “So I’ve heard.” For the first time in her life Celia discerned a tone of sarcasm in his voice. “The sky is the limit if you’ve anything that appeals to my wife.” His arm closed around her and drew her close to him.

  “Yes, indeed. I quite understand,” said the clerk nervously. He turned and went into an anteroom.

  “I’ve always heard that rubies were awfully expensive, Mark darling,” Celia said, snuggling against him. “You know I don’t care whether it’s expensive or not. You’ve made me so happy just remembering our second anniversary—”

  “Did you think for a moment I’d forget it, Ceil?” His arm tightened almost hurtingly around her slender waist as he drew her to him. She looked up to see his face taut with emotion that matched the husky passion in his voice. “After two thousand years maybe I’d forget, but after only two?” He laughed deep in his throat and released her, then leaned forward to uncover the humidor, took out a cigarette and lit it.

  The clerk came back bearing two trays lined with white satin and displaying various pendants and brooches glittering with brilliant red stones varying in color from light crimson to the rich color of blood, and reflecting flashes of fire from their facets as he maneuvered them beneath the overhead lights.

  Celia clutched Mark’s arm, a wave of passion and love flowing through her. “They’re beautiful,” she breathed. Her eyes sought Mark’s, but he was looking at the jewels, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead.

  There was only one bracelet included among the assortment on both trays. It was heavy and solid, of white gold set with triple rows of rubies of less than a carat each.

  Mark puffed on his cigarette for a moment, then turned his gray eyes to his wife to watch with amused tolerance while she took up each piece to examine it, holding the pendants to her smooth throat, turning the brooches this way and that to catch the red flame from the facets, putting each one back with a sigh of regret. At last she picked up the bracelet which she slipped onto her wrist and held it up for Mark to see.

  “They’re all so beautiful,” she said reverently. “This bracelet—can we afford it, Mark?”

  His eyes were half-closed to exclude the smoke that rose from rapid inhalations of his cigarette. He shrugged and said carelessly, “Nice, but hardly what I had in mind. Those stones are nothing but dinky little chips,” he went on, turning to the clerk. “Haven’t you a decent bracelet to show us?”

  The young man’s Adam’s apple stood still in his astonishment. “The—the stones in that bracelet are each three—three-quarter carat, sir,” he gulped. “Perfectly matched and beautifully cut. I assure you it’s a collector’s item.”

  “How much?” Mark Dustin leaned forward to crush the butt of his cigarette in the crystal ash tray.

  “Twenty-five thousand, sir.” The clerk’s voice was steady now, muted and reverent, as though he and God had got together to set this price on so rare an accumulation of stones adorning the bracelet.

  “That’s about what it looks like,” said Mark, with elaborate tolerance. He waved a smooth sun-tanned hand toward the two trays. “You’re wasting our time with junk like this. If you’ve nothing better than this to show us, we may as well go elsewhere.” He started to get up, but the flustered clerk forestalled him with rapid jerks of his Adam’s apple and an outstretched hand.

  “I understand perfectly, sir,” he stammered. “Perhaps you’d like to see Mr. Voorland himself. Rubies are a personal hobby with him and I’m sure that if he hasn’t exactly what you want in stock, he’ll be happy to have it made up for you.”

  Mark said, “I came in to buy something, not to order it for future delivery.” He took another cigarette from the humidor and lit it. “Tell your boss that,” he added, and took a deep draft of smoke into his lungs.

  Celia sighed and her wistful eyes followed the clerk to the rear as he carried the trays away. “I thought the bracelet was perfect, Mark. Did he say twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  Mark chuckled, showing strong white teeth. “Maybe he meant Mexican pesos,” he teased. “That stuff was junk, baby,” he went on tolerantly. “Why do you suppose I haven’t bought you any jewelry these past two years? I’ve been waiting until I could afford the best. When people look at you I don’t want them to feel sorry for me and whisper, ‘Dustin must have hit a streak of bad luck. Look at that cheap little bracelet his wife is wearing.’ You let me worry about the price,” he went on confidently as a tall, solid man approached them from the rear.

  Walter Voorland had been designed by nature for the position he held as manager of the most exclusive and expensive jewelry shop in the most exclusive and expensive resort center in the United States. He carried his well-fleshed body with an air of dignified respectability which held none of the subservience of the common shopkeeper, yet with no trace of the insolent hauteur too often found in such an establishment. He was a big-boned man, wearing a conservative brown business suit, a soft white shirt and a subdued flowered cravat. His head was completely bald and pink, and his ruddy face glowed with health and intelligence. His heavy brows were bleached a light tan by the Miami sun, and his gaze was direct and pleasant and friendly. He had a firm handclasp for Mark Dustin, and his voice was strong and warm with only a faint touch of his native Holland accent sounding through the cultivated tones:

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and will be happy to be of service to you if I may.”

  “My name is Dustin,” Mark told him. He had risen to greet the manager. “Mark Dustin, from Colorado,” he added, “and this is Mrs. Dustin.”

  Voorland bowed stiffly from the waist as he took Celia’s hand. “Delighted,” he said in a tone which made them believe he was, indeed, delighted. “I am at your service.” He drew up a chair to the opposite side of the table and lowered his solid bulk into it, planting his feet together in front of him and placing the palms of his hands on his knees.

  “We were told,” said Mark, “that your store carries the finest stock of good jewelry in Greater Miami. That’s why we came here.”

  Mr. Voorland said, “Naturally.”

  Dustin spread out his hands in a half-humorous gesture. “I had rubies in mind. Perhaps a bracelet. But your clerk brought only one cheap one for us to look at.”

  “Rubies?” Voorland studied Celia intently, nodding his bald head. “Perfect. With your hair, Mrs. Dustin—and your exquisite complexion. Rubies, definitely. Are you a connoisseur, Mr. Dustin?”

  “Not a bit of it.” Dustin laughed. “I’m just in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and this is our anniversary and I’m looking for something very special to celebrate the occasion.”

  Voorland lifted his right hand from his knee and reached inside his coat to get a pack of chewing gum from his shirt pocket. It was a new pack, and he carefully peeled the cellophane off one end, pulled two of the sticks out and offered them in turn to Celia and Mark Dustin. When they declined, he gravely slid one stick from its paper and 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

  WHAT THE VINTNER SELLS

  “I’M VERY 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.”

  Lucy colored slightly at the compliment, and Shayne warned her, “Mr. Voorland’s an old smoothie, Lucy. He tells that to all the girls when he wants to sell them something. You asked me to drop in at noon,” he reminded the jeweler with a glance at the seated couple. “But if you’re busy, we can come back.”

  “Not at all,” Voorland said quickly.
“As a matter of fact, I’d like to have you see this bracelet, Mike. You know something about gems, don’t you?”

  “Superficially. Through insurance investigations and that sort of thing.” He looked down with interest at the bracelet in Celia Dustin’s hands.

  Mr. Voorland said, “I’d like to introduce Miss Hamilton and Mr. Shayne. Mr. and Mrs. Dustin.”

  Shayne removed his hat. Dustin arose and offered his hand to the red-headed detective, saying heartily, “Would it be the Michael Shayne we’ve read so much about in the papers?”

  Shayne grinned and admitted it. “The papers are always giving me a build-up, hoping I’ll fall flat on my face. Thus far, I’ve managed to disappoint them.”

  Lucy’s eyes were wide and round as she gazed at the bracelet. She gripped Shayne’s arm tightly and whispered loud enough for the others to hear, “That’s what I’d like, Mike. Do you think—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Shayne. “We don’t want to come in here busting up a sale. Mrs. Dustin was here first.”

  Celia looked up at them and her eyes were starred with happiness and excitement. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said quietly. “Would you like to see it, Miss Hamilton?” She held the bracelet up and Lucy took it eagerly.

  “It doesn’t look like so much to me,” Shayne deprecated. “What are the stones, Voorland? Garnets?”

  Voorland smiled. “Rubies, Mike.”

  “Rubies?” scoffed Shayne. “They don’t look like rubies to me. What are you trying to put over on Mr. Dustin?”

  Voorland was unperturbed. “It’s absolutely the finest thing that’s ever been in this store—or any other store.”

  “There’s no shine to them,” Shayne protested. “A real ruby has the same brilliance as a diamond with color added. And the damned things are cracked,” he added, leaning forward to scowl at the star-shaped lines of radiation from the center of each stone.

  “A faceted ruby gets its brilliance, like a diamond, from the way it is cut. These gems are cut en cabochon to produce asterism which you are pleased to call cracks.” Voorland took the bracelet from Lucy and pointed out his meaning to the detective.