the Spy (2010) by Cussler Clive (early readers .txt) 📕

Well, as we reported, her father went back to Ireland with a boat-load of dough he made building schools for the diocese and took her with him.

I know that already. And when he died, she went to a convent school in Switzerland. What school?

Let me go through this while we're talking. I've got it right here in front of me. The boys have brought it up-to-date since we sent our last report to New York . . . Takes so long back and forth to Dublin . . . Let's see here . . . Well, I'll be. No, no, no, that can't be.

What?

Some damned fool got confused. Says the daughter died, too. That can't be. We've got records of her at the school. Mr. Bell, let me get back to you on this.

Immediately, said Bell, and hung up.

Archie walked in, still ruddy-faced with Indian war paint. You look like death, Isaac.

Where's Marion?

Upstairs. Bell had rented a suite for the days she was in New York. We got rained out again. Are you O.K.? What happened to you?

A priest was gunned down in front of my eyes. For talking to me.

The spy?

Who else? The block was swarming with cops, but he got clean away.

An apprentice approached the grim-faced detectives warily. Messenger left this at Reception, Mr. Bell.

Bell tore it open. On Waldorf-Astoria stationery Erhard Riker had written:

FOUND IT! PERFECTION FOR THE PERFECT FIANCA%0E!!

I'll be at Solomon Barlowe's Jewelry Shop around three o'clock with a brilliant emerald, if this finds you in New York.

Best wishes,

Erhard Riker

Chapter 49

BELL THREW RIKER'S NOTE ON THE DESK.

Archie picked it up and read it. The ring for fair Marion?

It'll keep.

Go.

I'm waiting to hear from Baltimore.

Archie said, Take an hour. Cool off. I'll talk to Baltimore if they call before you're back. Say, why don't you take Marion with you? All this rain is making her stir-crazy. She's raving about going to California to shoot movies in the sunshine. Neglecting to explain where she'd find the actors. Go! Let some steam off. You found Collins. You've got two hundred men looking for O'Shay. And the Navy and Harbor Squad hunting torpedoes. I'll cover for you.

Bell stood up. Just an hour. Back soon.

If she likes it, steal an extra ten minutes to buy her a glass of champagne.

THEY TOOK THE SUBWAY downtown and walked rain-swept streets to Maiden Lane. Barlowe's shop cast a warm glow into the dreary afternoon. Are you sure you want to do this? Marion asked as they neared the door.

What do you mean?

Once you slip a ring on a girl's finger, it's pretty hard to get out of it.

They were holding hands. Bell pulled her close. Her eyes were bright with laughter. Rain and mist gilded the wisps of hair that escaped her hat. Houdini couldn't get out of this one, he said, and kissed her on the mouth. Not that he'd want to.

They entered the shop.

Erhard Riker and Solomon Barlowe were bent over the counter, each with a jeweler's loupe screwed in his eye. Riker looked up, smiling. He extended his hand to Bell, and said to Marion, I am afraid that you taxed your fiancE's powers of observation. Try as he might-and I assure you he tried mightily-he was hard put to convey the fullness of your beauty.

Marion said, You tax my power of speech. Thank you.

Riker bowed over Marion's hand, kissed it, and stepped back, smoothing his mustache and slipping his thumb into his vest pocket. Barlowe whispered to Bell, It is most unusual, sir, for a gentleman to show the ring to his fiancEe before he has purchased it.

Miss Morgan is a most unusual fiancEe.

Something ticked against the window. On the sidewalk, ignoring the rain, laughing young men in black derbies were batting a badminton shuttlecock with their hands.

You should call a constable before they break the glass, said Riker.

Solomon Barlowe shrugged. College boys. This summer, they'll meet girls. Next spring, they'll be buying engagement rings.

Here is the making of yours, Miss Morgan, said Riker. He drew a slim leather case from his pocket, opened it, and removed a folded sheet of white paper. Opening the paper, he let slide onto a demonstration panel of white velvet an emerald-flawless, fiery, and filled with life.

The jeweler Solomon Barlowe gasped.

Isaac Bell thought it shimmered like a green flame.

Marion Morgan said, It is certainly very bright.

Mr. Barlowe proposes setting it in a simple Art Nouveau ring, said Erhard Riker.

I have prepared some sketches, said Barlowe.

Isaac Bell watched Marion study the emerald. He said, I have the impression you do not love it.

My dear, I will wear anything you like.

But you would prefer something else.

It's very beautiful. But since you ask, I would prefer a softer green-rich yet quiet, like the loden green of Mr. Riker's coat. Is there such a gem, Mr. Riker?

There is a blue-gray shade of tourmaline found in Brazil. It is very rare. And extremely difficult to cut.

Marion grinned at Bell. It would be less expensive to buy me a nice loden coat like Mr. Riker's . . . Her voice trailed off. She was about to ask, Isaac, what's the matter? Instead, she moved instinctively closer to him.

Bell was staring at Riker's coat. A rich green coat, he said softly. An old man in a rich green coat with rings on his fingers. He fixed a cold gaze on Riker's gem-studded cane.

I've always admired that cane of yours, Herr Riker.

It was a gift from my father.

May I see it?

Riker tossed it to Bell. Bell weighed it in his hands, testing its balance and heft. He closed one hand around the gold-and-gem head, twisted it with a flick of his wrists, and drew out a gleaming sword.

Erhard Riker shrugged. One cannot be too careful in my business.

Bell held the blade to the light. It was honed so sharply that no light gleamed on the edge. He hefted the cane, the scabbard that had held it. Heavy. You wouldn't even need the sword. You could floor a man with