Chapter Six
“I do not remember mentioning de la Fontaine to you,” I said. Not that I was amazed that Denis knew all about de la Fontaine’s visit to my rooms. He kept himself well informed.
“He is quite right about the necklace’s provenance,” Denis said, ignoring my statement. “A heavy blow to him that he lost it.”
“Am I correct in guessing that you did not know that Lord Clifford had de la Fontaine’s famous necklace?” Unusual for Denis, who hired people to roam Europe looking for such things for him, the rightful ownership of which was, to Denis, a trivial matter.
“I confess that I did not.” Denis’s brows drew together the slightest bit, a sign that the man behind the cold eyes was angry. “Hence why I wish to examine the piece myself. I knew the de la Fontaine necklace had disappeared many years ago, but not until Lady Clifford made a fuss about hers being stolen and involved Bow Street did it come to my attention that the two were one and the same. I had not thought Clifford resourceful enough to steal such a thing, but perhaps he seized an opportunity. Or perhaps the ship’s captain stole it and sold it to Clifford, neither man appreciating what it was.” Again the small frown. “Clifford owes me much money and has been reluctant to pay. He might have reported the necklace stolen to prevent himself from having to sell it to pay me, or in case I took it in lieu.”
“Lord Clifford owes you money,” I said. “I might have known.”
“Many gentlemen owe me. Including you.”
I let the remark pass. It was an old argument.
“If Clifford were to sell the necklace,” I asked, “or his wife were to, how would they go about such a thing? Beyond common pawnbrokers and jewelers I mean. Who would they contact?”
Denis gave me a touch of a smile. “Me. I know of no other who could discreetly dispose of so obvious a piece.”
“But if they did not realize what it was?”
“They might try the usual avenues, of course, but as soon as it came onto the market, jewelers in the know would put two and two together. Most likely the jewelers or pawnbrokers would offer the necklace to me, or at least ask for my help in shifting it.”
“And you have not heard of it coming up for sale?”
“No. Not yet.”
I twisted my walking stick under my hand. “If you do hear of it, will you tell me?”
“As I said, I want a look at it first.”
“I am aware of that. But I’ve pledged myself to find it. Will you tell me?”
Denis regarded me in silence while I kept twisting the stick. There was a sword inside the cane, a fact he well knew.
When he spoke, Denis’s voice held a careful note. “You have done me good turns in the past, Captain, and you are fair-minded. But I like to keep the balance clean, or at least bending slightly in my favor. If I do keep you in the know regarding this necklace, I will expect a like intelligence in return.”
I hadn’t the faintest idea what I could know that would interest him, but I was certain he’d come up with something devious. Denis liked things all his own way.
“It is a simple matter,” I said. “I want to be informed if the necklace comes up for sale or when you lay your hands on it.”
“Certainly. I will allow you to be in on the bidding.”
“Bidding?” I clenched the walking stick, which stopped its twirl.
“If the necklace proves to be the de la Fontaine diamonds, I will assuredly wish to sell it,” Denis said. “I am not in the business of assisting impoverished French émigrés or feckless English aristocrats. Clifford owes me money, and whatever price I can obtain for the necklace will more than suffice to pay his debt. He will not fight me for it.”
“The necklace is de la Fontaine’s,” I said angrily.
“De la Fontaine’s family stole the original diamonds themselves, you might be interested to learn, during some continental war long ago. And who knows from whence it was originally looted? Such famous pieces often have murky histories.”
“You are splitting hairs. The necklace belongs to de la Fontaine, and I intend to give it back to him.”
Another twitch of lips. “Of course you do. I will inform you if I come into possession of it, to that I will agree.”
I sat still and looked at him, the impeccably dressed young man, kid-gloved hands folded on his walking stick.
I wondered, as I always did, how he’d come to be like this. Who was James Denis? What of his family? What sort of child had he been that he’d become a man who bought and sold precious objects, people, secrets? Had he loved and lost? Raised himself from nothing? Or been defeated and climbed out of the ashes?
