The Sapphire

Chapter one

'I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.'

Edward Mumford looked his eldest son up and down, and frowned. 'I repeat, you will find that girl and recover the jewel from her,' he said. 'I can't imagine what possessed you to part with the family's most valued heirloom in such circumstances - it was madness!'

'She is a very beautiful, cultured and charming woman,' insisted John petulantly. 'I love her, I tell you.'

His father uttered a sound which sounded very like 'Pshaw!' 'From what you've told me, she's no better than an adventuress - I've no doubt that she's just some flashy girl of loose morals who hangs around nightclubs trying to ensnare wealthy young fools. Like you,' he added for good measure. 'Now get out and find that brooch. Don't stand there gawping,' he repeated, as his son seemed to hesitate, 'Go!'

'But - Father - where can I start?' John's hopelessness was pathetic. 'I've searched all over London for her. She's disappeared.'

'Then consult a detective agency. But get that jewel back!' His father turned his attention back to his evening newspaper to indicate that the interview was over.

John left the room with shoulders sagging and head bowed. What could he do? Where could he go? He had combed the streets of London fruitlessly, looking for her ...

'Excuse me, sir.'

John looked up at the speaker: it was the footman.

'Yes, Riley?' His voice was tired.

'I heard what Mr Mumford was saying just now - the door was open, sir, and he doesn't keep his voice down. My brother works for an investigation agency, sir, very discreet and upper class. They only work for the best people, sir, and they don't accept all applications - they interview all clients, and only take on those of good quality.'

John hesitated. It was unpardonably impudent of Riley to have listened to what his father had been saying, of course, but it was true that probably everyone in the house had heard him. And possibly this could be the answer to his problem - even if it wasn't, he would have lost nothing by trying.

'Thank you, Riley,' he said. 'How may I get in touch with them?'

*

George Manfred knocked gently on the door of his wife's room and listened for her gentle: 'Come in!' He entered.

Maria was sitting up in bed, wearing an attractive bed jacket which the housemaid Emily had made for her. By the bed sat the other housemaid, Megs, who had a magazine on her knee and was reading the latest society news to Maria. They both looked up as George entered.

'Oh, Mr Manfred!' exclaimed Megs. 'Have you seen these pictures of the Duchess of York? Doesn't she look lovely?' She held the magazine out to him.

George smiled kindly at her. 'I thought you would have gone home at six o'clock, Margaret,' he reminded her gently. 'Aren't you expected home?'

'Oh, yes, sir, but my mother says I can stay late to talk to Mrs Maria, sir. And I've been reading to her, sir.'

'Margaret has been very kind,' said Maria. 'I am learning a great deal about British society.'

George nodded. 'I thought those magazines might be of interest to you,' he agreed. 'How are you feeling this evening, dearest?'

'Much better.' His wife gave him a dazzling smile. 'Come and sit with me a while, beloved - it's time Margaret was getting home.' Megs rose to her feet to make her departure, a little disappointed at her dismissal; but at that moment Raymond Poiccart appeared in the doorway behind George. From the expression on his saturnine face, he was acting the role of butler, which was invariably his when dealing with clients.