“I began to think the money was bothering him — although Harriman was supposed to have millions. But, of course, all his borrowings were at gaming tables, after he had had runs of bad luck and was only out of cash in pocket.”
Chatham stared straight ahead, lost in thought for a moment.
“One night, Harriman asked how much he owed me. I told him— somewhere between three and four thousand dollars. He laughed.
“He brought out a jewel case, and opened it. The case contained a magnificent sapphire — a deep purple color. He told me that it was worth far more than the money he owed me. He asked if I would take it.
“The jewel fascinated me. I accepted it.”
As Horace Chatham paused, a slight expression of surprise flitted over Doctor Palermo’s features. His eyelids flickered for an instant.
Chatham did not notice this. He was too intent on his story.
“Then Harriman came back,” said Chatham. “He wanted me to return the purple sapphire. He offered me twice the amount he had owed me. He seemed insane, the way he pleaded for that cursed stone.
“I refused to give it up.
“Then he told me that the purple sapphire brought ruin to all who owned it. Ever since he had gained it, bad luck had followed him. He talked of the curse of the purple sapphire. He didn’t want it to ruin me as it had ruined him.
“He claimed that attempts had been made on his life — all because of the sapphire. He had virtually given it to me to be rid of it!
“I laughed at all this. It seemed ridiculous — such stuff coming from a man of Harriman’s intelligence.
“When he found that I would not give the sapphire back to him, he made me promise that I would tell no one that I possessed it. Then he went away.
“I never saw him again. He shot himself a few weeks later. No one knew why — but now, I am sure—”
Chatham leaned forward and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“- it was the curse of the sapphire!”
ONLY the restraining eyes of Doctor Palermo kept Horace Chatham from losing control of himself. His eyes were wild; his lips twitched. He gripped the arms of the chair.
“The purple sapphire,” said Palermo musingly. “I have never heard of it. It is strange that this obsession of Harriman’s should have gripped you, Chatham. You are simply the victim of applied suggestion.”
Chatham’s lips moved, as though he were trying to make them ask a question.
“Harriman believed that the gem carried a curse,” continued Palermo calmly. “His belief was so strong that you were subject to it, also. Your promise to keep it a secret unnerved you, after Harriman’s suicide.
“Now that you have told me of it, you will experience relief. With a few treatments, I can cure you of all fear. Your terror is not real.”
“It is real!” Chatham’s voice was a hoarse scream. “It is real, I tell you! I have never felt safe since I took that gem from Harriman.
“I have been followed. People have entered my apartment while I was away. I have never seen them — but I have found evidence that they have been on my trail. Not more than a week ago, a car followed mine as I came into New York.
“Everywhere — at the theater, at the club — eyes have been watching me.
“Tonight, when I came here, I was followed! I changed cabs, and managed to avoid pursuit. All because I own that cursed purple sapphire!
“I can never lose the curse of it. Harriman died because of it—”
“What have you done with the gem?” questioned Palermo quietly.
“I hid it!” whispered Chatham, in a tense tone. “I hid it, where no one could find it!
“Then I was afraid. Afraid that some one might capture me, and demand the purple sapphire. So I carried it with me, and my fear has been tenfold!”
“Where is it now?”
Horace Chatham hesitated. He stared fixedly at the physician. For a moment two wills were at odds; then Chatham yielded. The friendly, urging influence of Doctor Palermo seemed to overcome his fears and suspicions.
With a gasp of relief, Chatham reached into a pocket of his coat, and brought out a small jewel case, which he held in his tightly clenched fist.
“Let me see it.”
Gently, as though dealing with a child, Doctor Palermo removed the jewel case from Horace Chatham’s clutch. He opened it, and the purple sapphire, a huge, exquisite gem, glowed with weird beauty in the soft light of the room.
“Shall I keep it for you?” questioned Palermo, in subtle, alluring tones.
“No! No!”
Chatham made a grasp for the jewel case with its precious contents. Palermo drew away, and stopped the other man with raised hand.
“Easy, Chatham,” he said. “Remember, I am your friend.”
“But it is mine!” exclaimed Chatham. “I must keep it! I shall always be cursed with it!
“Harriman did not die until he lost it. While I carry it, my life is safe. Once out of my hands, it will bring me death—”
“Relax!” commanded Doctor Palermo. “Let me talk to you, Chatham.
“I can help you. I can put an end to your troubles and your fears. Sit back in your chair.”
Horace Chatham obeyed. He lay back in the chair and reclined his head so that it nearly rested against the oak paneling of the wall. He watched Palermo deftly remove the purple sapphire from its case.
“A beautiful gem,” observed the physician. “Strange that those who hold it should fear it. I would not dread its curse, if it were mine!”
The words soothed Chatham. He half smiled as he looked at the gem which Doctor Palermo held. So intent was his mind on it that he was utterly oblivious to all else.
THE panel behind Horace Chatham’s head slid noiselessly to one side. The action followed a motion by Doctor Palermo — a simple gesture in which the physician raised the forefinger of his left hand.
As the panel opened, two thick-set brown hands came into view, one on each side of Chatham’s chair.
“You will forget your fears, Chatham,” came Palermo’s dulcet voice. “In an instant they will vanish — and they will never return. I can promise you that—”
The physician spoke on, gazing intently at the gem in his hand. But Horace Chatham never heard the words that followed. For while Palermo talked, the brown hands slipped suddenly forward, and, coming together, gripped Chatham’s throat.
A slight gurgle escaped Chatham’s lips. He clutched and clawed at the strangling hands, but his efforts were without avail. The grim talons were victorious. The pressure never yielded while Chatham gasped away his life.
When the man in the chair became motionless, the brown hands slipped back into the darkness, and the panel closed in the wall.
Doctor Palermo was still speaking, and his voice was gloating. He was talking to a dead man in the chair.
He stopped suddenly, and looked at Chatham’s body while he smiled. Then he turned away, and opened the drawer of a table. Replacing the purple sapphire in its case, he tossed the gem and its carrier into the drawer.
He walked forward to Chatham’s limp form. He removed various articles from the dead man’s pockets and inspected them.
A smile flickered on his face as he discovered a theater ticket. Doctor Palermo placed the bit of cardboard in his own vest pocket. He also transferred Chatham’s wallet and several cards to his own clothing.
From a table drawer, Palermo brought out a long, flat metal box, which he laid on a stand, close by the chair in which Chatham had died.
Then followed a most amazing procedure.
Opening the box, Palermo produced articles of make-up, and with swiftness and precision, he began to apply cosmetics to his face.
He looked closely at the dead man’s face as he went through this operation. At intervals he paused, and turned to a mirror. He looked back and forth, comparing his own visage with that of Chatham.