Girland studied the photograph. It showed a jet black pearl, the size of a large grape, resting on the back of a Chinese dragon carved in gold.
“I had no idea a real black pearl existed,” Girland said, studying the photograph.
“There are lots of so-called black pearls, although in fact they are grey. This is the only real black pearl. There is a theory for what it is worth that the oyster became impregnated by the ink from an octopus. Just a theory, but an interesting one. The dragon is also a beautiful piece.” Yew put the book away, then turned and regarded Girland. “I must say, my dear boy, your interest in this pearl raises my curiosity.”
“What’s it worth?” Girland asked, tapping ash into the silver ashtray on Yew’s desk.
“Worth?” Yew smiled wistfully. “You couldn’t put a price to it. If it came up for auction, the collectors of the world would scramble for it. I doubt if enough money exists these days to buy it.”
“But suppose Kung wanted to sell?” Girland asked. “Suppose he was short of cash. What could you sell it for?”
Yew shook his head.
“I wouldn’t attempt to sell it. It is much too important a piece. It should go to Christies for the world to bid for it.”
“But suppose this had to be an undercover deal? Suppose Kung didn’t want his government to know about the sale. Do you know a collector who would buy it?”
Yew regarded Girland thoughtfully, his eyes suddenly hooded.
“Yes, I know three or four collectors who would buy it.”
“What kind of price?”
Yew shrugged.
“That’s not easy. I would try for three million dollars.”
Girland drew in a long, slow breath.
“Think you would get it?”
“It is possible.”
“The whole affair would be arranged without publicity?”
“That is also possible.”
“It would have to be.”
Again Yew regarded Girland.
“My friend,” he said, “I can’t believe you are wasting your time talking this way unless you know more than you are telling me. Why not be frank? You can trust me. I am your friend. Are you acting for Kung? Does he really want to sell his pearl?”
Girland got to his feet.
“Don’t let’s rush this, Jacques,” he said. “Thanks for the information. If you had the pearl, you could sell it for three million dollars... right?”
Yew touched his temple with a silk handkerchief.
“Yes.”
“Fine... I’ll be seeing you.” Girland shook hands and walked out of the shop.
He was in a very thoughtful mood as he drove back to Eze.
... In the shabby villa at Cagnes, Malik paced up and down.
“What is happening to the fool?” he demanded, his voice vicious with rage. “He has been gone three hours! What is he doing?”
Smernoff sighed and dragged his eyes away from a suntanned girl in a white bikini who was running down to the sea.
“The traffic is bad,” he said. “It would take an hour to get up the Corniche and an hour to get back. Don’t be so impatient.” He pointed. “That girl... look at the length of her legs. She is really very pleasing. I would like to...”
“Shut up!” Malik barked. “Go and look for him, Boris. Go up to the Corniche and find out what he is doing!”
Smernoff recognised the dangerous note in Malik’s voice. He got to his feet and moved to the door.
“It will take me some time, but I will go,” he said.
Impatiently, Malik waved him away. When Smernoff had gone, Malik sat in the chair Smernoff had been using. He looked out onto the beach. The girl in the white bikini was walking along the beach, swinging her bathing cap.
Malik watched her.
O’Halloran came into Dorey’s office. He carried a blue and white suitcase which he put on a chair.
“This is hers,” he said as Dorey put aside a file and got to his feet. “The hotel had it in their left luggage office. She told them she would collect it later.”
“I thought you said there were two suitcases?” Dorey said.
“There were. I haven’t traced the other yet. There’s nothing of interest in this one. Just clothes. I’ve been through it. Good, expensive stuff, but nothing to help us.”
Dorey showed his disappointment. He shrugged and sat down.
“How about the second suitcase?”
“Could be anywhere. We are working with Dulay and he is having every left luggage locker checked and is checking all left luggage offices. It’s a big job. Could take days.”
“How did she register at the hotel?”
“As Naomi Hill from Los Angeles. There is no doubt she is the woman. I showed the staff at the hotel her photograph. They immediately recognised her.”
“How about her passport?”
“The reception clerk didn’t see it. She told him her passport was in her luggage. She took the police card and filled it in herself. I’m checking the passport number. It’s certain to be a false one.”
“Doesn’t look as if she had lost her memory at that time, does it?” Dorey said thoughtfully. “Looks as if she was on the run.”
“I suppose we are sure she really has lost her memory?” O’Halloran said.
“Dr. Forrester seems certain about it. She might be faking.” Dorey sat for a moment in thought. “I’ll talk to Girland. In the meantime if you are sure there is nothing in the suitcase of value, you had better put it on a plane and let her have it.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, then do that.” Dorey reached for the telephone. Ten minutes later, he was talking to Girland. He told him one of the suitcases had been found.
“There’s nothing of interest in it for us,” Dorey went on. “I’m having it sent down to the Nice Airport. You can get someone to collect it. O’Halloran and I have been talking about this woman.” He went on to tell Girland that she had registered under the name of Naomi Hill of Los Angeles. “We are wondering if she really has lost her memory or is faking. I want you to lay a trap for her.”
“Such as how?” Girland asked, reaching for a cigarette.
“Call her Naomi. Watch her closely. See if you get any reaction,” Dorey said. “Do you want me to send someone down there to handle it?”
Girland, thinking about the Black Grape, said, “No. I can handle it. Give me an hour or so. I’ll think what is best to do. I have an idea she isn’t faking, but you might be right,” and he hung up.
Ginny, who had been listening to all this, said, “She isn’t faking, Mark. I am quite sure of it. I’ve had a loss of memory case before now. There is this lost, vague look m the eyes that can’t be faked.”
Girland smiled at her.
“I don’t think she is faking. My boss was born suspicious. I’m going up to talk to her. Why don’t you go out on the terrace and top up your beautiful suntan?”
Ginny looked at him, then nodded.
“All right.” She paused, then went on, “She is lovely, isn’t She?”
He crossed the room and put his arms around her.
“So are you, Ginny. You have something she hasn’t.”
Ginny touched his cheek with her finger.
“What is that?”
“I’ll tell you tonight.”
She moved away from him. Girland watched her. She wandered to the french windows leading out onto the terrace, paused, then looked at him.
“All right... then tell me tonight,” she said and walked out into the hot sunshine.
Jo-Jo was feeling the heat. He had already drunk half the bottle of wine Ruby had given him, and he now decided it had been a mistake to drink wine. It only made him hotter. He should have brought Coca Cola. He had taken off his dirty, cotton coat and had rolled up his black shirtsleeves. Sweat sparkled on his narrow forehead as he shifted further into the shade. He had been up on the mountain now for four hours and the terrace had been deserted for all this time. He pulled the haversack towards him, looked into it and took out a demi — bagette, split in two and filled with ham and garlic sausage. He gnawed a piece off, wiped the sweat from his face and began chewing. The rifle across his knees felt hot. Suddenly he stiffened. He spat out the half-eaten lump of bread and lifted the rifle.