End of the Century Read Free

be completely impregnable, for all intents and purposes. There are, then, only two alternatives. One, that party or parties unknown succeeded in snatching a near-priceless gem from beneath the nose of the Nizam himself, substituting in its place a worthless paste imitation, or…”
    Blank paused, looking to Miss Bonaventure to finish.
    She smiled, nodding. “Or they didn't.”
    â€œPrecisely,” Blank answered casually, folding his hands in his lap. “There never was a Hyderabad Diamond. It was paste all along. And this Alexander Jacob, no doubt, had hoped to complete the transaction before the dubious quality of the gem was discovered.”
    Miss Bonaventure looked unconvinced. “Surely the Nizam had it appraised before making the offer?”
    â€œRemember,” Blank answered, pointing at finger at the newspaper article, “Jacob here claims to be acting merely as broker. Doubtless he would also have been in a position to secure the services of a suitable appraiser, or to influence the Nizam's choice of such, at the very least.”
    Miss Bonaventure arched an eyebrow. “Why did you consult the Whitaker's ?”
    â€œOh,” Blank answered, with an absent wave. “To confirm a suspicion. The name ‘Alexander Jacob’ is a commonly employed alias of a rouge and scoundrel named Jack Alasdair, with whom I have had some previous dealings. The man committed murder, but last year fled before he was apprehended, and remains at large. There was an Alexander Jacob, a dealer in gems, but as the obituary pages of Whitaker's confirm, he passed away in Portsmouth the year before. Jack Alasdair was no doubt surprised to see the obituary notice for one of his well-worn noms de guerre, and found it to his advantage to assume the dead man's identity abroad.”
    â€œWell,” Miss Bonaventure said, with a sly smile, “perhaps you'll have another accolade and honor to add to your collection.”
    â€œPpth,” Blank sputtered, waving his hand dismissively. His feelings about such things were well known. Such piffle was more trouble than it was worth, by half, trinkets to clutter his already full lodgings. Blank's actions in Cyprus the previous year had earned him the recognition of the Sublime Porte and Number 10 Downing Street alike, but while the Turkish Sultan had presented him with the Atiq Nishan-i-Iftikhar , or Order of Glory, from Salisbury he'd received only a hearty handshake. The medal had already tarnished, and the green-trimmed red ribbon was grayed with dust, sitting on a high shelf. With Salisbury, Blank had merely to wash his hands, figuratively and literally, to be done with the whole affair.
    There came a knock at the door. Blank lingered at the table for a long moment, before remembering that, with his valet Quong Ti temporarily called back to China on pressing family business, Blank was himself left without a manservant.
    â€œWould you like me to answer that?” Miss Bonaventure asked with a faint smile.
    Blank sighed. “No, I suppose I better had.” Wearily he rose from the table, and crossed to the door.
    From the sitting room, Blank walked into a narrow corridor and from there into the entry. Overhead hung a gilt Venetian lantern, in which burned three blue-flamed gas jets. His hat rested on an occasional table next to a vase of orchids, his silver-topped cane propped up against the wall beside it. To his right, through the high doorway, was the library, and beyond that Blank's own bedroom. How he longed to return to that octagonal chamber and to sleep; but he'd slept fitfully, if at all, these last nights.
    Blank mused that it could be a sign, presaging some dirty business in the offing, this insipient insomnia. It had been some little while since he'd been called upon to do Omega's bidding, and it was only a matter of time before he would be again. He had never slept well in the days leading up to a summoning, and seldom did for a long