Serpent in the Garden Read Free

groundless, for the article she took out was nothing more fearsome than a shagreen box.
    She opened it. Couched in gray silk was an emerald necklace, one he had not seen for twenty years. The stones were just as he recalled them: a dozen or more, baguette-cut and set in gold links, with a single ruby at the center. Flashes of verdigris, orpiment, and Prussian blue sparkled in the candlelight. He felt sick to the heart to see it. The form of this necklace was as disturbing as ever. It had nearly cost him his life.
    “I have come, Mr. Pope, to offer this in return for your cooperation.”
    Joshua did not regard himself as an avaricious man, yet in that instant he forgot his earlier unease and gasped at the offer. The jewels must be worth close on a thousand guineas—more, perhaps. What could he tell her that made his information so valuable? “Does the jewel belong to you?” he said coolly.
    “As you see, it is in my possession. I offer it to you as proof of my intimate involvement with Mr. Bentnick, as well as a generous form of payment.”
    “That is not the same. How do I know you are entitled to the jewel? You might have stolen it. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time it has been misappropriated.”
    “I will prove to you I am no thief once you have told me what I wish to know.”
    “What can I say to you that is so precious as to warrant a jewel of this caliber in payment?”
    “I wish to hear your version of the events surrounding the painting of the portrait. What happened then has had a profound impact upon my life. Moreover, I want to know what became of the portrait. No one has seen it in the last twenty years.”
    By now Joshua’s earlier fear had dissipated, to be eclipsed by curiosity. He spoke frankly. “During the course of my career I have of necessity stayed in many homes, and unwittingly become involved with numerous surprising and strange adventures. Of all these, the Bentnick affair is one that still troubles me the most to remember. I have never spoken of it to anyone, although I confess that often when I lie awake in my bed and hear the rain flogging at the window, or when I walk in a beautiful garden and pass a cascade or a hothouse or a grotto, I remember those sad and singular events.”
    “Then you accept my proposal, Mr. Pope?”
    He pondered awhile. “Yes and no. I will not tell you what I know, for the tale is too long and involved and my memory is not good at this time of night. I will write you an objective account. Return to my rooms one month from today and I will hand it to you.” He paused for a moment before adding, “One more condition: I do not desire the necklace in payment. With all I know of its history, nothing on earth would induce me to take it.”
    She scowled. “What, then, do you require?”
    “Merely to know who you are and how you came by the jewel and why you require this information.”
    Her eyes half closed, her mouth contracted to a thin line. She stepped forward until she was no more than a couple of paces from Joshua. Displeasure emanated from every fiber of her being. He half expected her to scream or fly at him like some demented creature in the madhouse. Yet now that he knew the nature of her requirements, he had no difficulty in facing her.
    Perhaps she realized this change, for she dropped her head, as if conceding to his will, and he fancied that, through the thin fabric of her dress, he saw her shoulders shake. “Very well,” she said, in a voice so low he had to strain to hear it. “If those are your terms, and you have not discovered the answer when I return, then I can do little but agree to them.”
    Joshua bowed, maintaining a solemn expression. “I shall expect you thirty days from this evening. Until then, madam, I bid you good night.”
    With this, he ushered her down the stairs to his front door. He watched her step into her carriage, which immediately sped away into the gloom. Joshua bolted the door behind him. He had no more