The Black Mask Read Free Page A

purple-shaded smaller rubies. Though of impressive size, as big as the top joint of Rupert’s thumb, the depths of the main stone were foggy, the color weakened by a white web of inclusions. As every stone was set in bright yellow gold, all the colors clashed instead of mingling. Rose had never seen anything so ugly. It was as if some craftsman had set himself the task of making the most hideous piece of jewelry possible. And it was hers, all hers.
    “What’s it worth?” Rupert asked.
    “I have no information about that, Mr. Spenser. Of course, your sister should have some competent authority appraise the jewel as soon as possible. Rundell and Bridge, for example. Or, if you wish to know at once, Sir Niles has a very fine understanding of precious stones. I believe they have been his hobby for several years.”
    “Aren’t you going to try it on?” Rupert urged.
    Rose took the ring from its faded velvet slot. It slipped on easily, too easily. Whoever had owned the Malikzadi before must have had the hands of a prizefighter. By pressing her fingers together, she could keep the ring on the top of her hand instead of slipping around to her palm. It seemed to squat on her middle finger like a warty red toad.
    “It’s not very practical for day wear,” she said.
    Her brother laughed shortly. “Speaking for myself, I’d prefer you didn’t wear it at all. Great gaudy pieces of jewelry went out with Charles the Second.” He stepped to the door. “Let’s have Alardyce in. He’s an expert, you know, and we could do worse.”
    “No, Rupert,” Rose said, but not quickly enough.
    It seemed Sir Niles would be only too happy to serve the Spensers by looking at the Malikzadi. Before Rose could slip the ring off, he took her fingers in his and bowed over the ring. His fingers were warm and dry, his nails beautifully kept. Though his touch achieved the impersonal, the continuation of his hold made Rose feel oddly trapped. With a strong tug, she freed her fingers, leaving the ring in his possession. He brought out his quizzing glass for closer inspection.
    “Indian manufacture, of course. Probably cut in Bombay. Very finely cut, even the smallest stones. Twenty-four-karat gold, which accounts for the color. The beadwork between each stone is really quite remarkable.”
    “So it’s valuable,” Rupert said, peering eagerly over Sir Niles’s shoulder.
    “A few hundred pounds, perhaps, to a collector.”
    “Such as yourself, Sir Niles,” Rose said, narrowing her eyes.
    “Not at all, Miss Spenser. I possess all I desire of the Indian ruby. No, the poor color and clarity condemns it. A pity, as otherwise the size and cutting of the stone would recommend it. So much effort wasted over so poor a specimen.”
    “Well there’s one good thing to remember,” Rupert said, with the air of one who can find good in any situation. “At least the Black Mask won’t come calling on you, Rose.”
    “The Black Mask?” she repeated.
    “Spenser, there’s no need to frighten your sister,” Sir Niles said, his drawling voice sharpening.
    “Oh, I’m not afraid,” Rose said. Was there a maiden in London who hadn’t secretly thrilled to hear the whispered tale of the daring thief no lock could stop? The Countess of Hopewood had awakened to find a huge figure of a man, clad all in black, rifling her dressing case. When pressed on why she did not scream for help, the countess had confessed to believing that she dreamed, for surely no mortal man could be so massive. The count had not been pleased.
    ‘You have more cause to be frightened than I, Sir Niles. I hope your jewel collection is in a safe place.”
    “I keep those items too precious to lose in a locked box under my bed, Miss Spenser. No thief would think to look there.”
    “Perhaps not. But the Black Mask seems a most unusual thief.”
    Two nights ago, the house of a man grown hugely rich on cotton manufacture had been raided and his newly purchased and very vulgar