Emerald (2 page)

“Sold…to number 317,” The auctioneer exclaimed pounding his gavel as he stood facing the packed gallery. Some bidders had even lined the back wall, standing. The expectant air in the room was reflected on the faces of the crowd. Then a white-smocked attendant walked in, everyone’s eyes following him in anticipation. With white gloves, he took out a black velvet pouch from an ornate silver box and placed it on a revolving stand beside the auctioneer’s podium. Loosening the drawstring on the pouch he carefully drew out a large green stone, laying it gently on top of the pouch then turned and took his place against the wall to the left of the auctioneer’s podium.

As if orchestrated by some unseen conductor, the audience gasped in wonder. People in the rear stood to get a better look; others shifted their chairs for a less obstructed view.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer stated, “we have now come to item number one-thirty-eight in your catalogue, the piece de resistance of this auction, if I may say so. I’m sure you have already read the provenance of this outstanding emerald, but let me read the description again for you.

“A 98.98 carat,
magnificent
quality, hexagonal stone, part of the Wittelsbach collection, until recently, housed in the Bavarian Treasury of Residenz in Munich, Germany. We are fortunate today to have this glorious emerald on offer. Originally, this deep green emerald with bluish highlights was mined from the Orozcachua Mines of Columbia in the 16th century and brought to Spain it is suspected by the Conquistador Francisco Pizarro. Historians tell us that in 1699 Maximilian Emanuel’s first son, Joseph Ferdinand, was appointed heir to the Spanish crown but died early in his life. It was probably during this time that the emerald became part of the Bavarian National Treasury and known as the Wittelsbach Emerald, after the name of the ruling family. It is believed to have been a gift from King Ludwig I, of Bavaria to Lola Montez, in the 19th century, but the stone was returned to the Treasury when Miss Montez mysteriously left Munich. At one time many years ago, for some unknown reason, the Bavarian government sold a great many of its treasures on the open market. This magnificent gem was purchased by the Munich Huber family who held it for several years until financial difficulties forced them to sell it back to their government. And now, once again, the glorious Wittelsbach Emerald is back on the market. As you can hear, this beautiful stone has quite a long and interesting history”

Murmurs and chuckles came from the gallery. He added, “Bavaria was weakened by King Ludwig’s sentimental extravagances and never fully recovered. They are offering the Wittelsbach Emerald among other precious jewels today from their collection.”

Standing behind the auctioneer, Bixby observed the crowd, studying the faces and posture of the audience, trying to guess which person would bid on each item. After all these years watching guests at the auctions, he prided himself adept at who would bid on a particular item. As the auctioneer read the description of the Wittelsbach Emerald, he noticed a general feeling of excitement swelling throughout the room. Several patrons were nervously playing with their assigned numbered paddles.

The bidding opened. Several of those who raised their paddles Bixby knew by name. There was Lord Perth with his lovely young second wife who, it was known, had been a dancer in a London club when the Lord met her. After a not-so-secret love affair, he divorced his wife, to marry her. Now Lord Perth tried desperately to keep up with his new spouse and her spending sprees.

Looking over the crowd, he recognized the agent for Sir Basil Giles, obviously hoping to add another famous gem to his client’s already extensive collection. Then there was Paddy Drexler, just recently elected to the House of Commons. There also was a new bidder from Paris, Bixby had been told, as well as some agent for a wealthy industrialist from Germany, neither of whom he had been able to meet prior to the auction.

Then, he noticed a nervous man, sitting near the rear of the gallery. The man suddenly rose from his chair and moved along the sidewall, closer to the podium. He seemed to be trying to get both a clear view of the emerald and to be simultaneously seen by the auctioneer. Bearded and wearing thick glasses, he was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit of European cut. He nervously patted his thigh with his numbered paddle.

He’s the one. Bixby just knew it. There was something about the man that was like a crouching tiger ready to spring.

Just then, the bid reached £140,000. The bearded man raised his yellow paddle to his shoulder. It had a large, black number 17 on it. He held it there just long enough to get the attention of the auctioneer, who nodded slightly in his direction. Bixby counted only three other bidders remaining.

“£140, 500,” the auctioneer exclaimed, looking around the room. All three bidders responded, and Bixby saw the auctioneer smile slightly in the direction of the bearded man.

“Do I have £140,700? Yes, I have £140,700 from the gentleman by the wall.”

Suddenly all eyes were on the man.

“Now, £140,800? Going once – I have £140,800 from the gentleman on my left. Thank you, sir. Do I have £140,900? Yes, I have £140,900.”

There was a sigh from the woman bidder as she dropped out. Only two bidders remained. The auctioneer said, “I have £140,900, going once, going twice, going…” Just as he raised his gavel, the bearded man waved his paddle furiously.

“Yes? Will you bid £141,000 sir?”

The man stepped forward, lowered his bidding paddle and in a loud clear voice said with a distinctly German accent, “I bid £150,000.”

The audience gasped. Bixby was astonished. Raising the bid by almost £10,000! Would the man who had just lost the bid at £140,900 bid again? All eyes were on the smallish dark-suited gentleman in the second row to the right of the podium. The auctioneer looked at the man and paused. After a tense moment, the man shook his head dejectedly, rose and walked out of the gallery. The auctioneer turned to the bearded man.

“You bid £150,000 for item one thirty eight, the Wittelsbach Emerald? Is that correct, sir?” inquired the auctioneer.

Without hesitation, he man nodded and exclaimed, “Ya! Das is correct. £150,000.”

“I have a £150,000 bid for the Wittelsbach Emerald. Do I hear a further bid?” In the stunned silence only the rustle of clothes and the murmurs of the crowd were heard. “Going once, going twice, and sold for £150,000” The auctioneer banged his gavel down.

When the audience turned their eyes from the auctioneer back to look at the gentleman who had caused such a stir with his amazing bid, he was no longer standing against the gallery wall of Christie’s Auction House. He had vanished.

T
he early Swiss morning was crisp and clear as Hans carried the gloves of the woman he killed last night to the garden shed behind the garage. He unlocked the heavy padlock and the door creaked as he entered. Standing in the doorway he looked at the old leather steamer trunk amid a collection of shovels, rakes, hoes and a rusty lawnmower. Taking a small brass key from the chain around his neck he knelt, unlocked the trunk and lifted the lid. Memories of past killings swarmed inside as he gently placed the fawn, suede gloves on top of his trophies. Closing the lid he paused before locking it and rubbed his hands over the warn leather top. This travel trunk held everything his father was able to spirit out of Germany in those days as the glorious Third Reich began to topple. It survived the long U-boat trip to Argentina in the mid 40’s and now was with Hans in Switzerland as he searched for his long lost inheritance.

He locked the trunk, stood up and tossed a couple of leaf bags on the trunk to hide it. After locking the shed again he walked back to the house as a slight breeze rustled the leaves in the Birch trees overhead.
That wind is a good sign
, he thought.
It will blow away any feelings I had for that woman
.

He needed to find his emerald. Where was it? Who had it? Who might know where it was? Perhaps someone in the Klement Kompound in Buenos Aires where he grew up would know the where-bouts of one of his grandfather’s servants, someone who would know what his grandfather did with the Wittelsbach Emerald, NO - - - his emerald. If any are still living they would be in their late 70’s or 80’s - - - yet still there was a chance they might know about the emerald. He had tried the Residenz Museum, the reconstructed Wittelsbach palace where other Wittelsbach jewels were still kept, but no one had a clue about his emerald. It was worth a try to see if any of his grandfather’s servants were still living, and besides it gave him a chance to use that new Motorola digital GSM phone he bought last week in Geneva. It certainly cost him enough. The smart-ass salesman assured him that conversations on the phone could be encrypted using a temporary and randomly generated ciphering key, and for added security, Hans would be identified by a temporary identity, which he could change periodically.
Well let’s see if this expensive phone works
.

After reaching the Klement Kompound in Buenos Aires, he let them know about the message being encrypted and the codes to unscramble it. He told them what he needed and he would call them back in one hour to see what they found out.

The chalet was too big for him, he knew it, yet it had been available to rent and he was able to get it for a year at a very reasonable price. A typical large Swiss chalet nestled in the foothills of the Jura Mountains, with a wide vista of Lake Geneva in the Southern distance. The real estate woman said it was over a hundred years old, but had been remolded only two years ago. It was held in estate after the owner passed away, but the bank was willing to rent it on a long term basis. As the real estate woman drove him in the drive the first time he fell in love with the house, or was it the dozens of red Geraniums cascading from each window box. He liked living by himself and over the months there grew a comfortable feeling as the house began to speak to him. Usually around midnight, he would hear the radiator click off. The wooden walls began to shudder, surrendering its stored heat in groans and cracks and faint, pinging voices that seemed to wail forever. It reminded him of the big house where he had visited his grandfather in Munich as a boy.

He paced the floor waiting for a response from Argentina and when an hour and ten minutes passed and no phone call Hans angrily threw a chair against the fireplace, turning probably an antique into firewood. Just as he was about to give up his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and shouted, “It’s about time. What did you find out for me?” Listening carefully as he walked over to the desk, took out a pen, and began writing. “So that’s it? That’s all you could find out? Well keep hunting for me. There has to be someone who still knows where my emerald is,” And angrily hung up without even a thank you or a good bye, but with this bit of information from his friends in Buenos Aires he learned his grandfather’s chauffer might still be alive somewhere around Munich.

Now traveling on a German passport he called the German Embassy in Berne, but they would not give information to him unless he applied in person. He didn’t think that would be smart since the Swiss newspapers were running stories of the Jewish murders with the Nazi slash marks. He called a man now living in Berne that he had done business with in Buenos Aires. He persuaded him, with the promise of a nice payment, to go to the Embassy and find out any information on any of the servants, especially the old chauffer.