Death of Cecilia by Hartley Howard

Author:Hartley Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448211043
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2019-11-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The guy in Vogellers put his thin white hands flat on the top of the glass display case and peered down the side of his nose at me. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.” He was slick and prim in his black coat and striped pants, with a pair of fine rimless eyeglasses balanced on the bridge of his slice of nose. His face was pale and glossy. He looked like he shaved with hair-removing cream.

“There’s nothing to understand,” I said. “I’m asking you to turn up your records and find out when you sold two rings to a Mr. Sorkin, the owner of The Golden Hourglass. I am acting for Mr. Sorkin in this matter. That’s all there is to it.”

“You said something about insurance, sir? “He bent closer and made a little tight mouth at me. “Hasn’t Mr. Sorkin got his receipt for the, ah, purchase?”

“No, he has mislaid it. If he hadn’t, I shouldn’t be troubling you.”

“No trouble, sir, no trouble at all.” His hands fluttered, and he eyed me doubtfully. “It’s just that it’s—well, rather unusual.”

“So it’s unusual for a man to take out insurance on a couple of expensive rings. Shall I tell him that?”

He played with the knot of his neck-tie, and his shallow eyes were restless. “Please don’t get me wrong, sir. Most of our clients ask for a valuation certificate at the time of purchase. All you want is the date Mr. Sorkin—?”

“Just the date,” I agreed. “My firm are arranging for an independent valuation. We have already issued cover on a provisional basis, but the actual date of purchase is required for insertion in the policy. Mr. Sorkin thinks it was about two months ago,”

“Two months? That would be roughly—” He riffled through the pages of a little pocket diary and made faint sucking noises that could have meant irritation, until he found what he was looking for. “Let me see. Ah, yes—somewhere about the beginning of—” He glanced at me without raising his head. “Will you take a seat, sir. I shall be as quick as I can. Do you know if it was a cash sale or a charge account?”

There’s no law against making a blind guess, so I backed an even chance for the first time in my life. “Cash sale,” I said.

“Thank you, sir. Excuse me.” He went through a discreet door set between two glass-and-mahogany cases filled with silver knick-knacks. From behind, he looked like a penguin in a dignified hurry.

Vogellers was the kind of place where it’s expensive to breathe. The shimmering array of jewellery and crystal ornaments was reflected in polished mirrors and threw back rainbow colours in the light from twin rows of alabaster globes overhead. One long case was given up to wrist watches and those little gimmicks that women wear on the lapels of their coats. Another held trays of diamond bracelets and necklaces. Nothing carried a price tag. Maybe the customers weren’t supposed to know what they had paid until they got their account at the end of the month.

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