The Obsidian Chamber

47

Pendergast entered the great pink granite façade of the Tiffany & Co. flagship store on Fifth Avenue, sweeping through the revolving doors into the bustle of the main floor, the mahogany cases brilliantly lit, the carpeted floors freshly vacuumed, the black veined marble walls and doorways glowing. He paused, feigning a confused look, and instantly attracted a slender and attentive salesman.

“May I help you, sir?”

Pendergast removed the receipt he’d retrieved from between the floorboards of the Exmouth cabin. “I have a question about this piece of jewelry. Here is the receipt. It was paid for with cash.”

The salesperson took it. “And what is your question, sir?”

“It’s of a personal nature. I’d like to speak with a person in authority who has complete access to all the sales records.”

“Well, most of those records are confidential—”

“Sir, if you please, enough idle banter. Take me to the person in question.”

The salesperson practically jerked to attention, responding to Pendergast’s icy, aristocratic tone. “Yes, sir, I’ll just have to see if she’s available—”

“Onward!”

Thoroughly cowed, the man led Pendergast briskly through the vast room to an elevator in the back, which they ascended to a series of offices. Coming to a closed mahogany door, they paused. On the door was a name in gold leaf, edged in black.

Pendergast looked intently at the name. In the faintest palimpsest underneath he could see the last name MCCORMICK had been recently changed from something else.

“Let me just check to see if she’s available—” said the salesperson, but Pendergast already had his hand on the knob and was opening the door.

“Wait — you can’t just go in, sir!”

He stepped in, the salesperson following right behind; but Pendergast turned, placed a firm hand on his chest, shoved him back out, and closed the door in his face. Seeing a bolt, he turned it and then swiveled back to the person in the office. A woman of about forty, sitting behind a large antique desk, stared at him with an astonished look on her face.

“What is this?” she asked.

Pendergast gazed at her for a moment. She was a very attractive, well-put-together woman dressed in a suit, with blond hair and a gorgeous but understated string of pearls around her neck. Fury and alarm were both gathering on her face. The salesman was knocking on the door, lightly but frantically. His muffled voice came through: “Sir, sir, you just can’t barge in like that! Ms. McCormick might not be available! Hello, Ms. McCormick, Ms. McCormick, should I call security?”

Pendergast turned to the woman. “Do send him away.”

“Who are you, barging in like this? And locking my door!” She reached for her phone.

Pendergast gave a little bow. “I’m simply a customer with a tiny problem that only you, my dear Ms. McCormick, can solve. Will you please, please help me?” He bestowed on her his most dazzling smile.

“Ms. McCormick! Ms. McCormick!”

McCormick rose, looked Pendergast up and down with a penetrating gaze, and then went to the door. “It’s quite all right,” she said through the wood. “No need for security. I’ll take care of the customer. You may go.”

Then she went back to Pendergast, and circled him, observing him curiously. The alarm had faded from her face. “And your name is—?”

“Aloysius Xingu Leng Pendergast.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s quite a name, Mr. Pendergast. New Orleans?”

“Excellent. Please call me Aloysius.”

“Aloysius,” she said, going back to the side of her desk but remaining standing. “And you have a little problem?”

“Indeed I do.” He removed the dirty receipt from his pocket and held it up. “This is for a piece of jewelry that was purchased about five weeks ago. Cash was paid. I need the name of the person who bought it.”

“As I’m sure you know, that information is strictly confidential. We’re a jewelry store. Imagine how our customers would feel if anyone could just come in and find out the name of a buyer!”

“I understand.”

“And if it was paid for in cash, we may not have the name anyway.”

“It was a ring, and according to this slip he brought it back in to be adjusted.”

“Well, in that case we would have the name. But… as I said, it’s confidential.”

“Here’s why I’ve come to you. You see, my wife has been unfaithful to me. He bought her a ring. I want to know who he is.”

McCormick’s eyebrows shot up at this, and a mixture of amusement, schadenfreude, and pity began to play about her lips. “Ah, the old story. The old, old story.”

“I’m just shattered to find myself in such a situation. I really don’t know what else to do. Can you give me some advice?”

“Forget the name. Divorce her. It doesn’t matter who she’s sleeping with. Just get rid of her. That’s my advice.”

“But… I love her.”

“Good Lord. Don’t be a sap. You love her? Come now! The world is full of women to love. And full of jewelry to give them,” she added, with a smile and a wink.

“I’m rather naive when it comes to these things,” said Pendergast, his voice laden with sorrow. “It seems I don’t know women at all. And… and the humiliation of it!”

“Well, I do know women. A gentleman such as yourself would have no trouble finding a woman who would love and cherish you. Now, I think you should ask: why do you want the name of the man who’s cuckolded you? If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. And perhaps there were others. My advice: don’t go there.”

“I only want the name as a matter of pride. To be ignorant of who he is, to go about oblivious when one’s friends know, is shameful. All I want is the name. Then I can…” He faltered, leaned toward her, and spoke in a confidential whisper. “Well, let me be honest with you.”

“Yes. Do be honest.”

“If I had the name, then I could pretend to have known it all along, and simply dismiss it as a matter of complete indifference. That’s all. I wish to… salvage what little pride I have left.”

“I understand. Yes, I do. You’re a wealthy man, I take it?”

“Very.”

“And she’s going to try and get your money?”

“Without doubt.”

“No pre-nup?”

“I was so young and naive. Oh, what a fool I’ve been!”

A long pause. “All right. I understand precisely where you’re coming from. I myself know that kind of humiliation, when all your friends are talking behind your back, the whole world keeping it from you. And you—always the last to know.” A bitterness had crept into her voice.

Pendergast raised his eyes. “I’m so glad you understand. It means a great deal to me… Barbara.” He tentatively took her hand, giving it a slight pressure.

She gave a little laugh, let him hold it for a moment, then withdrew it. “Now, Aloysius, let me just go into my computer here and see what we have. But mind you: don’t approach him. Stay away. And you didn’t get this from me.” She plucked the receipt from his fingers, sat down, and hit the keys, rapid-fire. “All right.” She pulled a piece of paper from a notepad on her desk, wrote on it, and handed it to Pendergast.

In a lovely, schoolgirl hand was written a name: Morris Kramer.

He felt her keen eyes on him. He put on a suitable series of expressions: shock, disdain, contempt. “Him? The bounder. The little shit. My old roommate from Exeter. Well, I should have known.”

She held her hand out and he gave her back the paper. She crumbled it up, dropped it in a trash can, and looked at him intently. “As I said, Aloysius, the world is full of women to love.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, it’s time for elevenses. There’s a lovely teahouse just around the corner. Care to join me?”

Pendergast bestowed on her another smile. “Delighted,” he said.