"Thank you."

He entered the suite, pressing his knees together to keep them from trembling. He almost blurted out, "Where's the emerald? But he knew he must control himself. He must not seem too eager. If the stone was satisfactory, he would have the advantage in bargaining. After all, he was the expert. She was an amateur.

"Please to sit yourself," the contessa said.

He took a chair.

"Scusi. Non parlo molto bene inglese. I speak poor English."

"No, no. It's charming, charming."

"Grazie. Would you take perhaps coffee? Tea?"

"No, thank you, Contessa."

He could feel his stomach quivering. Was it too soon to bring up the subject of the emerald? He could not wait another second. "The emerald---"

She said, "Ah, s. The emerald was given to me by my grandmother. I wish to pa.s.s it on to my daughter when she is twenty-five, but my husband is going into a new business in Milano, and I---"

Halston's mind was elsewhere. He was not interested in the boring life story of the stranger sitting across from him. He was burning to see the emerald. The suspense was more than he could bear.

"Credo che sia importante to help my husband get started in his business." She smiled ruefully. "Perhaps I am making a mistake---"

"No, no," Halston said hastily. "Not at all, Contessa. It's a wife's duty to stand by her husband. Where is the emerald now?"

"I have it here," the contessa said.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a jewel wrapped in a tissue, and held it out to Halston. He stared at it, and his spirits soared. He was looking at the most exquisite ten-carat gra.s.s-green Colombian emerald he had ever seen. It was so close in appearance, size, and color to the one he had sold Mrs. Benecke that the difference was almost impossible to detect. It is not exactly the same, Halston told himself, but only an expert would be able to tell the difference. His hands began to tremble. He forced himself to appear calm.

He turned the stone over, letting the light catch the beautiful facets, and said casually, "It's a rather nice little stone."

"Splendente, s. I have loved it very much all these years. I will hate to part with it."

"You're doing the right thing," Halston a.s.sured her. "Once your husband's business is successful, you will be able to buy as many of these as you wish."

"That is exactly what I feel. You are molto simpatico."

"I'm doing a little favor for a friend, Contessa. We have much better stones than this in our shop, but my friend wants one to match an emerald that his wife bought. I imagine he would be willing to pay as much as sixty thousand dollars for this stone."

The contessa sighed. "My grandmother would haunt me from her grave if I sold it for sixty thousand dollars."

Halston pursed his lips. He could afford to go higher. He smiled. "I'll tell you what... I think I might persuade my friend to go as high as one hundred thousand. That's a great deal of money, but he's anxious to have the stone."

"That sounds fair," the contessa said.

Gregory Halston's heart swelled within his breast. "Bene! I brought my checkbook with me, so I'll just write out a check---"

"Ma, no.... I am afraid it will not solve my problem." The contessa's voice was sad.

Halston stared at her. "Your problem?"

"S. As I explain, my husband is going into this new business, and he needs three hundred fifty thousand dollars. I have a hundred thousand of my money to give him, but I need two hundred fifty thousand more. I was hope to get it for this emerald."

He shook his head. "My dear Contessa, no emerald in the world is worth that kind of money. Believe me, one hundred thousand dollars is more than a fair offer."

"I am sure it is so, Mr. Halston," the contessa told him, "but it will not help my husband, will it?" She rose to her feet. "I will save this to give to our daughter." She held out a slim, delicate hand. "Grazie, signore. Thank you for coming."

Halston stood there in a panic. "Wait a minute," he said. His greed was dueling with his common sense, but he knew he must not lose the emerald now. "Please sit down, Contessa. I'm sure we can come to some equitable arrangement. If I can persuade my client to pay a hundred fifty thousand---?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Let's say, two hundred thousand?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

There was no budging her. Halston made his decision. A $150,000 profit was better than nothing. It would mean a smaller villa and boat, but it was still a fortune. It would serve the Parker brothers right for the shabby way they treated him. He would wait a day or two and then give them his notice. By next week he would be on the Cote d'Azur.

"You have a deal," he said.

"Meraviglioso! Sono contenta!"

You should be contented, you b.i.t.c.h, Halston thought. But he had nothing to complain about. He was set for life. He took one last look at the emerald and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll give you a check written on the store's account."

"Bene, signore."

Halston wrote out the check and handed it to her. He would have Mrs. P.J. Benecke make out her $400,000 check to cash. Peter would cash the check for him, and he would exchange the contessa's check for the Parker brothers' check and pocket the difference. He would arrange it with Peter so that the $250,000 check would not appear on the Parker brothers' monthly statement. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

He could already feel the warm French sun on his face.

The taxi ride back to the store seemed to take only seconds. Halston visualized Mrs. Benecke's happiness when he broke the good news to her. He had not only found the jewel she wanted, he had spared her from the excruciating experience of living in a drafty, rundown country house.

When Halston floated into the store, Chilton said, "Sir, a customer here is interested in---"

Halston cheerfully waved him aside. "Later."

He had no time for customers. Not now, not ever again. From now on people would wait on him. He would shop at Hermes and Gucci and Lanvin.

Halston fluttered into his office, closed the door, set the emerald on the desk in front of him, and dialed a number.

An operator's voice said, "Dorchester Hotel."

"The Oliver Messel Suite, please."

"To whom did you wish to speak?"

"Mrs. P.J. Benecke."

"One moment, please."

Halston whistled softly while he waited.

The operator came back on the line. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Benecke has checked out."

"Then ring whatever suite she's moved to."

"Mrs. Benecke has checked out of the hotel."

"That's impossible. She---"

"I'll connect you with reception."

A male voice said, "Reception. May I help you?"

"Yes. What suite is Mrs. P.J. Benecke in?"

"Mrs. Benecke checked out of the hotel this morning."

There had to be an explanation. Some unexpected emergency.

"May I have her forwarding address, please. This is---"

"I'm sorry. She didn't leave one."

"Of course she left one."

"I checked Mrs. Benecke out myself. She left no forwarding address."

It was a jab to the pit of his stomach. Halston slowly replaced the receiver and sat there, bewildered. He had to find a way to get in touch with her, to let her know that he had finally located the emerald. In the meantime, he had to get back the $250,000 check from the Contessa Marissa.

He hurriedly dialed the Savoy Hotel. "Suite twenty-six."

"Whom are you calling, please?"

"The Contessa Marissa."

"One moment, please."

But even before the operator came back on the line, some terrible premonition told Gregory Halston the disastrous news he was about to hear.

"I'm sorry. The Contessa Marissa has checked out."

He hung up. His fingers were trembling so hard that he was barely able to dial the number of the bank. "Give me the head bookkeeper.... quickly! I wish to stop payment on a check."

But, of course, he was too late. He had sold an emerald for $100,000 and had bought back the same emerald for $250,000. Gregory Halston sat there slumped in his chair, wondering how he was going to explain it to the Parker brothers.

Chapter 22.

It was the beginning of a new life for Tracy. She purchased a beautiful old Georgian house at 45 Eaton Square that was bright and cheerful and perfect for entertaining. It had a Queen Anne--- British slang for a front garden--- and a Mary Anne--- a back garden--- and in season the flowers were magnificent. Gunther helped Tracy furnish the house, and before the two of them were finished, it was one of the showplaces of London.

Gunther introduced Tracy as a wealthy young widow whose husband had made his fortune in the import-export business. She was an instant success; beautiful, intelligent, and charming, she was soon inundated with invitations.

At intervals, Tracy made short trips to France and Switzerland and Belgium and Italy, and each time she and Gunther Hartog profited.

Under Gunther's tutelage, Tracy studied the Almanach de Gotha and Debrett's Peerage and Baronetage, the authoritative books listing detailed information on all the royalty and t.i.tles in Europe. Tracy became a chameleon, an expert in makeup and disguises and accents. She acquired half a dozen pa.s.sports. In various countries, she was a British d.u.c.h.ess, a French airline stewardess, and a South American heiress. In a year she had acc.u.mulated more money than she would ever need. She set up a fund from which she made large, anonymous contributions to organizations that helped former women prisoners, and she arranged for a generous pension to be sent to Otto Schmidt every month. She no longer even entertained the thought of quitting. She loved the challenge of outwitting clever, successful people. The thrill of each daring escapade acted like a drug, and Tracy found that she constantly needed new and bigger challenges. There was one credo she lived by: She was careful never to hurt the innocent. The people who jumped at her swindles were greedy or immoral, or both. No one will ever commit suicide because of what I've done to them, Tracy promised herself.

The newspapers began to carry stories of the daring escapades that were occurring all over Europe, and because Tracy used different disguises, the police were convinced that a rash of ingenious swindles and burglaries was being carried out by a gang of women. Interpol began to take an interest.

At the Manhattan headquarters of the International Insurance Protection a.s.sociation, J. J. Reynolds sent for Daniel Cooper.

"We have a problem," Reynolds said. "A large number of our European clients are being hit apparently by a gang of women. Everybody's screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder. They want the gang caught. Interpol has agreed to cooperate with us. It's your a.s.signment, Dan. You leave for Paris in the morning."

Tracy was having dinner with Gunther at Scott's on Mount Street.

"Have you ever heard of Maximilian Pierpont, Tracy?"

The name sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? She remembered. Jeff Stevens, on board the QE II, had said, "We're here for the same reason. Maximilian Pierpont."

"Very rich, isn't he?"

"And quite ruthless. He specializes in buying up companies and stripping them."

When Joe Romano took over the business, he fired everybody and brought in his own people to run things. Then he began to raid the company.... They took everything--- the business, this house, your mother's car....

Gunther was looking at her oddly. "Tracy, are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine." Sometimes life can be unfair, she thought, and it's up to us to even things out. "Tell me more about Maximilian Pierpont."

"His third wife just divorced him, and he's alone now. I think it might be profitable if you made the gentleman's acquaintance. He's booked on the Orient Express Friday, from London to Istanbul."

Tracy smiled. "I've never been on the Orient Express. I think I'd enjoy it."

Gunther smiled back. "Good. Maximilian Pierpont has the only important Faberge egg collection outside of the Hermitage Museum in Leningrad. It's conservatively estimated to be worth twenty million dollars."

"If I managed to get some of the eggs for you," Tracy asked, curious, "what would you do with them, Gunther? Wouldn't they be too well known to sell?"

"Private collectors, dear Tracy. You bring the little eggs to me, and I will find a nest for them."