“For all I know it is glass. But I want to know what it could be worth if it did happen to be an emerald.”

“I think I see what you mean.” He frowned at the piece of glass. “You have to understand that my every inclination is to avoid naming any sort of a figure. You see, even assuming the stone is a genuine emerald, its range in value could be considerable. It could be extremely valuable or very nearly worthless. It could be seriously flawed, for example. Or it could simply be a very low-grade stone. There are mail order firms that actually offer emeralds by the carat for some ridiculous sum, forty or fifty dollars the carat, and what they’re selling is no bargain, either. Yet they are genuine emeralds, however worthless they may be as gemstones.”

“I see.”

“Even a gem-quality emerald could vary enormously in value. You could buy a stone this size—“ he weighed the chunk of glass in his hand “—for a couple thousand dollars. And that would be a good stone, not industrial-grade corundum from western North Carolina. On the other hand, a stone of the highest quality, the best color, perfect brilliance, unflawed, not even Peruvian but the very best Colombian emerald, might bring forty or fifty or sixty thousand dollars. And even that’s approximate and imprecise.”

He had more to say but I wasn’t paying attention. He hadn’t really told me anything, hadn’t added a fresh piece to the puzzle, but he’d given the box a good shake. Now I could see where everything went.

I took the cube of green glass with me when I left.

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Around ten-thirty that night I walked in and out of Poogan’s Pub on West Seventy-second Street. A light rain had begun falling an hour or so earlier. Most of the people on the street were carrying umbrellas. I wasn’t, but I had a hat, and I paused on the sidewalk to straighten it and adjust its brim.

Across the street I saw a Mercury sedan with its motor riding.

I turned to my left and walked to the Top Knot. I spotted Danny Boy at a table in back but went to the bar anyway and asked for him. I must have spoken loudly because people looked at me. The bartender motioned toward the rear and I went back there and joined him.

He already had company. He was sharing his table with a slender fox-faced girl whose hair was as white as his own, but in her case nature couldn’t take the credit. Her eyebrows were severely plucked and her forehead had a shine to it. Danny Boy introduced her as Bryna. “Rhymes with angina,” he said, “among other things.” She smiled, showing sharp little canine teeth.