THE PEACOCK'S EYE BY Frank Arnold KUMMER

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 279, 24 November 1928, Page 14 (Supplement)

THE PEACOCK'S EYE BY Frank Arnold KUMMER

CHAPTER I. The private office of Mr. Rowland Hal], of the Colonial National Bank, was a luxuriously appointed room, although not a large one. But then Mr. Hall himself was not a large man, in a physical sense at least. The banker came in on this brick winter morning with the feeling of physical and mental well being, that comes to a man who realises that the world has treated him well. Ho seated himself before his desk and began in a leisurely way to look over his mail.

It was close to noon when one of the clerks came- in and handed him a card. "Show tho lady in at once, Wilson," Mr. Hall exclaimed. Ho waited somewhat nervously. His caller, Mrs. Goldsborough, was one of tho wealthiest and best-known Bociety women. She seldom eamo in person to the Colonial Bank, although she had maintained an account there for a number of years. Mr. Hall awaited her arrival with considerable curiosity. In a few moments the door of the office was thrown open and Mrs. Goldsborough came in. She wa3 a .very handsome woman, her costume and her costly furs indicating without proclaiming, both her good taste and her wealth. Mr. Hall rose, shook her hand and placed a chair for her at one side of his big rosewood desk, then he resumed his own seat on the other. "I have come on a matter of business," she began and drew from her muff a small box made of black Russian leather, about four inches square and perhaps two deep. This she placed on the desk before her. Mr. Hall regarded it inquiringly, then glanced up. "You may perhaps know, Mr. Hall," Mrs. Goldsborough continued, "that my husband, about a year before his death, purchased for mo the famous pink diamond, once a part of the crown jewels of Hungary, and known, because of its unusual colour, as tha Peacock's Eye." The banker nodded. 'T remember quite well," he said. "There was an account of the purchase in the newspapers at the time, together with a history of the jewel. I hope nothing has happened to it." Mrs. Goldsborough glanced at the black leather box that rested on the desk before her and smiled. "Oh, no," she replied, "the stone is quite safe!" She took a small steel key from her vanity box and opening the leather box drew out a huge pink diamond, oval in shape and as large as a pigeon's egg, suspended from a thin gold chain. The banker took the splendid jewel in ; his hand, observing the brilliant colours that flashed from it in the rays of the winter sun, as he turned it towards the light. "It is magnificent," lie observed, with almost a suspicion of envy. "You must keep it well locked up, I should fancy." Mrs. Goldsborough replaced the diamond in the case and, locking the latter, returned the key to her vanity box. • "I have been keeping the stone in my safe-deposit box at the United Trust Company," she said. "It was quite safe there, of course, but the arrangement had its disadvantages. From time to time I like to wear the jewel, and it's not always convenient for me to go to the vaults and take it out myself. I cannot send the key by a servant, because they would not allow my deposit box to ( be opened by anyone but myself." "It is the usual rule," nodded the banker.

"Now, I am told that you have recently had installed at your bank one of the strongest vaults in the world." "Yes, that is so," said Mr. Hall. "Well, my idea is this: I wish to leave the diamond in your personal keeping. You, I hope, will undertake to put it in a safe place. Should I want it at any time, I'll send a man for it with an order signed by myself; you will then deliver the jewel-case to him. But I should want you to have my messenger, both in bringing the jewcl'to me and in return ing' it to the bank, accompanied by one of your trusted' men, who would be responsible for its safety while _ in transit. Do you think you can do this ? The banker hesitated for a moment, regarding the jewel-case with a look of apprehension. "What is, roughly, the value of the stone?" he asked. , "It is regarded by experts as being worth not less than a quarter of a million" Mrs. Goldsborough responded, quite calmlv, as though the amount were tho merest'trifle. "I will, of course, pay any reasonable charge for your services in the matter," she added. "It is not that," replied Mr. Hall. Ihe diamond will, of course, be quite safe while in our vaults. It is the sending o thestono away from the bank that I feel doubtful about." • "But surely you have m your employ men that you can trust? When the case containing the diamond is delivered to me, I'll sign a receipt. When I deliver it to 'your messenger he will give me a receipt. You will not be responsible fot anything that may happen while the jewel is in my possession. That is my own affair." . .

Mr. Hall nodded. ' "Under those conditions," he said, 1 will undertake the trust." "Good!" exclaimed Mrs. Goldsborough, rising. I. Mr.'Hall took the jewel case in his hand as Mrs. Goldsborough moved towards tho door. "I will have a receipt made out for you at once," ho observed, as they passed into tho marble-lined rotunda of the bank. "Pardon me just a moment." His caller nodded and proceeded towards the door leading to the street. A few.moments later Mr. Hall emerged from the front door of the bank and made his way to the motor car in which Mrs. Goldsborough had already settled herself.

In one hand he still held the black leather case, in-the other a slip of paper, a receipt for the Peacock's Eye. In the brisk December wind he shivered slightly, in-spite of the warmth of the noonday sun.

Reaching the window of the car, Mr. Hall extended the receipt towards Mrs. Goldsborough. Just as she was about to.take it in her gloved hand a gust of wind whipped the bit of paper from the banker's fingers and sent it flying down the street.

Mr. Hall watched its progress with a frown of annoyance. He was presently much relieved to see a distinguishedlooking man stoop and pick up the receipt from thejavement. In a mome'iii

he had lifted it from Its bed of snow and came towards them, a smile wrinkling his swarthy, foreign-looking features. Whether lie read the contents of the paper as ho came forward Mr. Hall was unable to say. After all, lie reflected, it made little difference. Scarcely a minute had elapsed before the receipt was once more in the banker's hands, and the stranger had bowed, raised his hat, and proceeded on his way. Mr. Hall again handed the slip of papsr to Mrs. Goldsborough, and this time she received it safely and thrust it into her purse. Then, with a smile of farewell, she drove quickly away. A Painter Of Portraits. Mr Karl Jansen, the fashionable portrait painter, had risen from the position of a minor artist to that of one of the most highly-paid craftsmen in his profes-

His magic brush brought much money to his coffers, but for all that Jansen felt himself to be a poor man. Wine, women and a variety of other luxuries kept him constantly straining every nerve to meet his obligations.

Some business connected with a speculation in stocks had driven him out this brilliant December morning, and Fate had selected him, of the many passers-by, to recover Mr. Hall's vagrant receipt and return it to him. During the interval which had elapsed between the time of picking up the slip of paper and of handing it back to the banker Jansen had not failed to read the typewritten words upon it, describing the Peacock's Eye as worth £250,000. At the moment or returning tne bit of paper Mr. Jansen had surveyed Mrs. Goldsborough with a keen and critical eye. Her aristocratic features, her more than ordinary good looks, filled him with a desire to transfer them to canvas, providing tho transfer could be made at a figure commensurate with the lady's position and wealth. Ho repeated to himself carefully the name he had observed written in the receipt —Mra. Goldsborough—and when he, had reached the Tube train and secured a seat he took from his pocket a notebook and jotted the name down. Half an hour later Mr. Jansen entered his handsome studio and handed his coat and hat to his Japanese servant. The latter received them with his usual iinpassiveness, his face wrinkled in its customary mirthless smile. Nogi Toshiwara knew much concerning both his employer and other matters, but he did not advertise the fact. "Has anyone been here, Nogi?" the painter asked, glancing at his watch. "No one." The Japanese shook nis head and retired to the rear of the apartment with' his employer's hat and coat.

Jansen seated himself at a small carved writing desk at one side of the room and consulted tlio telephone directory. Iu a few moments he had secured tho information he desired. He smiled as he entered Mrs. Goldsborough's address in his memorandum hook. Certainly she would prove a valuable addHion to his circle of clients.

As he rose from the desk „ bell rang, and without waiting for his servant to appear Jansen went to the door and threw it open. Two well-dressed women stood on tlie threshold.

"Good-morning, Sirs. Haekett. How are you, Miss Morton?" the artist exclaimed, bowing low over tho hands of his callers as ho ushered them in. "Isn't it a wonderful day?"

He glanced towards the big north window, through which the brilliance of the unclouded sky swept in a subdued radiance, revealing rich and unexpected tints in the carved oak, the faded tapestries, the bits of bronze, porcelain 'and ivory that lined the walls of the studio.

"Wonderful!" assented the younger of tho two women. "I hope the portrait is finished."

Jansen did not reply, but with a dramatic gesture swept the covering from an easel that stood in the full light of tho window. Upon it rested a large unframed canvas, and upon the canvas was a highly-coloured and very flattering representation of Miss Morton.

It may not havo been art, as Mr. Jansen's disgruntled competitors maintained, but it was brilliantly clever, and Miss Morton was vastly pleased. "I am delighted with it, Mr. Jansen," she said. "Will you please send it home at once, as soon as the varnishing and framing are done? I'll give you a cheque .now." She sat down at the little desk and drew a cheque-book from her muff. "That is very kind," Jansen murmured. Then he turned to Mrs. Hackctt. "I had the pleasure of seeing this morning a lady whom I desire very much to paint," he began. "Who's that?" inquired Mrs. Haekett. "Mrs. Goldsborough. You know her, perhaps ?" Mrs. Haekett nodded. "I have known. Mrs. Goldsborough ever since she was married," she said. "She is a very charming woman." "And very beautiful," Jansen went on, as he took the cheque that Miss Morton handed him. "Such poise, such aristocratic bearing, such a superb colour! With me painting is not a matter of business; when I see someone who gives me an inspiration, I feel that I simply must perpetuate their beauty by my art. You remember, Miss Morton, how, after I had seen you, I couldn't rest until I had transferred your personality to canvas—fixed it in imperishable colour for the world to admire."

Miss Morton then received this glowing compliment with a smile of pleasure. Jansen had a way of flattering women that carried with it ■ a conviction of sincerity. ;■

"I know Mrs. Goldsborough very well," she said. "When my portrait is sent home I'll make it a point of asking her to come and look at it, and I'll also tell her what you have said."

"That will be most kind of you," replied the artist. "And perhaps 6ome day she might like you to bring her here to the studio. I am sure it would interest her;"

With a smile i he bowed his callers out. Mr. Jansen's manoeuvres were immediately productive of results. A few days after the portrait of Miss Morton had been sent home he received a note from that lady informing him that she would come to tho studio the following day at noon, accompanied by Mrs. Goldsborough.

It was near the appointed time when Mr. Jansen received the note; he had slept late, the result of a lively party the night before. He proceeded at once to ninke a most elaborate toilet, array-

ing himself in velvet trousers and painter's smock, a costume he depended upon

to give that touch of romance to his appearanco which no ordinary and conventional suit of tweed could possibly have suggested. He was a striking figure; his flowing tie, his bushy hair, the single carved amethyst ring worn upon the forefinger, all served to clothe him in an atmosphere of foreign things—of the Latin Quarter, of the rare and unusual. His toilet completed, he sought for a time among a number of unfrained sketches that he drew from a cupboard, and, having found what ho desired, placed the picture on his easel. It was the picture of a beautiful woman, a study rather than a portrait. The subject was seated on a carved marble bench, beyond which stretched a vista

of blue sea, visible through the interlacing green leaves of a flowering vine. The colouring of the sky, the sea, suggested the approach of evening. The woman wore a soft, clinging evening gown. Her neck and throat were bare. With a few deft strokes of his brush Jansen encircled the neck -with a thin gold chain, from which hung a huge diamond pendant. Then, nodding his head with satisfaction, he once more placed the picture in the cupboard and sat down to await the arrival of his guests.

A few moments later the bell of the studio rang, Jansen pushed through the heavy curtains that separated the studio from a room behind, and directed his Japanese servant to open the door.

Having provided Miss Morton and Mrs. Goldsborough with seats, Nogi returned with their cards to the room in the rear. He found Jansen puffing nervously at a cigarette.

The artist took, the cards, looked at them, smiled, and in a low voice instructed the servant to say that lie would he with his callers in a moment. Then, having deliberately finished his cigarette, he dashed some perfumed water over his face and hands, and proceeded to the studio.

"Good morning, Miss Morton," lie cried, with an air of delight as he grasped her hand, then bowed low over that of Mrs. Goldsborough. "It is most kind of you to come. I havo simple tastes, as you see." He waved his hand about the room. "But what would you, when one's life is consecrated to art? You havo seen my portrait of Miss Morton?" Jansen asked, 1 turning to Mrs. Goldsborough with a quick ingratiating smile.

"Yes, I think it is charming. You make of your portraits more than mere portraits. They are pictures, as well."

Jansen expressed the greatest deligh at her words.

"You have seen at a glance," he cried, "what I have made the study of a lifetime. Now, here, for instance, is a picture I made last year—the sitter wai merely a model, but I mean some day to use the surrounding setting in a portrait." Ho hastened to the cupboard and' drew out the picturo upon which ho had so recently been engaged. "You see," he explained, placing the canvas on tho easel, "how everything suggests—evening—the soft tones of the sky, the purple sea, the shadows among the vine leaver, tho costume of the sitter—even the splendid diamond at her throat, catching the last rays of tho setting sun. Is it not a picture, as well as a portrait?"

He regarded the canvas with an expression of enthusiasm not lost upon his hearers. Mrs. Goldsborough, in fact, found it decidedly infectious. "I should like to have iny portrait painted like that," she remarked; then, turning to Miss Morton, "I could wear the Peacock's Eye, couldn't I? I think I shall give Mr. Jansen commission." The artist bowed and murmured his deep appreciation. '.'When could you begin?" Mrs. Goldsborough. asked. "To-morrow morning, should you desire it. I am all enthusiasm. 1 havo some other work under way, but it can be done as well later, or in the afternoons."

"And how long do you think it will take?" she asked.

"Less than two weeks. Ten sittings, perhaps, of an hour each. Let us say from eleven to twelve each day. Will those hours suit you?"

Mrs. Goldsborough smiled and nod' dcd. "And your charges?" she asked.

"My charges?" .asked Jansen. "Oh, 1 consider it a privilege to paint you! As for the value of the picture, I will leave that to you. At times I have received as high as a thousand guineas. A certain Crown Princess paid that for a simple head. You shall be the judge, when the portrait is done, and if it does not entirely please you I will make no charge for it at all."

"A thousand guineas!" observed Mrs. Goldsborough, glancing at Miss Morton.

"Miss Morton's portrait was done at a somewhat .lower figure, Jansen hastened to remark, "but not because the work was tho less inspired. I realised that she was perhaps not in a position to pay so large a sum, and the joy itgave me to make so charming a portrait amply repaid for the difference."

Mrs. Goldsborough did not indicate whether or net the artist's logic was entirely convincing, but she had evidently made up her mind to order the portrait, so pursued the subject no further. • "I will como at eleven to-morrow, then," she said, rising. "You'll be ready for me, Mr. Jansen." "Of course. Vo will lose no time. Good morning. Good morning, Miss Morton. To-morrow, without fail. I feel that I'm going to produce a masterpiece." i (To be continued Saturday next.)