Free 11 Harrowhouse by Gerald A Browne Page A

he said it, as though he dealt with stones that size every day. Chesser saw three benefits in this opportunity. He could make a large profit. He could gain some respect from The System. And he could indulge in some personal retaliation. Right now his special pleasure was twisting Meecham’s mind a bit.
    â€œTwo hundred?”
    â€œFor starters,” said Chesser.
    â€œYou’re in no position to handle a stone that large.”
    â€œI can handle it.”
    â€œYou’re talking about a sizable transaction, you know. It’ll have to be in cash, as always.”
    â€œI can handle it in cash.”
    â€œYou have a buyer, you say?”
    Meecham was after the buyer’s identity again. Chesser didn’t go for it. He let his silence tell Meecham that.
    â€œCome in around two thirty,” said Meecham.
    â€œAround two thirty?” Chesser emphasized the first word, letting Meecham know that such an approximate appointment was preferential treatment he’d not been granted before.
    â€œTwo thirty,” snapped Meecham.
    Chesser was tempted to tell him that four o’clock was more convenient, but he really couldn’t afford to be too impertinent. He needed The System. They had the stones.
    In the bedroom he saw that Maren was still drowsing. He said her name once, softly, and when she didn’t stir he let her be.
    He went out to the bank. The London affiliate of his bank in Geneva. Presentation of the certified Massey check got him swiftly to the private desk of one of the bank’s directors. Chesser told him what he wanted: to deposit the check to his Geneva account in dollars and be able to draw whatever he might need up to that total to cover a transaction here in London. The director said it would take only a day to arrange that.
    Out of the bank and on the street, Chesser decided he’d walk back to the Connaught. He dismissed the Daimler and went up Regent Street with a step that matched his sense of well-being. He looked at almost every store window and felt in a buying mood. It was noon and many girls were out from offices. Chesser was very receptive. He thought there were more pretty girls than ever and he got a few reciprocal glances. He turned off Regent and went down Maddox Street, where he stopped in at a small shop to purchase a Victorian locket intricately engraved and enameled, with the appropriate initials MC entwined. After another half block, the rain started. No warning sprinkles from the sky. It let go all at once. Chesser’s gray suit was spotted with dark drops. He took to the shelter of a doorway. He thought it might let up soon, but it was really coming down. He waited five minutes, which seemed like an hour, and then went out in it.
    He had five blocks to go. In half that his shoes were squishing and his trousers sticking to his thighs. When he approached the Connaught he looked as though he’d fallen overboard. The doorman rushed out to rescue him with a huge white umbrella. Silly bastard, thought Chesser, but gave him a big tip anyway.
    Chesser didn’t expect Maren to be gone. She’d eaten her breakfast and left him a note.
    Deserter!
    I’m going to get the works at Sassoon’s. Call me there if you can’t avoid trouble.
    He got out of his wet clothes and took a warm shower. By then it was one thirty. He thought about doing his I Ching but he didn’t have any coins, and the valet had sewn the buttons back onto his navy suit jacket—fortunately, because now he needed to wear it.
    He arrived at number 11 Harrowhouse Street a few minutes early. He remembered to let the door be opened for him by Miller, who, in his usual friendly manner, told Chesser he was expected to go directly to the sight room.
    Chesser went up, believing he’d find Meecham already there, but the room was empty. He took a seat at the velour-covered table. He anticipated Meecham’s entrance at any moment, and to create a blasé impression