“Mr. Ward dares to accuse Griffeth of the robbery and attack on himself, does he?”
“No. He is very considerate, my dear, very kind,” Veracci assured her tenderly. “You are over-anxious and must not lose the perspective of things. Mr. Ward has silenced the news of the robbery. There is nothing at all in the papers. He is handling the entire affair most diplomatically, with private detectives, and the police commissioner muzzled. Ah, he is very clever. His own wound is nothing to him, but the loss of the jewels is everything. His theory is this, you have been meeting friends of Ames, no doubt, in his studio. You may have spoken of the jewels—”
“I did not!” flashed Carlota.
“Possibly without intent. You wore them at the fête. There has been a secret search going on for these royal gems, it appears, for months. Ward knew all about it. He did not know they were in your possession until the night of the fête, he says. They are part of the crown jewels of Bulgaria.”
“But they were given to Margherita outright by Boris himself,” protested Maria; “there was no theft. They were hers.”
“He had no right to give them.” The old Marchese spoke gently. “When the revolution came and Ferdinand fled, Sophia took the crown jewels with her. Since then, Ward tells me, parts of them have been turning up at every jewel mart in the world, where she has sought to raise funds for the royalist cause. These were traced to America from Italy by a man named Count Jurka, the queen’s chamberlain. Ward knew him. He was found dead this morning.”
Maria stared at him in silence. Carlota came to his side quickly, her face white with dread, as she remembered Dmitri’s promise to find the jewels.
“Where?”
“In a room on East Twenty-Eighth Street. It is in the Bulgarian quarter, next door to where a man lives named Dmitri Kavec, the closest friend of Griffeth Ames. My dear,” as his arm encircled her swaying figure, “you must be strong. He was found with another, a Bulgarian boy called Steccho, also a friend of Ames and Kavec’s. Have you met them at his studio?”
“I know Dmitri Kavec,” she said brokenly, her hands covering her face. “Has he accused Griffeth?”