Street of the Five Moons Read Online Free PDF Page B

imagine it had an interesting variety of flavors. He was lying with his head on my foot, which had gone numb from his weight. I was feeling ridiculously relaxed by that time — there is nothing more soothing than a dog at one’s feet — and I began to get a little peckish. So I went to the cubbyhole-pantry to get some cookies. I was tempted to make myself a cup of tea, and went so far as to take the lid off the tin. The box was almost full.
    The box of cookies had been almost full too. That probably proved something, but I couldn’t believe it was anything important. I decided not to bother with the tea, but I ate the rest of the cookies, with considerable help from the dog. What the hell, there was no way I could conceal the fact that someone had broken into the shop. Whatever else the dog might have done, he could not have opened the cans of smoked oysters.
    I dusted the crumbs off my hands and returned to the office for a final look around. There was nothing in the wastebasket, nothing behind the file cabinet. I decided I might as well go. I hated to leave the dog, but I could hardly take him to my hotel. When I bent down to pat his massive head and apologize for deserting him, I saw he had found something else to nibble. The design on the paper caught my eye, and I pulled it out of the dog’s jaws.
    He had eaten one corner of the paper, but enough remained. It was a drawing — a detailed, scale drawing — of a crown. Not one of those big, fat, plushy crowns modern monarchs wear when they are opening Parliament; this was a diadem of twisted gold wire and tiny enameled flowers. The flower petals were made of turquoise and lapis lazuli and carnelian. The colors weren’t indicated on the drawing; but I knew that crown. Talk about antique jewelry — this piece was four thousand years old. It had come from the tomb of an Egyptian princess. The Metropolitan Museum has one like it. This one had been found early in the nineteenth century, before governments established regulations about removing antiquities from the country in which they were discovered. Like the Elgin Marbles, it had been taken to England by the wealthy excavator. Unlike the Marbles, it was still in a private collection.
    I put the drawing in my pocket and headed for the back door. I had to talk to the dog for quite a while before he would let me out. I had refilled his water dish, but I still felt guilty; the last thing I saw before I switched off my flashlight was his mournful look. I didn’t bother locking the door. Why should I protect the premises of a gang of crooks?
    The shop was one of the hangouts of the people I was after. I was sure of that now. The drawing might not be proof for a court of law, but it was good enough for me. The detailed measurements and scale sketch were precisely what a craftsman would need in order to copy a piece, and this particular piece of jewelry was made to order for the man who had produced the copy of the Charlemagne talisman. The value of the crown lay in the design and the workmanship and the rarity. It could be duplicated at a fairly reasonable cost.
    I got back to the hotel about 3 A.M having divested myself of my coat and scarf along the way. The desk clerk smiled slyly as I went through the lobby, and I thanked God for dirty minds. It never would have occurred to that man that I was late because I had been breaking into an antique shop.

II

    I had breakfast in bed next morning, and very good it was, too, except for the coffee. I cannot imagine why the people who invented espresso have never learned to produce decent coffee of any other variety.
    It was a gorgeous morning, like practically every morning in Rome. The fountains in the Piazza d’Esedra sparkled in the sunlight. I was wearing my brightest tourist costume, all red-and-white stripes and big sunglasses. I wanted to be noticed. There was no way the shop people could know I was their nocturnal visitor. I strolled along the Via dei Coronari in a