Chapter 11: The Emerald Concubine

Gregg Gilstrom unlocked the door of his room and slid gratefully inside. It had been a day of boring lectures but he felt he had to keep up appearances. There was still a great deal of fuss being made about the museum robbery — largely as a result of the director insisting that everyone was to blame except him and while he resented the fact that he wasn't getting the credit, he was quite happy to be avoiding the attentions of the police.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he knew something wasn't right, something was different. As soon as he clicked the light on he saw what it was. There, stretched out on his couch, looking up at him provocatively, was the woman he had seen in the square the day before, Maxine Connor.

"Hello, Gregg," she said in the same husky tone she had used the day before. "I'd hoped you be home soon."

Gregg wasn't at all sure what to do. The jewel he used to hypnotise his victims was locked securely in his desk. His crotch, no respecter of difficulties of opportunity, was telling him that he had to have this woman, but he knew that there would be problems if he did anything there in his room. On the other hand he thought, as he took in the shape of her stretched out legs and the dark cleft of her cleavage that was clear in the V of her jacket, her intentions looked anything but modest. "Err, how did you get in?" he said. "I thought I'd left the room locked."

"You did," Maxine responded, making no attempt to explain herself. "But surely, a magician knows there are no solid doors?" Gregg felt discomforted by the woman's manner. She sat up and patted the seat beside her to indicate that he should sit down. "Now why don't you tell me just how you did that trick with the tie?"

Gregg tried to recover his composure. He shook his head. "Oh, no, I couldn't," he said. "It's an unwritten rule. A magician never explains his tricks."

Maxine smiled and put her head on one side. Her long hair fell loosely across her shoulder. "No, of course. I understand. Let me guess though. Was it some form of hypnosis of the audience, perhaps with the Swami's ruby? Or was it something even more remarkable; the real Indian rope trick?"

Gregg's jaw dropped open at the mention of the Swami. He stared at Maxine without saying anything and then sat down beside her.

"Hiram Heron wasn't the only one that wrote about the Swami and his followers," Maxine went on. "It's surprising what you can find out in the museum and the library with a little research. He really was an interesting man, the Swami. He had the British administration worried for a while, there was talk of very strange events in Pradesh. That ruby of his was a powerful jewel if you believe everything that was written."

"Very interesting," Gregg said trying to recover his thoughts. "But why would you think I would be interested in this Indian Swami?"

"Someone interested in magic? Of course you'd be interested in the origins of the Indian rope trick! And if it wasn't actually a trick? Well, imagine that."

Actually, Gregg hadn't really considered the implications of the power that the trick presented. He had been too amused by the hypnotic power of the jewel and the opportunities it had presented to fulfil the sexual drives that consumed him. Its use to acquire the emerald had been almost incidental. He felt embarrassed that he hadn't thought that it might be of any other use but on the other hand he was intrigued by what the woman was suggesting. Of course he might become the world's most famous magician but that was hardly the heritage of the Swami; for him only infamous would do.