I re-wrapped manuscript and note in the brown paper it had arrived in and tucked it under my arm, leaving the rest of the mail unopened on my desk. There was likely nothing in there which couldn't wait a day or two, I considered. I put my hat back on, tugging it to a suitably rakish angle. Then I set off to David's diner for a late dinner, a journey which took twenty minutes for all that the little restaurant was on the corner of the block not fifty yards away. I was certain that I wasn't being followed just at the moment.

The avuncular and eponymous patron was standing at his accustomed post just inside the door when I arrived. He could see I was deep in thought and, without uttering a word, waved me to my usual table in a secluded booth right at the back. I sat, placing the parcel on the table next to the cutlery. David drew out his notebook and waited expectantly; I knew the menu by heart.

"Blue-plate and beer, please."

He scribbled for a second than turned on his heel and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens. A foaming tall drink appeared seconds later and the food a few minutes after that. I barely noticed either of them, although that didn't stop me from cleaning my plate and drinking another tall glass of dark stout which materialised just as I drained the first one.

Almost my entire attention was focussed on the manuscript. I decided I would simply start at the first page and plough through to the end. It wasn't a hardship, although quite a number of the anecdotes were scandalous - or at least would have been if the participants were not either dead or so aged that they would scarcely care any more. But nothing stood out as a reason for murder and mayhem. I was beginning to wonder whether I was wasting my time.

The very last few pages gave me reason to change my mind. Strowan Westwood had taken it into her head to tell the tale of when she had been given the necklace - the very one which was now missing and which I had been asked to retrieve - by her then husband-to-be. She told of accepting the beautiful jewellery graciously, and accepting an offer of marriage too, and wrote of her feelings of delight and love at those acceptances. I could only wonder what her old manservant Tibbermore had made of these revelations as he committed them to writing. On second thoughts, though, I imagined they were not entirely a surprise.

Lady Strowan also told of the first time she wore the necklace, in public at least - there were distinct hints in the text of a more private and intimate viewing with her finance, all in the best possible taste. For the unveiling, she was invited as an honoured guest at a grand ball thrown by some no-doubt famous socialite I had never heard of. The night was long, the costumes extravagant, the music and dancing exquisite. Her own dress was cut low over the shoulders, the better to display the glories of the jewels, of course.

By her own account, she was the centre of attention throughout that flamboyant and exhilarating evening. A great many young males invited her to dance - which she refused, dancing only with her betrothed for the entire night - and many older people of both sexes engaged her in conversation - always light and sparkling and witty.

But there was just one conversation which she recalled clearly, the only conversation which was not obvious persiflage or fawning admiration, was with a bent old widow dressed all in black, a female she did not then recognise and never since had been able to put a name to.

The crone spoke in a wheezing whisper, reaching up with wizened fingers to touch the chain around her neck. Strowan reported that she expected some familiar platitude or self-serving cliché, but was astounded by the words she heard.

"This, this brilliant jewel," hissed the old one close to her ear, "It is a blessing, if you dare use it, and a curse, so that you will have to be daring to use it."

Strowan was probably too astonished to speak. She stood, open-mouthed like a child while the noise and bustle of the party went on around her.

"Life everlasting and beauty unfading," the grandmother went on, "As long as you wear the necklace. But you must wear it all the time. The curse is two-fold: you take it off and your years will catch up with you. You with age and wither and even die. And, while you wear it, people will never love you, never like you, seek to avoid you. You will be shunned, separated, apart from all the world."

Then she was gone, disappeared forever, never to be seen again, untraced and apparently untraceable. Strowan was too surprised and shocked to think to pursue the crone, to ask her questions, to learn more. Besides, she was yet young, it was a wonderful evening with gaiety and laughter everywhere, and she simply pushed the thought out of her head.

It seemed that Strowan's memory had grown stronger, now that she herself was an aged widow. Perhaps it was the memory of that event which had caused Lady Strowan to find the precious necklace and show it to Mayfield, or perhaps it was the other way around: watching the lovely Mayfield wearing the necklace reminded her of the outlandish tale she had heard one enchanted evening many centuries ago.

I sat in the back booth in the diner hunched over the last half-inch of beer in my stein and re-read the last few pages. The tone in the text was light, an amusing anecdote about the legends that surrounded her life. The silly things some people believe, was the subtext. But I had an inkling that there was an important truth here, especially since Strowan rarely wore the necklace in later years, but rather kept it somewhere secure and secret which very few people knew about.

It seemed likely that Lady Strowan's necklace really did contain a very powerful and ancient magic to prolong life and vitality. That would be very rare - quite possibly unique - as well as hugely expensive and highly illegal in this day and age. It also contained a curse - that is probably the best word, although there is no precise translation available in English - which brought with it a particular form of bad luck.

A necklace which brought eternal life. Now that was a prize that might, conceivably, be worth killing for. Lady Strowan had been very wealthy, at least by my standards, but this magic would represent riches beyond imagination, the kind of prize that the powerful and ambitious and ruthless would want to possess.

Part 57

Part 59