March — undated, 1919

As a relief to the tragic history of his unfortunate people, Nubar told me last evening a story which ranks with that of Queen Marie Antoinette’s necklace and its disappearance, out of which so many mystery yarns have been spun. However, from this incident far-reaching political repercussions are not likely to flow, thanks to the prestige of his powerful father, the great Nubar.

When but a boy, in 1869, the young Nubar participated in all the fetes with which the Suez Canal was opened and the so-called marriage of the Mediterranean and the Red Sea was celebrated. The announced purpose of the great work was “to spread civilization, expand commerce, and end wars,” and consequently all the great ones of the earth were invited to be present. Among those who came in an official capacity were the Earl of Dudley and his wife, whose stately beauty was still remembered when a generation later I lived in London. They came as the favored guests of Khedive Ismail, the great spendthrift and connoisseur of female beauty.

As always when she traveled abroad, Lady Dudley left her famous pearl necklace in the vault of her London bank, only bringing with her reproductions of this and other famous jewels. While away on an excursion to the Fayoum, the necklace disappeared, and before the return of her ladyship the frantic maid called in the police, who immediately ransacked Cairo in search of the precious ornaments and the thief. Also Lady Dudley found awaiting her the secretary of Ismail, who assured her that if not recovered the Khedive would replace the necklace and send it to her with his compliments and his apologies. This placed the Dudleys in a quandary. It was, of course, impossible to admit to Ismail that they had come to his resplendent court and attended a function that would become historic, like the meeting on the Cloth of Gold, with false jewels. No, that could never be. Finally they hit upon a plan. They would on their return to London rediscover the real jewels, advise the Khedive of their find, and beg his pardon for all the trouble that had been caused by the flighty maid, who had failed to bring the necklace to Egypt in the first place.

In the meantime the Khedive, greatly mortified and chagrined at what apparently had happened, sent his secretary to Paris with the commission to duplicate the jewels, whatever the cost.

“Ismail was unfortunate in the choice of his secretary,” continued Nubar, “as in many other respects. This fellow was a Turk and not a reliable Armenian or even a Greek as he should have been. This scoundrel came to terms with a famous jeweler who had seen and was perfectly familiar with the Dudley necklace and agreed in a little time to reproduce it for forty thousand pounds. ‘Let us say fifty,’ whispered the secretary, ‘and it is a bargain.’

“While the pearls were being assembled, the secretary got in touch with a Palais Royal merchant, expert in such matters, and had a duplicate made which in due season he sent to the Dudleys in London with the compliments of the Khedive. For some days the Dudleys could neither sleep nor eat. What was to be done? What could they do? In a few days, however, they were delivered from their dilemma. They had the necklace “veted” by their jeweler, who reported that it was a reproduction and not a very good one at that. So Lady Dudley sat down and sent a charming perfumed note to Ismail, assuring him of her eternal gratitude. How magnificently wonderful he had been! There the matter ended as far as she was concerned. The faked necklace had been replaced by a reproduction that was nearly, if not quite, as satisfactory.

“The real necklace, which cost Ismail fifty thousand pounds, was deposited in an Amsterdam bank and the wily secretary returned to Cairo with ten thousand pounds pocket money. Poor Ismail showed him the grateful letter he had received from Lady Dudley and congratulated him upon the skillful way in which he had accomplished his delicate mission. In a few days the secretary pretended to fall ill and had himself ordered to a German spa. But he never went there. Instead he turned up in Amsterdam, reclaimed the necklace, sold some of the pearls, and pocketed the rest.”

“And then?” I inquired.

“Then he demonstrated once again that patriotism is the last resort of a scoundrel,” said Nubar. “He had heard that some of his cousins, the Turki of Turkestan, had risen against the Russians. He joined them and was killed in the first battle. The jewels, found in his pocket, were turned over to General Skobeleff who commanded the Russians, and he, when he returned to Moscow, gave them to a song bird in one of the cafes who enjoyed his favor.”

“And where do you think they are now?”

“I do not know, but I have an idea. Probably the Queen of the Bolsheviki is wearing them, or, like the thirty pieces of silver which Judas garnered by his treachery, they have just naturally gravitated toward the Soviet treasury.”

I should perhaps add that Nubar’s opinion of the Lenin crusade is absolutely unprintable.