The Switch (Suspense)

Ralph Mannings (United Kingdom)

Summary:
A young jeweler attempts to outsmart a con artist, with unexpected results.

I imagine most girls visualise their engagement ring as something special and, as Jane and I were going to announce our ‘secret’ on Christmas day, finding that special ring was becoming a matter of urgency. We’d tried several local Jewellers but nothing seemed right but then she saw the 2.5 carat diamond winking at her from the velvet ring pad in our window.

‘Oh Tom,’ she said softly, ‘isn’t it beautiful?’

When she turned to look at me, Jane didn’t have to tell me that nothing else would make her happy. I wanted her to be happy.

I had to agree that the ring was something special but at £1000 it was about a year’s salary so even with staff discount there was no way I could afford it. Blundell’s, is a county class jeweller, thick carpets, discrete lighting, hushed voices and high priced merchandise. Being the manager I was well known in the business and I suppose the social standing that gave me is the reason I stayed there.

It certainly wasn’t because I liked Blundell, I loathed the old goat, and he felt the same way about me.

It didn’t start out that way, of course. It was the gradual realisation of how mean spirited he was that soured our relationship, so we now had an arm’s length arrangement…he did the office work, I ran the shop, because I had the greater knowledge of gemstones. There were many less expensive gems that closely resembled the diamond but to me, the equally beautiful zircon, was the nearest and a damned sight closer to what I could afford but it had to be identical to the one she’d set her heart on. So I made detailed drawings and took them to a ‘jobbing’ jeweller I knew to have it made with an 18 carat gold shank and coronet platinum setting. I then waited an agonising three weeks for the finished product. But when I compared the result with the original it was a perfect replica and I couldn’t wait to see it on Jane’s finger.

I remember that late December morning quite clearly. The ring was comfortably warm in my jacket pocket and the grandfather clock had just gonged its midday message. Most of the staff were busy with customers and old Blundell was tucked away in his office.
I was facing the door when he entered the shop and something about him was vaguely familiar, but a name escaped me and that was puzzling because I could put a name to all our regular customers.

I learned long ago that greeting a customer by name was a sale halfway made so I made point of memorising names, but… Big smile. ‘Good morning, sir, can I help you?’

Hooded eyes under thick eyebrows regarded me silently for a few moments and I had the impression he was expecting a further response from me, but then… ‘My wife’s seen a single stone diamond ring in your window that she likes,’ he said, ‘priced at £1000…Let me see it.’

The rumpled overcoat didn’t excite much enthusiasm at the prospect making a sale but I ushered him to a small private cubicle we kept for expensive transactions. When I brought the ring I set it under the powerful angle lamp so that refracted light sent shimmering splinters of colour. He plucked the ring from its slot and studied it closely.

‘It’s almost flawless,’ I said, ‘and that’s rare, see for yourself.’ I offered him my magnified eyepiece,’ adding, ‘It’s a blue white from South Africa.’

He finished his intense study and removed the eyepiece. ‘I’ll take it.

‘A quick decision which was most unusual for a high priced item so it surprised me but…?

‘I’m sure your wife will love it’, I said, ‘Christmas present is it?’

‘Anniversary,’ he said, levering a dog eared cheque book from his coat pocket, adding. ‘You’ll take a cheque of course.’

Still sceptical, I said. ‘Is it local, sir?’

With a hint of annoyance, he said. ‘You always take a Hurrells’ cheque, son.’

So that’s what I’d found puzzling. He was good, bloody good. But in spite of the close resemblance I knew he wasn’t Hurrell because I’d delivered a gold watch to the works a month ago and saw him make the staff presentation. The company itself was a well known customer at Blundells but we rarely saw Hurrell in person. The resemblance was good enough, but Blundell might recognise a fake signature so would it pass, I wondered. But then it had to for the fraud to work. I had to admire the man’s confidence and I wanted to see how it would pan out. It was an interesting diversion from the normal routine and knowing that I could call a halt to the scheme at any time I was beginning to enjoy it, so I played along.

‘Just a formality, of course, Mr Hurrell but I’ll have to get Mr Blundell’s OK.’ It didn’t seem to bother him so just for the hell of it I said, ‘would you like to have a word with him?

A weathered hand waived a negative. ‘God, no,’ he growled.

Blundell’s reaction was as expected. I stood silently while pale blue eyes scanned the writing and a veined hand stroked the grey mane, permitting myself a superior smile when the thin lips pursed in surprise.

‘He’s here in person,’ I said.

‘He frowned his annoyance. ‘God, Sealey, why didn’t you say so, I’d better have a word with him.’

He was almost at the door when I said ‘Mr Hurrell’s in a hurry to get away. All, I need is your say so on the cheque.’

Typically, there was no word of praise on securing the sale and it annoyed me.

He was still stroking his wavy grey hair. ‘Will you accept the cheque?

‘He thrust his face in mine. ‘Since when, Sealey, ‘ he fumed, ‘don’t we accept a cheque from Hurrell’s?’

My intense dislike for him almost erupted but I choked it down and stormed off leaving him clutching the cheque. What occurred to me on the way back made my head spin. But, Christ, the situation was perfect. There would never be another opportunity like this but the consequences, if things went wrong, were unnerving. On the other hand, what could go wrong? In my pocket I had a perfect replica. I smiled into the hooded eyes of Mr. Hurrell, surprised that I was almost calm now that I was committed to playing the man at his own game.

‘Mr. Blundell sends his compliments, Mr. Hurrell,’ I said. ‘And the cheque is fine, of course.’

My hands were busy with the ring as I spoke. I permitted him a brief glance at the flashing stone under the lamp, then snapped the case shut. I wrapped it quickly and passed it to him with his receipt and a hand that trembled only slightly.

The package vanished into the capacious pocket of the rumpled overcoat. I held the door open and wished him a merry Christmas with a goodbye smile. The hooded eyes regarded me intently for several heart stopping seconds then he gave an odd grin before ambling out with a grunted, ‘Same to you.’

I stood there watching his retreating bulk with the diamond comfortably warm in my pocket; smugly confident that I’d seen the last of Mr. ‘Hurrell’. With all his iron nerve, he would hardly complain that he’d been cheated, even supposing he ever discovered the switch.

A single musical gong from the long case clock told me that it was lunch time. I waived to attract Sandra, who was busy with an overly large female, pointed to my watch and mouthed ‘lunch.’ I walked out into the watery December sunshine. Lunch that day was splendidly different to the usual coffee and roll and I took my time savouring every expensive mouthful. 1962 was going to be a good year for Jane and me.

I strolled back to the shop arriving at a well timed two o’clock but, as I entered, the atmosphere gave me a prickly feeling that something wasn’t right. Sandra wiggled her tight skirt toward me and clutched my arm excitedly.

‘Mr. Blundell’s going frantic,’ she squeaked. ‘You’re to go to his office as soon as you come in,’ She paused for breath then added, ‘and there’s two men with him, anything up?

‘I shrugged, ‘how should I know.’

The words squeezed out of a tight throat and lunch churned ominously. My initial thought was they couldn’t possibly be aware of the deception, but…?

With legs increasingly reluctant to support me I made my way to the office where my hand raised itself twice before, dry mouthed, I knocked on the door, which was quickly opened on a burly frame, and a meaty hand beckoned me inside. Of the two men that Sandra mentioned one was ‘Hurrell,’ seated coolly at the desk, the other obviously police. How the hell could they know?

With my heart skipping about in my chest I managed a croaking. ‘You wanted to see me?’

Face white and twitching Blundell stood up and yelled, ‘Of course I do, you bloody thief, I want the ring you stole’ His fist thumping the desk.

With feigned bewilderment I stammered. ‘I’m sorry, what’s this about…what ring…I mean…’

The burly frame faced me woodenly. ‘Turn out your pockets, son.’

‘What?’

‘Turn out your pockets, don’t make me ask you again.’

There was no way I could wriggle out of trouble now so I pulled out the ring and tossed it angrily on the desk. ‘There’s your bloody ring.’

I glared balefully at ‘Hurrell’ who prised himself out of the chair with a heavy sigh. He picked up the ring, examined it closely, then turned to where a pale faced Blundell was making love to his hair.

‘Mine, I think.’

Blundell made strangled sounds of agreement.

‘I’ll be on my way then, good day to you.’

He faced me on the way out, put a hand on my shoulder, and quietly said. ‘You looked so nervous I had to get it valued, but it was a nice try.’

His hand slipped down from my shoulder and patted me on the chest then he winked and was gone, leaving me with tangled thoughts of a very uncertain future. I turned to face Blundell who was on his feet again, mouth open but before he could speak I said, quite calm now. ‘Sod off, you miserable old bugger.’

His face was a study of disbelief at the grin on my face as the detective led me away and, despite the looming prospect of a prison sentence, I was still smiling as they booked me in at the station. I hadn’t forgotten, but for some reason, perhaps an element of admiration for ‘Hurrell,’ or maybe out of pure vindictiveness, I hadn’t mentioned the forged cheque and I would have given much to see the expression on Blundell’s face when it bounced.

When they searched my clothes we found the Zircon ring in the top jacket pocket with a short note which read. ‘Thanks, and if you’d like to join the game, get in touch…followed by a telephone number.

Six months later, with Jane wearing her ring, I made the call…!