Chapter Text
The grey-and-white stone facade rose up along Nevsky Prospekt, dramatic and imposing. The high-end jeweler that Shtolman and Oblansky sought out occupied the corner space at the intersection with Sadovaya Street. Fine pieces, some encrusted in sparkling gems, others boasting intricate, detailed engravings in gold and silver, were alluringly arranged on velvet stands in the tall clear windows. Tikhon Oblansky studied a large choker, featuring five large rubies surrounded by diamonds in a dazzling platinum setting.
“Considering it for a gift, Tikhon Efimivich?” Yakov asked.
“How many years of my salary would that cost, do you think?” Tikhon stated in amazement. He backed off the glass but continued to stare at the necklace. He and Shtolman proceeded inside.
The lavishness continued indoors - white-and-black marble floors, navy blue velvet curtains, glossy mahogany countertops and desks, and more brilliant adornments on display - each one appearing more extravagant than the previous. The set of three small, gold-plated doorbells jingled brightly as the shop door swung open. Alerted by the sound, a tall, thin, older gentleman dressed in black formal attire rose from the desk at which he had been sitting, and slowly and suspiciously approached the investigators.
“Gentlemen, how may I be of service?” The clerk coldly petitioned. It was obvious he did not believe the visitors worthy of the usual fawning.
Piqued by the disdain, Tikhon Efimivich, who in most situations would defer to Inspector Shtolman, instead took the lead and initiated the interrogation.
“Sir,” he began loudly and with confidence. “We are police investigators - here on official business.” No change evident in the clerk’s presentation. Oblansky removed an envelope from his breast pocket and unwrapped the eye tie-pin.
“Are you familiar with this tie-pin, or its design?” Tikhon set the piece on the table in front of him, observing the man’s response. The smallest of twitches registered in the corners of the clerks mouth. He stared unabashedly at the ornament.
“Where did you find this?” the man asked, picking up the piece and rotating it slowly.
“It’s related to a person of interest in a criminal investigation,” Shtolman answered. The jeweler’s clerk selected a handheld magnifying glass from below the table top and peered closer at the pin.
“Very interesting - I haven’t seen one of these in, well, since Tsar Alexander II first became emperor.” The jeweler momentarily lowered his sight from the tie-pin to evaluate the detectives in front of him. Apparently deciding they were sufficiently honorable and intelligent, he continued.
“We made twelve of them, here, in this shop - some thirty years ago now. I was apprenticed here - never was very good at setting gems or engraving. But I was quite talented at sales and had an eye for detail that warranted keeping me on. The eye pins were to be identical - except for a small notch. Here, where the medallion is welded to the pin.” The detectives leaned in, as the clerk focused the magnifier to illuminate an almost imperceptible mark in the gold.
“This one is three,” the old man announced. Tikhon and Yakov looked up, confused. “Like the hand on a clockface,” he continued. “The notch indicates three o’clock. The others had notches, too, each one representing an hour of the day.”
“Do you recall who placed the order for these pins?” Tikhon Efimivich queried. The clerk’s face brightened with an I-gotcha smile.
“I do.” His smile widened. “He was a pompous ratbag, which is why I remember him. Semyon Arturovich Zorfaliov - he was old then, must be dead by now.”
“And no one else has ordered a pin like this since then?” Tikhon continued.
“No, never,” the clerk responded.