The Stolen Sapphire. Sarah Masters Buckey

with a much older man, who she thought must be his uncle. Both men wore wire-rimmed glasses and formal dinner jackets with white bow ties, but unlike Harry, who was tall and handsome, Professor Wharton was short and round. He had pink cheeks and was bald, except for a fringe of white hair above his ears.

      A blond man in a tweed jacket was following close behind Harry and his uncle. “Excuse me, Professor Wharton, I’m Jack Jackson, reporter for the New York Daily Journal,” he announced in a rapid-fire voice. “I booked a ticket on this ship just so I could do a special story about the Blue Star sapphire. I have a couple of questions for you—”

      “Excuse me, Mr. Jackson, my uncle is about to have dinner,” Harry said stiffly, towering over the reporter.

      The reporter pulled out his pencil and notepad eagerly. He was small and wiry, and he reminded Samantha of an energetic terrier. “This will take just a few minutes,” he assured Harry. Then he turned back to Professor Wharton. “Sir, what about the Blue Star’s history of bringing bad luck to whoever carries it? Will its bad luck follow it across the ocean?”

      Captain Newman nodded to a steward, who stepped forward and grasped the reporter’s arm. “This dining room is reserved for first-class passengers only, sir.”

      “I’ll talk with you later, Professor,” the reporter called over his shoulder as the steward escorted him out of the dining room.

      Professor Wharton and Harry took seats across the table from Samantha. She wondered where Plato was, and Harry seemed to read her mind. “Plato felt a bit under the weather,” he told her. “We had to leave him in the cabin.”

      “Yes, he wasn’t himself at all, poor little fellow,” agreed the Professor, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I wouldn’t have guessed that a monkey would become seasick. Fascinating how human they are, isn’t it?”

      Two stewards in white jackets began serving the dinner’s first course, a steaming clam chowder. Samantha had never tried clam chowder before and she took her first sip cautiously. “This is delicious,” she said.

      “It’s not bad,” Charlotta agreed. “Where’s your sister Ellie?”

      “Nellie,” Samantha corrected her. “She’s not feeling well.”

      “Many people don’t do well on ships, especially at first,” said Charlotta authoritatively. She took another spoonful of chowder. “How old is Nellie?”

      “Eleven, like me.”

      Charlotta studied her. “You don’t look like twins,” she said.

      “We’re adopted sisters.”

      “Adopted?” Charlotta echoed. She continued to ask questions until Samantha had to explain how Nellie, Bridget, and Jenny had been adopted by Uncle Gard and Aunt Cornelia.

      “Your aunt and uncle adopted servant girls?” Charlotta looked shocked.

      “They’re not servants now—we’re all a family,” Samantha said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. She was glad when the stewards brought in the turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. As she bent over her plate, she heard Mrs. Billingsley ask the Professor, “Is it true the sapphire brings bad luck wherever it goes? How thrilling!”

      “No, Madam,” the Professor said, shaking his head so hard that his glasses shifted. “That’s all entirely foolish superstition.”

      Mrs. Billingsley, a plump woman who was wearing an impressive diamond necklace, looked a bit disappointed until Harry spoke up. “Surely, Uncle, you will admit that the Blue Star sapphire has had a long and, ah, interesting history.”

      The Professor put down his knife and fork. “Well, yes,” he confessed, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “It’s quite shocking how many people have committed crimes to obtain the Blue Star. A merchant is said to have killed his brother over it. And a princess paid a fortune for the Blue Star and then disappeared quite mysteriously. And, of course, the whole reason the Blue Star ended up in a graveyard halfway around the world was because—”

      The Professor suddenly noticed that all other conversation at the table had stopped. Everyone was listening intently to him. His cheeks turned even pinker. “But this is hardly a suitable topic for dinner, especially with children present,” he apologized. “The jewel’s real importance is historical. It was prized by kings and it’s a symbol of a great culture, just like the pyramids of the Egyptian pharaohs or the crown jewels of England.”

      I wish I could see it, Samantha thought longingly.

      Mrs. Billingsley voiced her thoughts. “Professor, we simply must see this magnificent stone,” she pleaded. “Where do you keep it—in a vault somewhere?”

      The Professor patted the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. “Madam, I carry the Blue Star with me at all times.” Then he picked up his knife and fork again. “Now, however, is not the time for a display—we must give all our attention to this fine dinner.”

      Captain Newman steered the conversation to other topics. But after dinner was over and the stewards had removed the last dishes from the table, Mrs. Billingsley brought up the jewel again. “Professor,” she implored, fingering the diamond pendant on her necklace, “do you think you might now be able to give us all the tiniest peek at the Blue Star? It would be such an honor to see it.”

      “Well…” the Professor hesitated.

      “What’s the harm in it?” Mr. Billingsley urged. He was a stout man with small, close-set eyes. He looked around the circle of faces at the table and smiled broadly. “Surely you can trust all of us here.”

      “Very well,” the Professor agreed. He didn’t seem too reluctant, and Samantha guessed that he enjoyed showing others his prized possession. “Harry, please lock the door,” the Professor directed. “I don’t want anyone to come in.”

      As Harry followed his uncle’s instructions, Professor Wharton stood up and removed a small, dark green box from his breast pocket. Holding the box cupped in one hand, he pulled out his key ring and unlocked the box with a tiny key. Samantha bent forward in her chair as Professor Wharton carefully placed the closed box in the center of the table, right beneath the flickering lights of the candelabra.

      The Professor stepped back for a moment. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced dramatically. He paused, reached forward, and lifted the lid of the box. “The Blue Star.”

      There was a gasp around the table, as everyone leaned forward to see the shimmering blue sapphire. The radiant jewel was almost as big as a polished chestnut, and it caught the candlelight and glowed against its bed of dark velvet.

      “Look closely, and you can see the star within it,” the Professor advised.

      Leaning even farther toward the gleaming jewel, Samantha saw a distinct pattern within the stone, like a tiny starfish caught in blue ice.

      For a few moments, there was a tense silence in the room. Then Mrs. Billingsley asked in a choked voice, “How—how much would it cost?” She was staring at the stone as if transfixed.

      “It’s not for sale,” Professor Wharton said curtly.

      “I collect fine jewels myself, and I know that anything can be bought,” Mr. Billingsley protested. “It’s just a question of price. What’s your price, sir?”

      Samantha was shocked by Mr. Billingsley’s rudeness, but Harry answered him politely. “That may usually be the case, sir. But my uncle is determined that the Blue Star be given to a museum.”

      “Indeed I am,” said Professor Wharton. He retrieved the box, and closed and locked it. “A treasure like this should be shared with the whole world,” he declared as he slipped the box back into his innermost pocket. “And I intend to personally hand the Blue Star to museum officials in London.”

      “Since the stone is so valuable, why don’t we put it into the