Meyer and Kling were wearing lightweight sports jackets on this steamy Wednesday at one P.M., but not because they wished to appear elegantly dressed. The jackets were there to hide the shoulder holster each was wearing, lest the populace of this fair city panicked in the streets. The owner of the shop was wearing a white short-sleeved sports shirt open at the throat. A jeweler’s loupe hung on a black silk cord around his neck. He introduced himself as Manny Schwartz. The name on his license was Emanuel Schwartz. The license, in a black frame, was hanging on the wall behind him, together with an accordion, a saxophone, a trombone, several trumpets, a tambourine, and a ukulele. Meyer wondered if an entire orchestra had come in here to hock its instruments. Schwartz took a ring from the case, and handed it across the counter. “This is what she brought in,” he said. “It’s Islamic. Ninth to eleventh century A.D. Origin is probably Greater Syria.” The square signet was engraved with the drawing of a goat or possibly some other animal with long ears, it was hard to tell.
