The Diamond Master

by Jacques Futrelle

  CHAPTER X

  THE BIG GAME

  When the police of Mulberry Street find themselves face to face withsome problem other than the trivial, every-day theft, burglary ormurder, as the case may be, they are wont to rise up and run aroundin a circle. The case of Red Haney and the diamonds, blared to theworld at large in the newspapers of Sunday morning, immediatelyprecipitated a circular parade, while Haney, the objective center,snored along peacefully in a drunken stupor.

  The statement of the case in the public press was altogethernegative. There had been no report of the theft of fifty thousanddollars' worth of uncut diamonds in any city of the United States;in fact, diamonds, as a commodity in crime, had not figured inpolice records for several weeks--not even an actress had mislaid apriceless necklace. The newspapers were unanimously certain thatstones of such value could not rightfully belong to a man of Haney'stype, therefore, to whom _did_ they belong?

  Four men, at least, of the thousands who read the detailed accountof the affair Sunday morning, immediately made it a matter ofpersonal interest to themselves. One of these was Mr. Latham,another was Mr. Schultze, and a third was Mr. Birnes. The fourthwas Mr. E. van Cortlandt Wynne. In the seclusion of his home inThirty-seventh Street, Mr. Wynne read the story with puckered brows,then re-read it, after which he paced back and forth across his roomin troubled thought for an hour or more. An oppressive sense ofuneasiness was coming over him; and it was reflected in eyes grownsomber.

  After a time, with sudden determination, the young man dropped intoa chair at his desk, and wrote in duplicate, on a narrow strip oftough tissue-paper, just one line:

  Are you safe? Is all well? Answer quick. W.

  Then he mounted to the roof. As he flung open the trap a man on thetop of the house next door darted behind a chimney. Mr. Wynne sawhim clearly--it was Frank Claflin--but he seemed to consider thematter of no consequence, for he paid not the slightest attention.Instead he went straight to a cage beside the pigeon-cote, wherein adozen or more birds were imprisoned, removed one of them, attached astrip of the tissue-paper to its leg, and allowed it to rise fromhis out-stretched hand.

  The pigeon darted away at an angle, up, up, until it grew indistinctagainst the void, then swung widely in a semicircle, hovereduncertainly for an instant, and flashed off to the west, straight asan arrow flies. Mr. Wynne watched it thoughtfully until it haddisappeared; and Claflin's interest was so intense that he forgot thenecessity of screening himself, the result being that when he turnedagain toward Mr. Wynne he found that young man gazing at him.

  Mr. Wynne even nodded in a friendly sort of way as he attached thesecond strip of tissue to the leg of another bird. This rose, as theother had done, and sped away toward the west.

  "It may be worth your while to know, Mr. Claflin," Mr. Wynne remarkedeasily to the detective on the other house, "that if you ever putyour foot on this roof to intercept any message which may come to meI shall shoot you."

  Then he turned and went down the stairs again, closing and lockingthe trap in the roof behind him. He should get an answer to thosequestions in two hours, three hours at the most. If there was noanswer within that time he would despatch more birds, and _then_, ifno answer came, then--_then_--Mr. Wynne sat down and carefullyperused the newspaper story again.

  At just about that moment the attention of one John Sutton, anotherof the watchful Mr. Birnes' men, on duty in Thirty-seventh Street,was attracted to a woman who had turned in from Park Avenue, and wascoming rapidly toward him, on the opposite side of the street. Shewas young, with the elasticity of perfect health in her step; andclosely veiled. She wore a blue tailor-made gown, with hat to match;and recalcitrant strands of hair gleamed a golden brown.

  "By George!" exclaimed the detective. "It's her!"

  By which he meant that the mysterious young woman of the cab, whosedescription had been drilled into him by Mr. Birnes, had at lastreappeared. He lounged along the street, watching her with keeninterest, fixing her every detail in his mind. She did not hesitate,she glanced neither to right nor left, but went straight to the houseoccupied by Mr. Wynne, and rang the bell. A moment later the door wasopened, and she disappeared inside. The detective mopped his facewith tremulous joy.

  "Doris!" exclaimed Mr. Wynne, as the veiled girl entered the roomwhere he sat. "Doris, my dear girl, what _are_ you doing here?"

  He arose and went toward her. She tore off the heavy veilimpatiently, and lifted her moist eyes to his. There was sufferingin them, uneasiness--and more than that.

  "Have you heard from him--out there?" she demanded.

  "Not to-day, no," he responded. "_Why_ did you come here?"

  "Gene, I can't stand it," she burst out passionately. "I'm worriedto death. I can't hear a word, and--I'm worried to death."

  Mr. Wynne wondered if she, too, had seen the morning papers. Hestared at her gravely for an instant, then turned, crumpled up thesection of newspaper with its glaring head-lines and dropped it intoa waste-basket.

  "I'm sorry," he said gently.

  "I telephoned twice yesterday," she rushed on quickly, pleadingly,"and once last night and again this morning. There was no--no answer.Gene, I couldn't stand it. I had to come."

  "It's only that he didn't happen to be within hearing of thetelephone bell," he assured her. But her steadfast, accusing eyesread more than that in his face, and her hands trembled on his arm.

  "I'm afraid, Gene, I'm afraid," she declared desperately. "Suppose--suppose something _has_ happened?"

  "It's absurd," and he attempted to laugh off her uneasiness. "Why,nothing could have happened."

  "All those millions of dollars' worth of diamonds, Gene," shereminded him, "and he is--I shouldn't have left him alone."

  "Why, my dear Doris," and Mr. Wynne gathered the slender, tremblingfigure in his arms protectingly, "not one living soul, except you andI, knows that they are there. There's no incentive to robbery, mydear--a poor, shabby little cottage like that. There is not theslightest danger."

  "There is always danger, Gene," she contradicted. "It makes meshudder just to think of it. He is so old and so feeble, simple asa child, and utterly helpless if anything should happen. Then, whenI didn't hear from him after trying so many times over the telephone--I'm afraid, Gene, I'm afraid," she concluded desperately.

  The long-pent-up tears came, and she buried her face on his shoulder.He stood silent, with narrowed, thoughtful eyes.

  This, and the thing in the newspaper there! And evidently she hadnot seen that! It was not wise that she should see it just yet.

  "That day I took the horrid things from you in the cab I was awfullyfrightened," she continued sobbingly. "I felt that every one Ipassed knew I had them; and you can't imagine what a relief it waswhen I took them back out there and left them. And now when I thinkthat something may have happened to _him!_" She paused, then raisedher tear-dimmed eyes to his face. "He is all I have in the worldnow, Gene, except you. Already the hateful things have cost thelives of my father and my brother, and now if he--Or you--Oh, myGod, it would kill me! I hate them, hate them!"

  She was shaken by a paroxysm of sobs. Mr. Wynne led her to a chair,and she dropped into it wearily, with her face in her hands.

  "Nothing can have happened, Doris," he repeated gently. "I sent amessage out there in duplicate only a few minutes ago. In a coupleof hours, now, we shall be getting an answer. Now, don't begin tocry," he added helplessly.

  "And if you don't get an answer?" she insisted.

  "I shall get an answer," he declared positively. There was a longpause. "And when I get that answer, Doris," he resumed, againbecoming very grave, "you will see how unwise, how dangerous even, itwas for you to come here this way. I know it's hard, dear," hesupplemented apologetically, "but it was only for the week, you know;and now I don't see how you can go away from here again."

  "Go away?" she repeated wonderingly. "Why shouldn't I go away? Iwas very careful to veil myself when I came--no
one saw me enter, Iam sure. Why can't I go away again?"

  Mr. Wynne paced the length of the room twice, with troubled brow.

  "You don't understand, dear," he said quietly, as he paused beforeher. "From the moment I left Mr. Latham's office last Thursday Ihave been under constant surveillance. I'm followed wherever I go--to my office, to luncheon, to the theater, everywhere; and day andnight, day and night, there are two men watching this house, and twoother men watching at my office. They tamper with my correspondence,trace my telephone calls, question my servants, quiz my clerks. Youdon't understand, dear," he said again.

  "But why should they do all this?" she asked curiously. "Why shouldthey--"

  "I had expected it all, of course," he interrupted, "and it doesn'tdisturb me in the least. I planned for months to anticipate everyemergency; I know every detective who is watching me by name and bysight; and all my plans have gone perfectly until now. This is whyit was necessary for me to keep away from out there as it was for youto keep away from here; why we could not afford to take chances by aninterchange of letters or by telephone calls. When I left you in thecab I knew you would get away safely, because they did not know youwere there, in the first place; and then it was the beginning of thechase and I forced them to center their attention on me. But now itis different. Come here to the window a minute."

  He led her across the room unresistingly. On the opposite side ofthe street, staring at the house, was a man.

  "That man is a private detective," Mr. Wynne informed her. "His nameis Sutton, and he is only one of thirty or forty whose sole businessin life, right now, is to watch me, to keep track of and follow anyperson who comes here. He saw you enter, and you couldn't escapehim going out. There's another on the roof of the house next door.His name is Claflin. These men, or others from the same agency, arehere all the time. There are two more at my office downtown; stillothers are searching customs records, examining the books of theexpress companies, probing into my private affairs. And they're allin the employ of the men with whom I am dealing. Do you understandnow?"

  "I didn't dream of such a thing," the girl faltered slowly. "I knew,of course, that--Gene, I shouldn't have come if--if only I could haveheard from him."

  "My dear girl, it's a big game we are playing--a hundred-million-dollargame! And we shall win it, unless--we _shall_ win it, in spite ofthem. Naturally the diamond dealers don't want to be compelled to putup one hundred million dollars. They reason that if the stones Ishowed them came from new fields, and the supply is unlimited, as Itold them, that the diamond market is on the verge of collapse, anyway;and as they look at it they are compelled to know where they came from.As a matter of fact, if they did know, or if the public got one inklingof the truth, the diamond market would be wrecked, and all the diamonddealers in the world working together couldn't prevent it. If theysucceed in doing this thing they feel they must do, they will onlybring disaster upon themselves. It would do no good to tell them so;I merely laid my plans and am letting them alone. So, you see, mydear, it is a big game--a big game!"