The Star of Delhi s-225

by Maxwell Grant

  As Lamont Cranston, The Shadow was a member of the Cobalt Club, which numbered many millionaires among its patrons.

  It happened that Police Commissioner Ralph Weston belonged to the Cobalt Club, and esteemed Cranston as a bosom friend. Chances were that Cranston would be hearing from the commissioner as he always did when crime reached up from the underworld and bothered high society. So The Shadow went to the Cobalt Club, arriving there as Cranston.

  He hadn't long to wait. Notified of a telephone call, the leisurely Mr. Cranston answered it and heard the brusque voice of Commissioner Weston, telling him about the tragedy at Walder's and asking him to come over. Indulgently, The Shadow drawled that he would. A while later, he arrived there in the guise of Cranston.

  Instead of six sapphires, there were four bodies on display. One was Walder's; the other three were the crooks that The Shadow had crippled and the guards had slaughtered. All three had been identified as low characters from the badlands, which didn't surprise The Shadow. He was quite sure that Dwig Brencott, crook deluxe, would choose the lowest of companions for criminal forays, just to distract all thoughts from himself.

  The man who had identified the three hoodlums was present. He was a swarthy, stocky, police inspector; by name, Joe Cardona. He rated as Weston's ace inspector, despite the fact that Joe and the commissioner were wont to argue.

  Usually they had conflicting theories as the cause of their dispute, and they were running true to form now. Both were irked because the three thugs had died too soon to be questioned, but except for that point, the commissioner and the inspector were at loggerheads.

  "The case is obvious," growled Weston. "These men belong to the band of jewel thieves who have been operating so extensively. They are of a low type, and their leader was undoubtedly the roughest of the lot. They weren't the sort who could show their faces in a store like this, even before they made their attempt at robbery.

  "So they simply waited outside until they saw that the door was clear of guards. Not knowing that the sapphires had been removed, they made the thrust, hoping to grab the gems that they had heard about.

  Walder tried to block them, so they killed him."

  The Shadow knew that Weston's theory was even wider than the shots that the excited guards had fired after Dwig when the crook deluxe departed. Even before they pulled up in front of Walder's, Dwig and his company had been close enough to see the removal of the sapphires by the side door.

  They had even waited until the armored truck went across the avenue before making their thrust at the store itself. Therefore, The Shadow was interested to learn if Cardona had a different theory.

  Joe did have. It was as far from the mark as Weston's.

  "I figure it different, commissioner," gruffed Cardona. "These gunzels weren't after the sapphires. They'd have been dumb to snatch a load of matched gems like those six blue stars. What they were figuring on was a robbery of Walder's regular stock.

  "They doped it that the guards would unlax as soon as the truck pulled away, which is just what did happen. It was a crazy time to stage a robbery, with the big swag gone. Only, like I said, this outfit would have laid off of gems that couldn't be easily fenced. They were pulling a routine job at a time no body figured it would come. That's all."

  Recalling Dwig's presence in the jewelry shop earlier, The Shadow could easily have refuted Cardona's theory. Dwig, had seen for himself that Walder, expecting an influx of curiosity seekers, had locked up all of his worth-while stock and left nothing but showcases of cheap trinkets and notions for visitors to look at, after getting an eyeful of the six star sapphires.

  LEAVING Weston and Cardona to argue the merits of their erroneous opinions, The Shadow expressed his regret over Walder's death, and gave a leisurely good night in typical Cranston style. Still retaining his lackadaisical pose, he left the store, entered a waiting limousine outside and rode to his favorite restaurant.

  Sight of Moe's cab, parked outside, told The Shadow that he would find Margo inside, which he did.

  As they dined, Margo kept watching the immobile face of Cranston hoping for some expression that would answer the questions that she had in mind. None came, but as the finished dinner, The Shadow spoke in Cranston's steady tone.

  "It's too bad, Margo," he said, "that you didn't follow the truck, as I suggested."

  "But I did!" began Margo. "Only, I was in Shrevvy's cab, and he dropped the trail. He said that The Shadow -"

  She stopped abruptly. There was no use in telling The Shadow something that he already knew. Margo realized that his remark had merely been a statement in keeping with the Cranston pose. It wasn't policy with Cranston to know what The Shadow had planned until someone else told him.

  "A peculiar chap, The Shadow," observed Cranston quietly. "He usually succeeds; but tonight he bungled things. He is partly to blame for Walder's death, but I suppose we cannot criticize him. Crime certainly took an unexplainable twist."

  Margo arched her eyebrows. So far, she agreed that the attempted robbery at Walder's was unexplainable, but she was gaining the impression that Cranston had an answer to the riddle. The way to get an answer was to ask for one.

  "Very well, Lamont," said Margo. "Just why did Dwig and his masked crew head the wrong way? We thought that they would go after the truck; instead, they went into the jewelry store. What was their reason?"

  Cranston spoke three words:

  "To murder Walder!"

  The fact was so simple that it took Margo's breath away. She had racked her brain for the answer, and Cranston had provided it in a style that left no room for dispute. The explanation brought a flood of ideas, all in keeping with the theme itself.

  Margo realized that the surge of masked men into Walder's couldn't have been a robbery attempt, at all, for she knew the flaws in the theories held by Weston and Cardona.

  Not being a robbery, it had been a cover-up for something else. Dwig and his ugly band wouldn't have wasted time at getting to their objective. One use of cover-ups was to make a success look like a failure.

  Dwig Brencott had accomplished that very purpose.

  The one thing that the law did not suspect was the fact that unknown men had sought to slay Raymond Walder, rather than to rob his store or to seize the six sapphires that some wealthy, unnamed patron had asked him to display.

  The riddle of seven-o'clock crime was half answered by The Shadow. But in giving half an answer, the investigator who posed as Cranston, was making it plain that the rest had not been learned. The Shadow's regret - that Margo hadn't followed the armored truck - was real, even though he, himself, had taken her off the trail. Until the owner of the former Star of Delhi was discovered, the reason for Walder's death would remain unanswered. Watching the gaze of Cranston's eyes, Margo could tell that they were visualizing the six sapphires that he had viewed that afternoon.

  No longer bait for criminals, those missing gems had become the object of The Shadow's next quest!

  CHAPTER V. CREEPS IN THE DARK

  SEATED in his study, Armand Lenfell was resting his folded arms upon the desk, listening intently for sounds from outside the room. Beside him lay a stack of newspapers, the accumulation of three days.

  They showed glaring headlines that concerned the attempted robbery which had resulted in the sudden death of Raymond Walder.

  A wince showed on Lenfell's lips, as his eyes drifted to the newspapers. When alone, Lenfell always let his real opinions register themselves upon his face. It was plain that he not only regretted Walder's death, but felt anxious regarding its possible consequences to himself. Lenfell's expression lost none of its troubled air while he was noting the most recent headlines.

  A sound brought Lenfell from his reverie. It was the one that he expected, a creeping through the hallway. Not merely a cautious tread like those that had roused Walder's imagination on the night of the jeweler's visit to Lenfell's house, but a creak that was actually ominous. The creeping carried its echoes along the hall, ma
king it impossible for Lenfell to estimate the exact distance of the approaching visitor.

  Indeed, Lenfell's eyes were still half closed, his full attention concentrated upon listening to the crawling footsteps, when the door of the room opened as if at its own accord.

  Popping upright in his chair, Lenfell stared at the gaping door as though expecting it to devour him. In the dimness of the hall he saw a whitish face that seemed floating there, until Lenfell recognized it. It was his familiarity with the smiling countenance that brought the financier to his senses, making him realize that the face in the doorway had a body attached.

  Lenfell sank back in his chair, tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead.

  The man from the hallway entered. He came with a pace that was a cross between a shuffle and tip-toe.

  His face, as it neared the desk, underwent a variety of changes, due largely to the angles from which the light struck it, for the man, himself, did not outwardly alter his demeanor.

  From a white blur, with a slitted smile, the face became a withery, lipless visage spread in a fangish leer.

  Still nearer the desk, it caught a more flattering light, and lost its venom.

  Lenfell's visitor was dryish-faced, rather than withery. He had lips, when one was close enough to observe them. As for teeth, they were prominent, but not ugly when studied in proper proportion to the rest of his face. Indeed, his smile was friendly, though with a cunning touch that Lenfell, no longer perturbed, could appreciate as belonging to a man of his own likes and ambitions.

  The visitor's odd gait accounted, of course, for the echoing creeps that had so deceived Lenfell, even in his own preserves. But it only certified the man as one worthy of Lenfell's confidence. Furthermore, the visitor's thin white hair marked him as elderly, and therefore lacking any physical superiority over Lenfell.

  Keenly, the white-haired man's shrewd gaze went from Lenfell to the newspapers and back again. The visitor spoke with slight traces of a rattly wheeze; otherwise, his tone was mild and kindly.

  "Still brooding over Walder?" he queried. "Come, come, my friend! You can in no wise be held to blame for his death."

  "Why not?" returned Lenfell. "I gave him the sapphires -"

  The old man interposed a laugh. He tilted his head as he did, and his merriment was genuine, though its rattly wheeze carried too much of the macabre for Lenfell to join in it. Then, lowering his eyes, the old man let them glisten steadily upon Lenfell.

  "You gave him what he thought were sapphires," the visitor corrected. "The synthetic gems which I, Jan Garmath, manufactured in my crucible. Not imitations of existing gems" - Garmath smiled proudly - "but conceptions of what the Star of Delhi would look like if divided into sixes."

  Lenfell nodded. Then:

  "At any rate," he said, "I gave Walder gems that passed as the sapphires and made him the target for crime and death."

  "Through no blame of yours," argued Garmath. "According to those newspapers" - he waved a long hand toward the desk - "the murderers were after Walder's own jewels, not your sapphires. The police have not even pushed the case far enough to seek the owner of the former Star of Delhi."

  GARMATH'S reassurance restored Lenfell's composure. Catching the contagion of the old man's grin, Lenfell rose from his desk and turned to the safe. It was already unlocked; he opened the door and brought out two jewel cases - a long one, and a square one. He placed them on the desk and opened them.

  Set in a row within the long case were the six sapphires that had been exhibited at Walder's. From the square box gleamed the famous Star of Delhi, as large and as radiant as when Walder had first viewed it.

  So like the great gem were the smaller ones, that the eye could almost identify them as one and the same.

  "A marvelous job, Garmath," commended Lenfell. "I doubt that any cutter, even Sherbrock, could have produced as fine a resemblance as you have with these synthetics. They will please my friends when they arrive."

  Sounds from somewhere in the hall below caused Lenfell to remember that his friends were almost due.

  Hurriedly, he closed the case that contained the great Star and replaced it in the safe, spinning the combination dial.

  Then, taking the longer case with its six rings, he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He was going to the library, to meet the first of his hooded associates.

  Immediately, Jan Garmath rose from his chair and approached the door. Opening it a crack, he listened, caught the sound of voices. Then, with his creepy stride, Garmath moved toward the library, but no longer were his footfalls audible. Silent in his creep, Garmath had become a most insidious figure.

  Peering between the edge of the library doorway and a curtain, Garmath observed Lenfell and a hooded arrival. Not having considered it necessary to mask on this occasion, Lenfell expected his lone friend to raise his hood, which the other man did.

  The two were talking as man to man, Lenfell expressing regrets over Walder's death and bolstering them with the very arguments that Garmath had provided. Garmath saw the unhooded visitor nod his sympathetic understanding; then, when Lenfell opened the jewel case, the man took one of the rings.

  That visitor was hooded and on the way out, as other footsteps came up the stairs. Squeezing his frail form deep in the doorway, Garmath waited. He saw another of the hoods enter and unmask to chat with Lenfell. New footsteps were approaching, when the second man took his sapphire ring and departed.

  The same process took place with the third; and after a brief wait, Lenfell received a fourth of the hooded group. Having seen all their faces and observed the transfer of the rings, Garmath waited patiently for the fifth man to arrive.

  After several minutes, Lenfell became restless. Sensing that the financier might return to the study, Garmath sidled in that direction himself, again making his creak noiseless.

  Garmath was seated in his chair, apparently half asleep, when Lenfell arrived bearing the jewel case with two rings left in it. He removed one and slipped it on a finger of his left hand, grinning toward Garmath, who chuckled. Then, surveying the last ring with a frown, Lenfell remarked:

  "I wonder why he hasn't come. I know that he was out of town, but he promised to return this evening. I suppose that it can wait -"

  Pausing, Lenfell decided otherwise. He took an envelope from his desk, wrote an address on it, and placed the ring inside. Then the thought of sending even a false sapphire by messenger troubled Lenfell.

  He was shaking his head, when the doorbell rang. Pocketing the envelope, Lenfell gestured for Garmath to remain where he was.

  Garmath did. But as soon as Lenfell went downstairs, the white-haired man stretched a long hand to the desk and picked up the blotter that Lenfell had applied to the envelope. The address was plainly legible in reverse, and Garmath read it without the aid of a mirror. The blotter was back on the table when Lenfell returned.

  "It was his servant," he said, referring to the last man of the hooded six. "He said his master will not arrive home until midnight, so he called by long distance, telling the servant to come here. I gave the envelope to the servant."

  TURNING to the safe, Lenfell unlocked it; from a cash box, he brought out a sheaf of crisp bills and counted off a stack of large denominations, to the total of six thousand dollars.

  "Your fee, Garmath," said Lenfell. "Ten times the value of the rings you made for me, but well worth it.

  Those imitation sapphires had to stand the test of expert scrutiny, though I saw to it that they could not be handled, thanks to the sealed case in which I delivered them to Walder."

  Showing Garmath to the stairs, Lenfell was conscious of the creaky stride that old Jan no longer sought to keep unheard. He was still listening for those creeps as he returned to the study, and Lenfell was at last satisfied that they had dwindled clear to the front door. After a few moments of silence, Lenfell stepped into the study.

  He thumbed the remaining bills in the cash box, counting out
a batch which he had promised Garmath as a bonus after a certain transaction was completed. Then, as he replaced the cash box in the safe, Lenfell stared mistrustfully at the square case which contained the Star of Delhi.

  He opened the case hastily, saw that it still held the great sapphire. Closing the safe and locking it, Lenfell picked up the telephone.

  Outside Lenfell's door, a man was listening at the crack. The man was Garmath; he had returned, in his silent fashion, by another stairway. Garmath caught Lenfell's tone:

  "Yes, yes. I still have the sapphire, the original Star of Delhi... The exhibit at Walder's? That was merely for our mutual protection... Yes, poor Walder supplied imitations himself, to help create the impression that the Star of Delhi no longer exists -

  "Yes, it was wise, considering those recent robberies... Yes, the fact that crooks sought the smaller gems proves how they would have coveted the Star... Next Monday? Certainly, I can see you then, Crome -"

  As Lenfell's receiver clicked upon the hook, Garmath moved away. By overhearing that telephone call, he had learned what he wanted. Descending the front stairs again, this time in absolute silence, Garmath crept out through the big door and went away from the gloomy mansion.

  Quickening his creep into a lengthy stride, Garmath covered a few blocks before stopping in a drugstore to make a telephone call of his own. Even in a phone booth, Garmath was cautious, something that Dwig Brencott hadn't been at the Club Cadiz the night The Shadow overheard him.

  Oddly enough, the voice that Garmath heard from the receiver was Dwig's. Placing his thin lips close to the mouthpiece, Garmath spoke in a voice much firmer than the rattly wheeze that he had used before.

  Garmath's words were terse. He said:

  "Take care of Sherbrock."

  CHAPTER VI. THE WRONG FOEMEN

  OUT of a rather tiresome evening at the Cobalt Club, Lamont Cranston had at least gleaned one point of information through his friendship with Commissioner Weston. In sifting the Walder murder anew, Weston had called in various jewelers, and the question of the six sapphires had been raised.