Belmont nodded. “One. The book case on the right of the fireplace swings out.”
Don proceeded to create a miniature snowstorm there, and then said. “Okay. Let him come. What’s the time? Judging from this morning’s performance, our friend is a punctual chap.”
“We’ve a few minutes yet,” Church answered. “Belmont, let’s see that necklace. I want it where I can watch it.”
The financier grasped the frame of an El Greco on the wall and swung it outward to reveal the face of a large safe set into the wall. He worked at the dial for a moment and then, when the heavy door had been opened, brought out a flat ebony case whose cover was inlaid with blue enamel and semiprecious stones.
He placed it on a table in the center of the room and the others all gathered around as he lifted the lid.
On a bed of black velvet lay an unbelievable display of diamonds whose scintillant, dazzling brilliance shone and sparkled in the light with living fire.
Belmont picked them up and the white light dripped from his fingers in shimmering silver cascades as if sunlight were falling on the tumbling icy waters of a foaming mountain stream.
“Five hundred and sixty diamonds,” Belmont said. “Boehmer, the Parisian jeweler, put every cent of his capital into it.” He turned, placed the necklace around Pat’s neck, and snapped the gold clasp behind.
Seventeen perfect stones, each at least a half inch across, closely encircled her neck. From this glittering collar, festoons of smaller diamonds looped down carrying pendant rosettes — even larger stones encircled by small ones. Over the shoulders and down across the breast, two broad rows of medium size stones descended, joined and ended in tassels of diamonds caught by small tied bows of chased silver. Two further triple rows fell from the collar in back to more diamond tassels.
“It’s beautiful,” Pat gasped. “And ugly!”
“Yes,” Belmont agreed. “The stones are perfect; the design is tasteless. Boehmer was no artist and the florid, ungraceful lines of the thing are probably one reason why he wasn’t able to sell it to Antoinette. She advised him to break it up and realize on his frozen capital in that way. He refused. He didn’t want to take the loss he’d been put to in assembling the matched stones. Because he was pigheaded, he lost the necklace itself.”
Don Diavolo said quietly: “I understood that Madame Lamotte broke up the necklace as soon as she got her hands on it and that her husband, and Vilette, the forger, sold the stones in Amsterdam and London.
“Sure,” Belmont nodded, puffing smoke and surveying the glittering impossibility that Pat wore. “That’s what lots of people think. Hmmpf! Next time some so-called authority writes a book about Cagliostro, Lamotte and the Antoinette necklace, I wish he’d check up his sources. I can show you dozens of books on the affair, and every damned author cribs whole sections from the last previous book. The first writer makes a mistake and they all follow like so many blasted sheep. Bah! I’ve got Lamotte’s husband’s diary.
“He was the only member of the swindling gang who escaped arrest. Even the nitwitted authorities all agree on that. He fled to London and his diary tells how he took the necklace with him still intact. But he didn’t have it long. Some thieves broke in to his lodgings one night. Beat him up and left with the necklace. The gendarmes were after him and all France was up in arms about the scandal so he couldn’t very well report it. The necklace has been unheard of from that day to this.”
“How’d you come on it?” Church asked.
“I didn’t,” Belmont answered. “One of Ziegler’s buyers ferreted it out in England, along with the diary. Got it from a Duke. Can’t tell you his name because he doesn’t want it known that it was his ancestor who hired the thugs that lifted the necklace from Lamotte. There’d be a second scandal if I did.”
“And Ziegler offered it to you secretly?”
“Sure. He knew I was the only collector who could afford to grab it because of its historical interest. But there isn’t one of them could pay the price. That necklace was worth $320,000 when Boehmer made it. Now — well I paid a good bit more than that.”
“I see,” Diavolo said. “How many people knew that you had purchased it from Ziegler?”
Belmont said “Hmmmpf!” again and scowled at Don. “I don’t know. Number of people in the trade perhaps. Ziegler, his buyer, the Duke, a few others.”
“How do you suppose the Invisible Man knew you had it?”
“That,” Belmont said gruffly, “would seem to depend on who the Invisible Man is.”
Diavolo looked at his watch. “Pat,” he said, “perhaps you’d better climb out of it. The bogeyman is due any minute now and if he takes the necklace, it might be just as well you weren’t in it at the time.”
Don unclasped the collar and gave it to Belmont who started to place it again in its velvet case.
“Leave it right there,” Church said. “I’m not going to take my eyes off it from now on.”
The Inspector, saying that, promised too much.
At that moment, behind them, a voice which the Inspector had heard once before said, “Oh I see. Flour. That makes it difficult. I’ll be back.”
The group standing around the necklace whirled together like marionettes pulled by a single set of strings.
The one unlocked door that had been closed now stood open perhaps a foot and the voice came from beyond, apparently from someone standing just outside on the threshold, looking in. The trouble was that from where they stood, they all had a clear view out into the dim hall — and there was no one there.
They saw that much and then the door swung quickly to, slamming in its frame. No hand had touched the doorknob.
Inspector Church, Sergeant Brophy, and Belmont dashed headlong for the door, across the intervening strip of floor and out the door.
Don, as they ran, shouted, “Wait!” but they didn’t hear him. He said, “Damn and blast! Now they’ve done it.”
Church commanded, “Watch that door, Brophy!” Then he ran down the hall toward the outer door. Don, scowling, followed them into the hall, knelt by the suitcase, and pretended to open it and take out a small automatic. Actually what he really did was to go through the motions and produce a gun that he had palmed in his hand. He also whispered to Larry, “What did you see?”
And Larry answered, “Not a single damn thing, Don! And I don’t like it here. If that bird should get hep—”
“You stay on the job,” Diavolo ordered. “You may get an eyeful yet.” Don got up and quickly returned to the library. His lean and handsome face bore a dark, threatening scowl. His eyes glistened brightly, anger and excitement mingling in them.
Belmont, looking nervously from side to side, went into the library with him. The money king’s prognathous jaw jutted unpleasantly.
And then Pat pointed, “Don!” she cried. “The necklace case. It’s been moved!”
Don and Belmont both raced toward it. The case had been turned so that its uplifted lid concealed its interior.
Pat got there first and when she looked within her eyes were round.
Marie Antoinette’s diamond necklace was gone. The black velvet bed on which the hard bright stones had flashed was bare and empty.
18
Chinese needle-worker: Narcotic addict.
CHAPTER VIII
The Problem of the Missing Combination
Belmont’s jaw dropped. “But— but how—?” Don turned and went back toward the door. He stood there looking down at the white covering of flour and the trampled path of footprints that led across it.
Inspector Church charged in at the door and left more footprints across the space. “Nobody saw a cursed thing!” he exploded angrily.
Then he saw Belmont, holding the empty jewel-case. His eyes popped. “Brophy!” he roared. “Get in here and close that door. He’s here, in this room!”
Don said, “He moves fast, Inspector. I wouldn’t be too sure.”
“But how—” Belmont growled, “how did he get ac
ross that—”
Sergeant Brophy pointed to the trail of footprints. “As soon as we ran out, he ducked through and walked in our footprints!”
Don Diavolo lit a cigarette and said with understandable exasperation, “I fix the room so nobody but a bird could get in unnoticed, and then three big flatfooted walruses barge across my telltale flour. I yelled at you to wait, but you were too busy chasing something you couldn’t see. That was just what he wanted. Sometimes, Inspector, I wonder how you got the job. Of all the—”
Church blew up. “Brophy,” he commanded coldly. “Search that guy!” He pointed a broad forefinger at Diavolo. “There isn’t any invisible man. I know it now. Diavolo slammed that door by pulling a string or some such hocus pocus, and he threw his voice to make it sound like it came from the door. He’s a ventriloquist. When we ran to the door he grabbed the necklace!”
Don Diavolo shrugged and held up his arms. Brophy gave him a thorough once over. “Nothing, Inspector,” he reported.
Church turned on Pat then. “So!” he said, “You. Sergeant, one of the maids downstairs is a policewoman. I planted her here yesterday. Get her. She’ll search Miss Collins.”
A half hour later, Inspector Church was on the point of giving up. The diamonds had not been found on Pat, nor anywhere else in the room. Church had gone over it with as fine-toothed a comb as had ever been made. He sat at the table before the empty jewel-case and listened to reports from the men that had been posted through the grounds and along the shore and the wall.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” he said. “I still don’t believe it.”
J.D. Belmont swore. “All the cops in Manhattan and a magician. This — this criminal walks in and takes what he wants in spite of you. Bah! Wait until the D.A. hears about this mess!”
“Oh yeah,” Church glowered back at him. “You flatfooted it across that flour too, you know. So stop howling. I’ll get your blasted diamonds back or know why!”
Meekly, Don Diavolo asked, “Inspector, now that Miss Collins and I are in the clear, may we go?”
“In the clear? What makes you think that?”
“We don’t have the diamonds and you can’t make an arrest unless—”
Suddenly Detective Sergeant Brophy exploded, “Inspector, I’ve got it. Diavolo’s suitcase! After we ran out into the hall, he came out and took a gun from it. I’ll bet he put the necklace inside!”
“Suitcase!” Church leaped to his feet. “Why the hell haven’t I heard about—” He was across the room and through the door. When he came back with the case, he was grinning. “Feels as if he has the necklace and all the silverware in the house in it. I guess this settles your hash, Mr. Dia—”
He pulled the case open and stepped back in amazement as Larry Keeler stood up, stretched, looked up at the Inspector and said, “Thanks. I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten.”
Church, recovering, reached out, grasped the back of Larry’s collar in a big fist and lifted the dwarf out of the suitcase. He dropped him outside and bent to examine the case.
“Nothing,” he said once more, and then turned on Diavolo. “What — what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, pointing at Larry.
It took Diavolo several minutes of fast talking to explain, but he finally managed to get his point across. Inspector Church was still not at all sure he believed a word Diavolo said. As long as he couldn’t find the diamonds, however, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it.
“Keeler,” he snapped. “You were watching that door every minute?”
Larry nodded.
“You heard the voice and saw the door slam?”
Larry nodded again.
“And what did you see?”
The little magician flipped a coin on the palm of his small hand, and made a pass above it with his other. The coin vanished.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nobody at all.”
Church snorted. “Brophy,” he ordered, “Get these magicians out of here! They give me a pain.”
Diavolo jerked a thumb at his two companions. “Come on. Before he changes his mind. Mr. Belmont, I’ll return your check since I don’t seem to have been successful in preventing the theft.”
Belmont waved his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. If the Inspector hadn’t trampled up that—”
Church said, “And you clear out too, Belmont! I’m sick of the sight of you. Brophy, I’ll start on the servants now.”
Don grinned. “I’ll send the check to the Police Benefit Fund for Retired Inspectors,” he said as he went out.
To Pat and Larry as they drove away from the Belmont estate, he said, “I feel sorry for the Inspector. He’s really up against something this time.”
Larry answered “Any theories, Don? I’ll admit I’m buffaloed.”
Don nodded. His face in the moonlight was hard and tight. “I’m beginning to get one, Larry. And I don’t like it.”
Pat stared straight ahead, saying nothing. She was wondering where her brother had been during the last hour. Don Diavolo wanted very much to know that also. He pressed heavily on the gas and the powerful red car roared through the night, streaking back toward Manhattan.
When they hurried into the house on Fox Street, Don called, “Chan! Any word from Horseshoe?”
From the living room, the Horseshoe Kid’s voice answered them. “Yes. Cuss words, all of them.”
Horseshoe was lying on the divan, an icebag on his head and a tall glass of straight Scotch in his hand. “I’m a lousy dick,” he said. “I was casing the 106th Street joint when some fink sneaked up behind and conked me one. I don’t know just how long I was out, but it was long enough. I got a locksmith down the street. Told him I’d been knocked out and rolled for my dough. Took him back to the house I’d been watching and he got the door open for me. I went through the house. Nobody home. I’m sorry.”
“What time was this?” Don snapped.
“About fifteen minutes after I phoned you the last time, just before you headed for Belmont’s. I tried to phone out there and get you, but some copper had taken over the switchboard and he wanted my name, address, occupation, and a dozen references, so I hung up on him.”
“This,” Don said heavily, “is too much.” He turned to Pat. “Try not to worry, Pat. Maybe it isn’t as bad—” He broke off and swore. “I’m going to town on this case starting now. You get to bed, Pat. Tomorrow’s going to be a darned lively day. And I’ll need your help. That’s an order. Go on, Chan! Put something in a cocktail shaker and bring it in here. We need it.”
But the cocktail didn’t help a lot. Don was still scowling thoughtfully when Horseshoe and Larry left a short while later.
He still wore the same scowl the next morning when he went to the theater. And he saw another scowl just like his own on the face of the man who waited for him there. The man was pacing nervously back and forth at the stage door. His face brightened as he caught sight of Don.
“Mr. Diavolo,” he said quickly. “May I see you a moment, please? It is extremely urgent.”
He shoved a white square of cardboard at Diavolo. It bore the name Julian Dumont and across it was written, “This will introduce my secretary Victor Perry.”
There was one detail about the card that Diavolo didn’t care for. The ink that formed the printed name, Julian Dumont, was not quite dry. When Don rubbed a surreptitious finger across it, the name smeared.
He took a closer look at the man before him. Mr. Perry was a slender, open-faced individual with a disarming smile and quick, sharp gray eyes. He was smartly dressed and he talked with a confident, business-like air. The only other thing aside from the card that bothered Diavolo was the faintly feminine intonation and gesture which Mr. Victor Perry used. It wasn’t quite what he would have expected from a secretary employed by a man like Dumont.
“My employer needs your assistance,” Perry said. “A matter of the utmost importance. We have had a most distressing morning. Mr. Dumont finally thought of you.
”
“Dumont,” Diavolo asked. “The president of the Dumont Chemical company?”
“Yes,” Mr. Perry said. “And he needs your assistance, very badly. A matter of the utmost importance. Perhaps if we could talk privately?” Perry looked around at the elderly stage doorman who eyed them across the top of a morning paper. Its headlines in enormous type read:
INVISIBLE MAN SCORES AGAIN
BAFFLES MAGICIAN AND POLICE
Historic $320,000 Necklace
Stolen in Impossible Theft
Diavolo nodded. “My dressing room,” he said.
Mr. Perry said nothing further until they were behind Don’s closed door. Then he talked rapidly.
“I have here a blank check payable to you,” he stated, taking a blue slip from his billfold. “I am authorized to fill it out for any reasonable amount that you name if you can come to Mr. Dumont’s assistance immediately.”
Diavolo raised an eyebrow. Two financiers waving checks at him in as many days! Perhaps he was wasting his time in the theater after all.
“Sounds interesting,” he said. “Just how can I help your employer?”
“By opening his safe,” Perry said. “Mr. Dumont is, as you may have heard, a rather eccentric man. Last night he changed the combination on his private safe. He unfortunately did so without informing me. He also neglected to make a note of the new combination. He prides himself on his memory, which I am sorry to say is not nearly as good as he likes to think. And this morning, finally, he is having to admit as much himself.”
“He forgot the combination, Mr. Perry?” Don asked, his glance sharpening.
“Exactly.” Mr. Perry smiled slightly. “I am almost pleased. Perhaps it will teach the old gentleman a lesson and so make my own job less irksome. His eccentricities are a bit annoying at times.”
“Yes, I can see they might be if this sort of thing happens very often. But why me? Tell him to get Courtney. If anybody can open your employer’s safe, he’s the man.”
“We thought of that, Mr. Diavolo. But we found that Mr. Courtney is out of town and will not be back until tomorrow. The safe contains some very important business contracts which must be signed and delivered without fail before noon. Mr. Dumont knows of your remarkable escape work and it occurred to him that opening the safe would be a small matter for The Great Diavolo.”
Death out of Thin Air Page 15
