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THE DOUBLE
DEALER
By VARICK VANARDY.
Author of “Missing—$81,500.”
Copyright by the Frank A. Mun-
‘sey Co.
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CHAPTER V.
“Fhe Cameo Brooch.
Crewe, left alone -in ‘that back
‘room of ‘his dwn resort, réseated ‘him-
‘self at ‘the table until Christy cime
!in from the bar and seated himself in
‘utter silence opposite his employer;
‘put it was only for a moment before
‘Crewe direcred the bartender to bring
‘him bis coat and hat, and also a small
package wrapped in'tissue paper from
the middle drawer behind the bar.
He had devoted merely .ne swift
‘glance upon it when Sindahr gave it
ap so reluctantiv, to assure himself
‘that the juggler had not attempted
one of his tricks! now he removed
‘the tissue wrapping and put the won-
‘derful cameo down upon the ‘table,
‘and for more than a minute sit guite
till, lost in admiration of the exqui-
site and wonderful carving.
And Christy passed around the ta-
‘ble and bent familiarly over Crewe’s
‘chair to observe it also.
“Do you realize, boy, that this
‘brooch is ‘almost priceless in value?”
‘Crewe remarked at last, without rafs.:
Ing his eyes. “This is one of six -ar-
‘ticles ‘that ‘disdppeared froin the home
ot Richard ‘Delorme tonight; ‘hit ‘this
‘one cameo, if offered to a collector
such as Mr. Morgan was, would have
‘brought 4 price greater than ‘the sum
of all the others.
*+~ “It is the lost replica ef the great
Vienna Onyx—with the difference
that the original is nine by eight
nches Whiie this one is five by four.
Still it is a replica in all save size,
done by the same hand. The carv-
ing, my boy, represents the corona-
tion of the Bmperor Augustus. No
wonder Sindahr could not resist it.”
foo wrapped it again «in the tissue.
“paper and stowed it away 4n ‘one or
ye is pockets.
“Your last remark reminds ‘me ‘of
something that I wished to say to
you,” Christy replied with an “eritire
‘absence Of the slang he was accus-
tomed to using. “Sindabr will kill
you if he ever gets half a chance. 1
saw it in his eyes ahd ‘manner to-
‘night when you made +him give that
ap. ”
“Oh, X-have not the slightest doubt
of that, Christy.”
“He ¢ame near to attempting it to-
night ‘when you turned your back To
bim "to put that cameo in the drawer.”
“I knew it even then; but, also, 1
¥new that his cupidity would win out.
H he had made such ‘an attempt then’
he would have lost forever an oppor-
tunity to regain possession of the
cameo.”
“He will seek another one”
“Surely.”
“Won’t you stay here tonight, in-
stead of going back up-town?” Chris-
ty inquired anxicusly.
“No. I must get back.” 1
“More than likely he is waiting for
you in some doorway, right now, sir,”
Christy pleaded. “He and many of
. the others know that it is your habit,
to go out nights after we close, even
they have no idea where
Crewe's Teply “was a light laugh ‘as
he rose to his feet prepared to take
his departure. |
“Don’t fear for me, lad. I am like
Napoleon in that I have work to do
and I know that I will remain un-
barmed until it is done. Good night.”
“Just one moment, please. I have
watched that man every time he has
been here. I have studied him as you
have taught me to study all of them,”
Christy said eagerly.
“Well, what of it, lad?”
“He will not attack you openly. He
will not shoot or stab. He belongs to
that sect in India which are called
Stranglers. He will creep upon you
from behind and use the cord.”
“I know, Christy; I know! But 1
won’t give him a chance. Good
night.”
Outside in the street, Crewe moved
swiftly and warily, with every sense
alert, for he was well aware that
Christy’s fears were by no meaus
groundless; and he had not a doubt
that Sindahr was even then waiting
for his approach somewhere between
thie cafe and the square.
In passing along the last block be-
fore arriving at the square he watch-
ed every shadowy point narrowly, and
when he was within a few doors from
the corner his vigilance was rewardsd
—there was a blacker smudge agaimit
one of the black recesses as he
passed it.
Crewe took two more steps, then
turned swiftly — and the figure of a
man tried to step backward into the
eoncealment from which it had partly
emerged.
“Come out here, Sindahr,” Crewe
ordered calmly. “I shall not harm
you for what you would have done;
but I want to talk to you.”
Sindahr came slowly and reluctamt-
1 forward, his teeth gleaming in
grimance which was intended to Be
an ingratiating smile, but which, in
the fear that gripped him, was only a
eontortion of his face,
“I was wafting to speak with you,
= eam
en SOT NY
‘pride, “it is a preparation of my own;
‘cobra—filled with venom. Good night.
Créwe,” ne saig, out nis vuice trem |
bled. He was in deadly fear of Crewe |
since the latter ‘had so mysteriously ,
discovered his theft.
“Oh, yes; I know all about that!” |
Crewe replied with a shrug. “You !
were waiting here to strangle me— |
but that doesn’t matter. Give me that
cord. I know that you can make an-
other lile it, but I prefer to take this
one as a memento of the occasion;
and some day when you are on trial
for murder, as you surely will be, I |
shall offer it in evidence against you.
Give it up.”
With hands that trembled in abject
fcar now, Sindahr gave the deadly
braided cord into Crewe’s outstretch-
ed palm; and Crewe, as if the inci-
dent were forgotten, said:
“Walk with me across the park.”
A moment later, as they walked on,
side by side, he added: “You are a
clever man, Sindahr. You live your
daily life in a half disguise, and you
do your slickest work without any
disguise at all save ‘the partial whit-
aning of your hair and mustache. No
wonder that Muchmore had no
{hought of recognizing you when he
saw you for the second tir,e tonight.
What puzzles me is how you stick
that imperial to your chin so that it
looks so natural; it looks as if 5
grew there.”
“Ah,” the Oriental
replied with
the result of long study. You could
pull it—it would not come off; you
could jerk it—it would be the same.
“Then, ‘with the imperial gone,
there is a preparation of chalk and
bismuth and glycerine and rose-water,
which whitens the hair to a silvery
gray, and which does mot rub off,
which is affected by neither comb nor
‘brush—dnd with the imperial gone,
with ‘the ‘preparation oh my ‘hair and
mustache, behold! I am transformed
at donde to the Count Sudini.”
Crewe stopped at the north side of :
the square.
“I shall have other ‘work ‘for you
‘to ‘do #obn ‘4s "Count Bicini,” He said.
“I do not put any trust in you, haut
you will not fail me, for your own
sake.”
“Oh, no, no, no! 1 will serve you
gladly. But the great cameo, Crewe.
Do you know its wonderful value?”
“Cértainly.”
“You intend to keep it all for your-
self?”
“No. Some day I will return it to
ils rightful owner—we will say be-
cause it is ‘an heirloom, and because
‘1 am sentimental.” .
“When—when will you return it?”
“Sindahr, you wish to -go after it.
again, don’t you. Don’t worry. I shall
lock it away somewhere, in safety, for
a year or two or three, and then, af-
ter you have been electrocuted for ,
somebody’s tThurder, or are in prison,
we will ‘say, T will ‘claim a reward for
ite return.”
“Crewe, you ‘make We hate you,
and ay hatred is sometimes danger-
ous,” Sindahr muttered in a low tone.
“Yes; Vou ‘are dike Four mative
Report to me or to ‘Christy every
day.”
“Wait. Tell me one ‘thing that I
raust know.”
“Well?”
“Were you there at the wedding
reeeption tonight?”
“Sindahr, alias Count Sucini, T am
everywhere.”
Crewe motioned to him to begone,
and stood and watched him until he
was nearly to Sixth avenue; then,
with something like a sigh and a
shrug, of his shoulders, he started
swiftly away.
He knew that he had been followed
a great many times by frequenters of
his cafe and by “shadows” from the
detective bureau when he left his
place late at night. One class was as
eager as the other to discover what
haunts this man of mystery frequent-
ed at such times.
They suspected that he maintained
a home elsewhere than above his re-
sort, and the police were not more
eager to discover its location than
were the crooks themselves.
But he had many and devious
methods of avoiding the would-be
shadowers, and had always success-
fully eluded them. Nevertheless, he
had never reckoned upon a man of
exactly the ealiber and type of Lieu-
tenant Philip Muchmore.
For Muchmore was and is an ef-
ficient officer—a detective by instinct.
But for his fiery temper which in-
cessantly got the better of his judg-
ment, he would bave been great long
before now. In his calm moments he
reasoned logically and was apt to hit
very closely to the bull’s-eye in his
conclusions.
When Muchinore drove with Mr.
Delorme in his ear to headquarters
earlier that night they had been turn-
ed aside by an obstruction in the
street and so fate had willed that
they should be passing the rear door
of the tall studio building at the very
moment when the man with the blem-
ished face came out of it.
Muichmore, down at Grewe’s, had
been subjected to a “calling down®
which he little relished.
He came away from the place in
such a fury of anger that even his
side-partner, Sam Bunting, could de
nothing with him, and after several
vain attempts to reason with him,
dad given it up.
But the two stuck together, neves
theless, and gradually the rage of the
leutenant ¢ooled and he became his
normal, courteous, gentlemanly self
again.
‘Sam,” he said, *It is my opinion
that there is something doing be-
, here, waiting for
tween Crewe and that artist. Den’
ask me what it is, for I can’t even .
guess. But it is a fact that Moreaux
mentioned the name ot Crewe at least
twice while he was at Pelorme’s to-
night.
“And it is a fact that I saw Crewe
coming out of the studio building
where Moreaux has his studio only a
short time after Moreaux must have
arrived there himself. And Crew
nad a key to the nameless street door.
Now none but blue-stocking tenants
are allowed a key to a building like
that.”
“Well, what’s the answer?” Bunt-
ing inquired.
“This: Crewe was there, waiting
for Moreaux. Crewe could have de-
parted by the Blank street door with-
out a key, and it was so late that
there would have been no danger in
doing so. But, Moreaux must have
ziven Crewe his key to the rear door,
and therefore, don’t you see? Mor-
ezux expects Crewe to return thére
~gain tonight. ‘Anyhow, that’s my
hunch, and I am going up there.”
Crewe approached the studio build-
ing in due time after his parting with
Sindahr. The street calléd Nameless
seemed deserted when he turned into
ft and hurried with swift steps fo-
ward the door of the studio building.
There were houses with high stoops
adjoining it, and just as Crewe was
‘passing the last one of these the two
officers stepped from the areaway and
confronted him.
CHAPTER VL
The Man and His Mask.
Crewe stopped while a space of ten
feet or more still separated him froin
the two detectives; and they, too, re
mained where ‘they ‘were.
“Got you right that time, didn't we,
Crewe? You didn’t expect to find us
you, ‘did yout”
Muchmore asked with something df
derision in his tone, although ‘there
was no indication ‘of ‘anger in his |
manner,
“Well, what of it?” Crewe asked |
dally,
‘Nothing particular; only we were
curious to kndW if you intended tb i
use that key to this building again }
tonight.”
“And if 1 do happen to possess such |
a key and should use it—what then? |
“Bunffng and I would be under thb
painful necessity of arresting you--
that’s all. A man of your reputatidh
who eriters a ‘building lis fHis ate. &¢
this hour of the night is, at least, L 3
‘suspicious character. Get me?”
“Quite #6, Muchmore. But you
‘don’t get “me.”
Crewe turned on his heel, bat ‘a
sharp command from Muchmors
stopped him when he would have
gone away ‘again.
‘Wait!” the Heuterisnt ordered;
‘and ‘Crewe BaW that he ‘Held an auto
‘matic ‘in Hfs Wand to eilforce obedi-
‘erice.
“Well, Mr. Muchmore, what now?”
‘Crewe ‘asked.
“I'll trouble you for that key. Hand
it over.”
“Is this a hold-up, with the ‘Ghar
aclers reversed, officer?” Crewe in-
giired ironically.
“Cail it what you like, but hand
over that ker.” ,
“Srapoce 1 refuse?”
“Then we'll take you ‘in,’ no matter
what happens.”
“Muchmore, for a man of un-
donpted genius in your chosen call-
ing, you certainly can do the biggest
fool things of anybody I know.”
“Hand over that key, Crewe. I'm
not going to lose my temper again.”
“Thank Heaven for that!”
Crewe took the ‘key from one of
his pockets, held it between his
thumb and finger Tor a motnent, and
then deliberately tossed it to Bunting,
who, being surprised by the act,
missed catching it, and it fell rattling
to the pavement.
“Pick it up, Sam, and find out if it
fits the lock,” Muchmore directed,
still keeping Crewe covered with his
gun. ,
It did, of course, and presently the
door swung open; and Bunting, hold-
ing it partly ajar, waited.
“Crewe,” said Muchmore, “I ought
to arrest you for having the key in
your possession, but I guess you
would have no difficulty in proving in
the morning how it came into your
possession, so I'm going to let you
go—with a warning. I don’t know
what the game is that you are playing
but I suspect it is 4 d&dp ‘ore—and
I'm going to find out what it is, toe.
“There is a man up-stairs waiting
for you who ean tell me, and I am
going up there now to ask him. You
have got something on him. Black-
mail of some ®ort, I suppose. Now, gét
back to your ‘dive,’ where you belong,
and thank your stars that we permit-
ted you to go there. Your race is
about run, Crewe, take it from me.”
He turned and the two officers dik-
appeared into ‘the building, locking
the door after them; and strangely
enough ‘Crewe Wughed aloud, and
with genuine amusement when they
had gone.
Then he Wheeled and hurried
around’ the cormer toward a drug-
store that was located two blocks dis-
tant.
He knew that those two officers,
both large and heavy men, would
climb those twelve flights of stairs to
the top of the studio building néne
too rapidly, snd did mot doubt that
he would have aniple tithe for what
he wished to accomplish.
Crewe shut himself in a telephone
booth in the drug store and called
the number that the artist Birge Mor-
eaux claimed as his own.
“Hello!” he said when he received
a reply, which was almost at once.
“You recognize my voite? Very well.
I was obliged to give up my key to
two officers who were warung ror '
me at the door. They are now climb-
ing the stairs to the studio. .
“Hurry down to tHe “studio ‘doer,
and when they ring wait a suitable
time and then demand to know who
i3 there. Make them believe it is
Mdreaux who ‘is tdlking, but refuse
to admit them. Tell them -to go to
the devil, if you want to. When they
go away follow them down'the stairs,
and as soon as they pass outside at
the rear door flash a light to me
through the front door and open it
and let me in. That's all.” |
‘Whosoever has climbed twelve
flights of stairs at one inning will
comprehend something of ‘the condi-
tion, mental and physical, of the two
officers when at last they stood before
the door of artist’s studio.
Breathless, exhausted, weak-kneed
in the true sense of the expression,
they waited there several moments
before touching the ‘button ‘of ‘the
electric bell. They had snapped on
a light in ‘edch hallway ds they as-
cended; they intended fo snap ‘them
‘off again when they returned.
Crewe had counted on that ides
when he gave that direction over the
telephone about following them down
the stairs when they should go away,
Muchmdre Tang ‘Several times Be
fore there was any response; but at
last an impatient voice—the MHeuten-
ant who was very keen ‘of ear, had
not the slightest doubt that it was
the voice of Moreaux—demanded to
know who was there and what was
wanted.
“l am Lieutenant Muchmore, Mr.
Moreéaux,” that ‘officer hiuinounced.
“Detective Bunting is with me.”
“Well, what do you want? What
the devil do you mean, disturbing me
‘at this hour?”
“I want to see you. I want to talk
to you—er—about the incidents that |
‘happened at the reception. Let us'im,
‘if ybu pledse.”
“I ‘do not please, Lieutenant Much-
imore. If there is anything that you '
want to zee me about, come around in y
‘thé daytime.”
“But--this is important.”
“I clon’t cure if ‘it ‘fs. G0 uway. ‘Go |
#0 the devil, for all I care.”
“K's about thot man Crews.”
“Oh, 3 it? Well, Crewe can wait
‘ag well ag the other things. You can’t
get in here tonight, and that settles.
dt. The idea ‘of ‘pulling me Gdtot bed
‘like this, You need not spéek again,
for 1 shall not answer.” |
Nor did he, although Muchmore
who began to suspect that he had
made another mistake, pleaded for
several moments after that, until his
unzuly temper again asserted itself.
He shook his fist at the déor and
‘oaliled out savagely:
“I'll tell you one thing, Artist Mo-
rTeaux, if you are still there to hear
me, things are getting mighty mixed
«up-dn this business. I took a key to
this building away from your friend
Crewe, and it is my belief that mayhe
| ‘you knew something about that jewel
robbery yourself. Anyhow, I'm going
to find out.”
He turned away and stamped nois-
i'lv down the stairs. Bunting followed
after, snapping off the hall lights &s
he passed them. Bunting, to tell the
truth, was more amused than per-
turbed by the incidents of the night.
Neither of them thought of looking
behind them while they descended the
twelve stairways of the building to
the ground floor.
They would have seen nothing had
they dome so, for Feltner, Birge Mo-
reau’s faithful and well - trainad
valet, kept himself a full flight behind
them, nor could they have heard his
noiseless movements, even had Mnuch-
miore made less racket than he cid.
They passed outside the building
at last, and as Mvrchmore turned to
lock the door he said savagely te his
companion:
“You can bet your sweet life, 3am,
that I'll take this key to Mr. Moreaux
tomorrow, and, by gad, if he can’t
explain why he gave it into the keep-
ing of that man Crewe, I'll swear out .
a warrant for his arrest on Informa-
tion and belief!”
Inside the building, as soon as they
tad gone, Feltner hurried to the front
entrance, and between the inner and
the outer doors, flashed one gleam
from an ‘ele¢triec pocketlight that he
eafried Mi his hand. Then he epéned
the outer door and Crewé stepped in-
side,
“Fooled them eh, Feltner?”
Crewe asked smilingly, as he led the
wuy to one of the two elevators.
With afrothier key in his possession he
opened the duor to the elevator, end
the two rode ¢omfortably to the top
of thé building.
“I am Doth hungry and thirsty,
Feltner,” Crewe announced as soon
as they entered the studio; then he
passed into another room and closed
the door while the valet went to ful-
fill the suggestion that had been made,
Twenty minites later the door of
the roorh into Which Crewe had als-
appesréd wis opened agai, and Birge
Moreanx; the artist, looking quite
himself although dressed only in pa:
jamas, bathrobe, and slippers, came
out and seated himself at the table
whereon Felter had placed the things
he knew his master liked best after a
night with Crewe.
The transformation wrought by the
changes from one e¢haracter to the
other Was thé more remarkable be-
cause, in reality, therd was so little
transformation about it=—-but the ex:
planation of all that will appear later
when an occasion occurred where it
bad to be accomplished under sudden
and strenuous circumstances.
“Half past two. Why, it is not so
Iste as I supposed,” Moreaux re-
‘the solitude and isolation that
marked presently, after a glance at
HAY
the mission-clock In the cornér of the:
‘studio. £
He lighted a cigar and retired to the;
depths of his favorite chair to smoke,
Feltner remained standing respectful,
ly beside the empty fireplace.
“You ‘had better turn in, Feltner,”
Moreaux remarked, after a momént;’
“and ‘you may sleep as long as you
like in the morning. I shall break-
fast at the club with Mr. Delorme.
4nd you néed not get up to wait upon
me. Lay out what things I will need
now, and let it’go at ‘that.”
So Feltner went away to his small.
réom which Moreaux had had bnilt,
expressly for him on the roof of ‘the’
building above one of the two rear
rooms of the apartment, and which/
was reached only by a special stair-
‘case which led from a closet in that
recom.
Moreaux, left to himself, smoked on
in silence and evident enjoyment of
he
could ‘find in no other place.
He was smiling to himself in mental
‘contemplation of the ultimate discon-
fiture of the tWo officers who had
toiled to the top of that tall building
‘tn see "him, when he was startled by
the sound of the bell at the studio
door.
For a moment he sat quite still,
thinking, and then the solution of that
summons at the door suddenly oc-
‘éirréd ‘to him.
Smiling and pulling the cords of his
bathrobe more tightly around him, he
crossed to the door and opened it; but
he ‘Placed himself squarely in the
opening, so that the two men who
‘Were outside could not edter. Need-
less to say that they were Muchmore
and ‘Bunting.
“Well, what do you want, Much-
more?” Moreaux demanded coldly
“Don’t ‘you think {hat ybu ‘have dis
turbed. ‘me qiiite ‘endugh ‘for one
night?”
“We went to the ‘top of @nother
building and saw that your skylicht
was lighted up, Mr. Moreaux,” Much-
more replied gruffly, “and having a
| key—the Key that you gave to Crew
—I made u my mind that I'd make
one ‘nibre ‘effort to tdik ‘With you be.
fore 1 swore out a warrant for your
arrest. Po we go Inside ‘or dont we?”
“Oh, come in by all means,” Mo-
reaux replied, and with mock aston-
irhment ‘he added: “I had no idea
that it ‘Wds Ms odriolis ‘as all that.
Cote in, by all ‘médns.”
CHAPTER VIL,
He Jewel Worshiper.
“Mr. Moreaux,” Muchmore began,
ignoring the gesture by which the
artist assigned him to a very com-
fortable chair, although Bunting ac-
cepted one gratefully and smilingly.
“I would be very much pleased if yon
would explain the mystery of your as-
sociation with that man Crewe, and I
thifk 1 have a right to demand it.”
“MyStery? There is no mystery,
lieutenant,” the artist replied. siling.
“Then why was he here awaiting
‘your return from the wedding recep-
tion?”
“We will say that it was at my re-
quest.”
“Don’t you know that he fs the bpig-
est crook in towh?”
“I have heard such a report, or
words to that effect.”
“Why did you give him a key to
this building tonight?”
“We will say that I expected him
to return here after his business was
closed up.”
“Why?”
“That is rather an Intimate ques-
tion, is it not, lieutenant?”
“Don’t you appreciate the signifi-
cance of those coincidences, Mr. ¥e
reaux?”
“Possibly I do hot.”
“Let me tell you, then, than on in-
formation and belief I could swear
out a Warrant for your arrest in con-
nection with the—”
‘That Will suffice, Heutenant.” Mo-
reaux interrupted him, leaving his
chair suddenly, crossing to the door,
and throwing it open. “Thia is the
way out, sir, and I will ask you not
to return until you bring that warrant
with you—and the laughter and deri-
sfon of the whole detective bureau
with it.”
He turned, then, {ignoring Mauch-
more, and addressed Bunting. “I have
not the pleasure of your acquaint-
ance,” he added, “but this dismissal
i8 not intended to reflect upon you
For your own information I will say
that Crewe telephoned to this studio
immediately after the kéy to the
building was taken from him, so I am
well Informed as to what happened. I
will ask you to return the key now.”
“My name is Bunting, and here is
the key. Will you give me a short
interview at any time tomorrow that
Wil stit your oWh convenience?”
‘“Cheertully. Gladly. Conde Here
ta’ the studi 4t nbon. 1 will e¥pect
you.”
Muehmore, who had mot stirred
from his position,
quickly then.
“Mr. Moreaux,” he said,
gize.
ing to you as I did just now.
you—"
The artist thrust owt ME hand,
laughed aloud mirthfully, and tuter-
rupted him.
“Then . say no more about it,
Muchmore,” he said. “Forget it.
Come here with Mr. Bunting at noon.
Possibly I will be able to make some
Suggestions. Now come, I will take
yoa down in the elevator and let you
out of thé building. As for tlre stolén
jewels, gentlemen,” he added when
they were descending the shaft, “I
have an idea that they will soon be
recovered, and that you will get the
credit for it.”
stepped forward
“I apolo-
I—I am very sorry for speak-
will
!
‘forme—and it is never the
Late 88 tne nou: w#s Wonen'ne re—
‘tired, 'Birge ‘Moreaux "was ‘seated op-
iposite Richard Delorme ‘fn the bieak-
‘fast room of the club at eight o’clock
‘the following morning. It was his
own favorite club, and the tete-a-tete
breakfast was by his invitation.
“Mr. Delorme,” he said when the
morning meal was half consumed,
“did ‘you ever know or hear of a Walk
‘Biréet ‘man named McCormack, who
‘was 'a ‘collector of rare paintings and
rarer jewels? ‘He is dead now, but
‘his ‘remarkable collection, and the
basement room down-town which he
fitted up te hold it, remains in the
memory of a great many people. Did
you ever know him?”
“Oh, yes. I knew him quite well,
Birge,” was the instant reply, given
with interest.
“Did you ever see his collection?”
“Several times.”
“And have you listenad to his dis
courses upon it?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“He was a very unusual man, &
very splendid man, ‘loved by everye
body who knew him. Did it ever oce
cur to you that he was what ong
might @all a jewel worshiper?”
“Jewel worshiper? I do not ree
‘member to have heard the expressiom
until now.” :
“There are many such, Mr. Des
intrinsie
‘value of a stone that attracts them. It
‘must be unique, unusual. For exam-
ple, Mr. McCormack once showed me
a large diamond that was perfectly
flawless, but which was as yellow as
the yellowest topaz. He considered
it priceless, because there was not
supposed to be another like it in the
World.
“ds, yés; I recall it myself.” :
“Has it océiirred to ol, Mr. Dee
lorie, that the ‘five articles ‘which dis-
dppeared from your house last night—
Ido mot mention the ‘cameo, because,
‘you know, you never showed it to me,
and I did not see it among the pres-
ents—has it occurred to you that alk
five of those lost articles will come
under 'the ‘definition of ‘the word
ttiquet™
“No'b, Birge; it had not. But—
what are you getting at?”
“Simply this: That the articles
'stolen from your ‘house last ‘night
were ‘not taken by dny common ‘thief
or by any person who went to the re-
ception with the deliberate intention
of stealing, but that they were “lifted”
by a so-called collector, who could not
resist the temptation when it was pre-
sefited.
“They were stolen by some person
Who would be least suspected by any
of your family or ‘friends; by some-
body who has a choice ¢olléction
stored away in a secret room, where
he or she, as the case may be, can go
to them in secret and in solitude and
worship them.”
“Birge, you amaze me!” :
‘suppose so. It amazes me, too,
whién 1 consider the ‘pose bilitiés of it
vo dojild ft be—if your surmise:
is correct?”
“That question, 1 think, will be de-
termined in due time.”
“Then the thief—one can use moc
other expression in connection with:
this affair—was some person among.
m] acquaintances ?”
“Undoubtedly. A person whom
even the detective on duty there:
would consider above the necessity of!
espionage. A person well known to
you, to your daughter, to your inth
mate friends.”
“But why—tell me why you nave:
arrived at this decision, Birge?” said.
Mr. Delorme.
“I have told you. I will add thiss*
Tivery pearl in that bandeau was
curiosity itself—and each one was
of undoubted value. No attempt had
been made to match them. There
were oval pearls, pear-shaped pearls,
and two very remarkable twin-pearls
among them. The assembling of them
in that bandeau created one of the
most unique as well as valuable orna=
ments I have ever seen. Don’t you
agree with me?”
“Entirely—now that my attention is
called to the fact.”
“Take that bracelet of wire-gold,
with the raja’s ruby, that I gave to
Lorna. There is nothing else in the
world like it, Mr. Delorme. There is
no duplicate, and could not be one.”
“I quite appreciate that fact,
po
“Very well; the diamond and ruby
tiara, the emerald bracelet, and, more
than either of those, the lavalliere
that was one of Jerry’s presentsto his
bride, all come under the same head,
it one should stop to describe them.
“In their way, they are all unusual,
curious, and cannot be duplicated. Ins
trinsichlly, there were other afth
cles there of greater value which
might bave been taken as easily—and
a thief, seeking for profit only, would
have selected them.”
“You aré undoubtedly right about.
ff, Birge. But, great Scott! Must
this affair develop into a scandal?®
“Let us hope not, sir.”
“Have you any idea—”
ohe whatever as yet, Mr. De-
forthe,” Motéaux hasténed to inter
rupt him.
(To be Continued.)
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