“Don’t you think she’s the most lovely creature you’ve ever seen?”
“Oh, I dare say.”
“But I suppose you prefer sterling worth,” said Tuppence demurely.
“I—oh, dash it all, Tuppence, you know!”
“I like your uncle, Tommy,” said Tuppence, hastily creating a diversion. “By the way, what are you going to do, accept Mr. Carter’s offer of a Government job, or accept Julius’s invitation and take a richly remunerated post in America on his ranch?”
“I shall stick to the old ship, I think, though it’s awfully good of Hersheimmer. But I feel you’d be more at home in London.”
“I don’t see where I come in.”
“I do,” said Tommy positively.
Tuppence stole a glance at him sideways.
“There’s the money, too,” she observed thoughtfully.
“What money?”
“We’re going to get a cheque each. Mr. Carter told me so.”
“Did you ask how much?” inquired Tommy sarcastically.
“Yes,” said Tuppence triumphantly. “But I shan’t tell you.”
“Tuppence, you are the limit!”
“It has been fun, hasn’t it, Tommy? I do hope we shall have lots more adventures.”
“You’re insatiable, Tuppence. I’ve had quite enough adventures for the present.”
“Well, shopping is almost as good,” said Tuppence dreamily. “Think of buying old furniture, and bright carpets, and futurist silk curtains, and a polished dining-table, and a divan with lots of cushions——”
“Hold hard,” said Tommy. “What’s all this for?”
“Possibly a house—but I think a flat.”
“Whose flat?”
“You think I mind saying it, but I don’t in the least! Ours, so there!”
“You darling!” cried Tommy, his arms tightly round her. “I was determined to make you say it. I owe you something for the relentless way you’ve squashed me whenever I’ve tried to be sentimental.”
Tuppence raised her face to his. The taxi proceeded on its course round the north side of Regent’s Park.
“You haven’t really proposed now,” pointed out Tuppence. “Not what our grandmothers would call a proposal. But after listening to a rotten one like Julius’s, I’m inclined to let you off.”
“You won’t be able to get out of marrying me, so don’t you think it.”
“What fun it will be,” responded Tuppence. “Marriage is called all sorts of things, a haven, and a refuge, and a crowning glory, and a state of bondage, and lots more. But do you know what I think it is?”
“What?”
“A sport!”
“And a damned good sport too,” said Tommy.
DETECTIVE: ELINOR VANCE
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND
Frederic Arnold Kummer
THE PROLIFIC FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER (1873–1943), the son of German immigrants, began his career as an engineer and soon became a successful businessman before turning to writing, which quickly became his full-time occupation.
He wrote for the various popular fiction magazines (All-Story Weekly, Blue Book, The Cavalier, among others) where his old-fashioned, complex crime stories were serialized. He learned to change with the times in order to sell his work, replacing the genteel manners, quaint dialogue, and relatively civilized criminal characters of the early twentieth century with the volatile actions and emotions; harsh, crisp speech; and violent murders that characterize the tougher crime novels that were in vogue in the 1930s.
Noted for his mystery novels, both under his own name and the pseudonym Arnold Fredericks, Kummer also wrote fantasy, children’s books, and, most notably, plays—both dramatic and musical, collaborating with Sigmund Romberg, who wrote the music for The Magic Melody (1919); Victor Herbert, who wrote the music for My Golden Girl (1920); and Gustav Strube, who wrote the score for the grand opera The Captive (1938).
More than two dozen of his novels, plays, and stories served as the basis for silent films, including The Green God (1911; film 1918), The Brute (1912; film 1914), A Song of Sixpence (1913; film 1917), and The Painted Woman (1917; filmed as The Slave Market, 1917). The heavy doses of romance in Kummer’s plays, musicals, motion pictures, novels, and stories spilled over into his detective stories.
In “Diamond Cut Diamond,” Elinor Vance is a woman of independent means who uses her wealth, intelligence, and charms to help those in trouble, defining herself as “a female Robin Hood,” though she doesn’t steal. She merely sets up elaborate schemes to catch criminals or to foil their nefarious plans.
“Diamond Cut Diamond” was originally published in the December 13, 1924, issue of Liberty Magazine.
Diamond Cut Diamond
FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER
“DO YOU MEAN TO SAY,” Elinor asked slowly, two scarlet spots showing against the dull white of her cheeks, “that you think this girl a thief?”
Donald McRae gave an uneasy glance about the big studio room.
“I mean to say all the evidence points that way,” he replied lamely.
“As a student of criminal psychology, Don, you should be a better judge of human nature. And as a friend of the district attorney—”
“Elinor, for heaven’s sake be sensible. Just because you spend your time digging up these unfortunate women, sympathizing with them, is no reason why I should ask the district attorney or anybody else to do the impossible. With all your money I should think you’d go in for something more sensible—worth while. Travel, for instance. Or art.”
“Don’t be a fool, Don. I’ve been everywhere, from Tokio to Kalamazoo. You know that. As for art, it’s too often merely an excuse for rotten studio parties, nowadays. I’m trying to give a little help to some people who can’t help themselves. Can you think of any better way to spend one’s time and money?”
“All right. Suit yourself. But I don’t see how I can do anything for this girl. As a lawyer—”
“As a lawyer, perhaps not.” Elinor’s voice was soft as an April shower. “But as a friend—a man who claims to care for me—”
Donald sprang to his feet, thrusting the red-brown hair from his forehead with a characteristic gesture.
“I do,” he exclaimed, “and you know it.”
“Then why won’t you try to help me?”
“Elinor, sit down.” He waved to a chair, resumed his own. “Let us go over this girl’s case in detail. Then if you can point out to me anything I can do, why—I promise you I’ll do it.”
“Fair enough.” Elinor threw herself on the couch. “I told you, didn’t I, that she’d been employed for over a year as secretary by a Mr. Jacob Krantz, of Krantz & Co., jewelers, in Maiden Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Well—last month—on the seventeenth, to be exact—young Mr. Krantz, who travels for the firm, came in from a business trip and placed on his father’s desk a leather case containing unset diamonds to the value of thirty-four thousand dollars. They were of various sizes, wrapped in seven small packets of white tissue paper. Mr. Krantz states he opened the packets, examined and counted their contents in his son’s presence, as was his invariable custom, and found everything to be correct.”
“To whom did he make this statement? The police?”
“No. To me. I went to see him. But I’ll come to that later. Mr. Krantz, it seems, after taking the packets from his son’s case, placed them on a small wooden tray on the desk. Then he called his secretary—Pennington’s her name—Jane Pennington—and told her to take the stones to the office of his partner, Mr. Stern, at the other end of the suite. It was Mr. Stern’s business to verify Mr. Krantz’s count and then lock the diamonds in the safe.”
“I see. How did Krantz summon his secretary?”
“By calling to her thr
ough the door leading to the outer office. He had to turn his head, but did not have to leave his desk. His son was standing alongside of him.”
“You think, then,” Donald said quickly, detecting a certain significance in Elinor’s words, “that while his father’s head was turned young Krantz might have—”
“It is at least possible,” remarked Elinor.
“But highly improbable. A member of the firm. Entrusted with the task of carrying thousands of dollars’ worth of stones about the country on business trips. One would hardly think he would wait to commit a theft directly under his father’s nose. What happened then?”
“Miss Pennington took the tray and carried it down the corridor to the office of Mr. Stern. The corridor is some twenty feet long, narrow, and rather dark, in spite of the ground-glass partitions along either side of it. She was alone while passing through it, of course. As soon as she had placed the tray on Mr. Stern’s desk she hurried to the front office, took her hat and coat from a rack, and went to lunch.
“Five minutes later Mr. Stern dashed into his partner’s office with the news that one of the packets, containing diamonds to the value of eight thousand dollars, was missing. His stenographer, Miss Grasty, who was with him at the time, verified his statement.
“Mr. Krantz thought it significant that Miss Pennington had gone out over fifteen minutes ahead of her regular time. He at once sent for a private detective. When Miss Pennington came back from lunch he accused her. Both he and his son swore that there were seven packets of stones on the tray when it was turned over to her.
“She denied everything, said she had not counted the packets herself, explained her leaving the office so early by saying she had a headache and wanted to go to the drugstore to get something for it.
“She was searched, of course, but nothing was found on her. Mr. Krantz said he didn’t expect to find anything—that her purpose in leaving the office so quickly had been to turn the stones over to a confederate, or hide them somewhere, to be recovered later.”
“Did she meet anyone while she was out?”
“Yes. In a drugstore two blocks away.”
“Who?”
“A young man named Ashton—James Ashton—with whom, it seems, she is in love. He’s an electrician, I believe, employed by the New Jersey Chemical Company.”
“H-m!” Donald gave Elinor a curious look. “Everything you’ve told me,” he said, “seems to point inexorably to the girl’s guilt. Isn’t there anything to be said in her favor?”
“Nothing, except that I believe her,” Elinor said quietly.
“Did Krantz turn her over to the police?”
“No. It wasn’t her arrest he wanted, so much as the diamonds. He let her go. Under the watchful eye of the detective, of course. Gave her twenty-four hours in which to produce the jewels or make the loss good. He thought she might weaken, I suppose, and come across with the missing stones.”
“Fair enough. Most men would have let the police give her the third degree.”
“I don’t know. He still had that in reserve. It was young Krantz who suggested the arrangement. An oily little rat. I forgot to tell you that Miss Pennington said he had been making advances to her for some time. Tried to kiss her once when she stayed after office hours. She slapped his face.”
“H-m. Well, that often happens with good-looking girls who work in offices. Doesn’t prove anything. What happened then?”
“Well, not having any relatives or friends ready to put up eight thousand dollars for her, she went home, to the house where she boards. She might have told young Ashton about her trouble, but she was—well, ashamed. And afraid, too, that he’d get after Krantz and beat him up, I guess.
“Along about half-past eight young Krantz came to see her. Offered to make the loss good if she’d move over to his flat. The usual proposition. Being a decent girl, she ordered him out. They had some words.
“Miss Whiteley, my secretary, who lives in the same house, overheard the row, and, according to instructions, reported the matter to me.
“Well, to make a long story short, I had Miss Pennington brought here and heard her story. The next day I went down to the office with her and paid Krantz the eight thousand. So that’s that.”
“H-m. Rather a quixotic thing to do, it seems to me. How do you know she wasn’t lying?”
“I know women,” Elinor said quietly.
“Maybe. You certainly have a generous heart, and are therefore easily imposed upon. I sometimes think, Elinor, that you rather fancy yourself in this role of a female Robin Hood, always ready to take up the cudgels on behalf of the under dog. It’s a charming idea, but if you don’t look out you’ll find yourself in a nasty mess, someday. Well, I’ve heard the story. What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t believe, Donald,” Elinor remarked, a trace of irony in her voice, “that I really expected you to do anything. But I thought there might be just a chance you could get your friend, Inspector Doyle, to have young Krantz watched, arrested, perhaps, when he tries to dispose of those stones. He took them. I’m convinced of that.”
“You’d have to produce more evidence than you have now to make headquarters think so. As for disposing of the stones—provided he’s got them—I don’t doubt, being in the business, he’ll have his own ways of doing that. Unset diamonds of moderate size are pretty much alike. You’re asking the impossible.”
Elinor sat with her chin cupped in one hand, gazing moodily at the Chinese rug. There was sullen anger in her wide, dark eyes; the set of her slender shoulders bespoke a fixed determination.
“All right,” she said. “Then I’ll have to go it alone.”
“Look here, Elinor!” Donald exclaimed. “Be careful. Don’t try anything dangerous. Is it worth it? Eight thousand dollars?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. Krantz and his son practically have made this girl admit herself a thief. And she isn’t one. I’d stake my last dollar on it.
“Think what it means to her self-respect—to the man she loves. How is she going to explain the loss of her position? The story’s bound to get around. She’s crushed, wiped out, done. Afraid to look the world in the face, because she feels she’s been branded as a crook.
“I want to give her back her courage, her hope, her faith, her love. And if there’s any way it can be done, short of murder, I’m going to do it. I trust I make myself quite clear, Mr. McRae,” she finished.
After Don had gone, Elinor lay flat on her back on the couch for over an hour, staring up at the ceiling. When she finally rose to her feet it was in response to a message from her secretary, Miss Whiteley.
“Mr. Ashton’s here,” the secretary said. “Are you ready to see him?”
“What sort of a looking fellow is he, Helen?” Elinor asked, smiling.
“Well—not the kind of a man I’d care to start an argument with, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good!” Elinor’s eyes snapped. “Show him in.”
* * *
—
Miss Sadie Pollock, the young woman who had taken Jane Pennington’s place as private secretary to Mr. Krantz, glanced at the caller who had just entered the office with a look of cool disdain. He was a tall, eager-faced young man, neatly but by no means smartly dressed. A workman, Miss Pollock thought.
“Well?” she asked.
“I want to see Mr. Krantz. Mr. Jacob Krantz. Personally. About buying some stones,” the young man announced.
Miss Pollock retired to the inner office, trying to conceal her surprise. A man like that buying diamonds! It seemed incredible. Presently she returned.
“Mr. Krantz will see you at once,” she said.
The diamond dealer rose from his chair with outstretched hand as his caller came into the room.
“Sit down.” He waved toward a chair. “I understand you wish to buy some s
tones.”
“No,” the man replied, taking a seat. “I don’t want to buy any.”
“Then why did you tell my secretary so?” Mr. Krantz growled, his good nature vanishing like a puff of smoke. “My time is valuable. If you are an agent or canvasser of any sort—” He glanced significantly toward the door.
The young man did not at once reply. Instead he felt in his pocket and, drawing out a small, round object, rolled it across the glass top of Mr. Krantz’s desk.
“I told your secretary I wanted to see you about buying some stones,” he said. “You, however, were to do the buying. Here is a diamond I would like to sell.”
Mr. Krantz’s hard little eyes gleamed with cupidity as he gazed at the jewel before him. An uncut stone, in shape a rough octahedron, it was about the size of a small cherry.
“We don’t buy from strangers,” he said, making a shrewd guess as to the stone’s value. “At least, not as a rule. Where did you get it?”
“What’s that to you?” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’ve just got back from South Africa. Or Brazil.” He gave the diamond dealer a brazen wink. “You can have it for two thousand.”
Mr. Krantz spoke softly through the telephone for a moment. Almost at once his partner, Mr. Stern, came into the office, fat, bland, smiling.
“How much can we offer for this, Sam?” Mr. Krantz said, handing him the diamond.
Mr. Stern sat down at a little table equipped with a pair of delicate, glass-covered scales, magnifying glasses, and other devices incident to the jewel trade. He was busy for several moments weighing the stone, testing its colors, its refraction. Presently he rose and placed the diamond on his partner’s desk.
“About fifteen hundred,” he announced, with elaborate carelessness. “It ain’t worth more, considering the risk of cutting.”
Mr. Krantz grunted assent. Both he and Mr. Stern were quite well aware that the stone would have been cheap at two thousand, but their caller looked like a person in need of money.
“All right.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Cash.” Mr. Krantz frowned.
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 84