The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  “Cash? There ain’t no comeback, is there?”

  “No. The stone is mine, all right. But for certain reasons I’d rather not take a check.”

  Mr. Krantz unlocked the safe behind him, drew out some packages of bills. He, too, saw advantages in a cash transaction.

  Whereupon Mr. Krantz paid over the money. The young man rose.

  “I may bring you in another one, before long,” he said, and, with a curious smile, left the office.

  “What do you think, Sam?” Mr. Krantz asked when the door had closed behind him.

  “Smuggled, of course. It’s a South African stone. Fine water. Ought to cut fine, too.” He took the bit of crystal and balanced it in his hand. “Good for a thousand profit. I wonder if he knew its value. He seemed mighty anxious to sell. I hope he comes back again.”

  “If he does,” Mr. Krantz grunted, “we’ll offer less. There’s something fishy about it.”

  * * *

  —

  The young man did come back a few days later, bringing with him an even larger and finer stone than the one he had brought before. He asked three thousand dollars for it. Mr. Krantz refused to pay a cent more than two, and Mr. Stern backed him up.

  “We’re taking a big chance,” Mr. Krantz grumbled, as he began to count out the purchase price. “How do we know where you got these stones? We don’t want to do anything crooked.”

  “They weren’t smuggled,” the man said, “and they weren’t stolen. You can bank on it.”

  “Then all I can say is, young fellow,” remarked Mr. Krantz, “you must have a private diamond mine right here in America.”

  “Nothing like that, either.” The man rose. “I—I really can’t explain.” Smiling apologetically, he hurried from the office.

  The instant he had gone Mr. Krantz turned to his son, who had been sitting at a desk in a far corner of the room.

  “Jump, Morris! Follow him,” he said. “Don’t lose sight of him. We got to find out where he’s getting them stones.”

  With a quick nod young Mr. Krantz put on his hat and went out.

  Mr. Morris Krantz was slim, dark, quick, and noiseless in his movements, and therefore well-equipped for the task which lay ahead of him. Without looking directly at his quarry, he strolled toward the elevator.

  The man paid no attention to him. When the car reached the ground floor he hurried to the sidewalk and began to walk rapidly in the direction of the Hudson Terminal. Mr. Krantz followed, not too closely, and when his quarry got into a subway train managed to enter the same car at its other end without being observed and rode to the terminus of the underground line in Jersey City. He was immediately behind his man, however, at the railroad ticket office in Jersey City, and when the former asked for a ticket to Hillsdale Mr. Krantz bought one to the same place.

  At the station the man jumped into a taxicab and drove off. Mr. Krantz did the same.

  “Just follow that car,” he told the chauffeur. “Not too close, though. I don’t want them to know they’re being followed.”

  The first car, after proceeding for about a mile through the straggling suburban town, turned into a side street on the outskirts and presently stopped before a small, unimportant-looking frame house. Noting its location, Mr. Krantz told his driver to go on to the next corner and turn. Here he got out, paid his fare, and walked back to the house at which the man had stopped.

  The house stood in a wide, shaded lot, and behind it was a small brick building, in appearance a garage. As Mr. Krantz passed the front of the place he saw the man he had been following leave the house by a rear door and proceed down a gravel walk to the garage. A light presently flashed inside. Mr. Krantz hurried around to the back of the lot and along a narrow lane to the brick building with windows on both sides. Cautiously he peered in.

  His first glance told him the place was not a garage. Instead, it seemed to be some sort of a laboratory. In its center was a square concrete pedestal, on which stood an oblong box, made apparently of firebrick. Heavy cables, leading to brass attachments at either end, made Mr. Krantz conclude that the apparatus was electrical in its nature. The man busied himself for a moment with the binding screws at one end of the box, glanced at his wrist watch, then snapped off the lights and went out. Mr. Krantz watched him as he returned to the house; the activity in the illuminated rear kitchen caused him to conclude that his man had gone in for dinner.

  But Mr. Krantz was far too excited himself to think about food. An idea of tremendous importance had come to him, one which even yet he could not completely grasp. Had the man locked the door? He thought not, and a quick investigation told him that he was right. Like a shadow he slipped into the room.

  The place was in semidarkness, and he did not dare to switch on the lights for fear they would be observed from the house. One thing, however, was visible: the box on the concrete pedestal shone in the darkness with a fierce white glow, giving off an odor suggestive of intense heat.

  At the far end of the room he discerned a flight of steps leading to the floor above. In a moment he had ascended and found himself in a low loft, filled with trunks, old furniture, and books. There were cracks in the rough pine floor; he took out his pocket knife and widened one of them until he could see through quite clearly.

  An hour passed, and he was beginning to wonder whether the man was coming back, when he suddenly heard footsteps, the opening and closing of a door. Immediately the room beneath him was flooded with brilliant light.

  There were two persons in the place now, one the young man he had been following, the other a dark and slender girl, wearing an apron of brown linen. The former was busy for a time, adjusting some apparatus at one side of the room. The girl, meanwhile, went to the oblong box at the center of the room, and, after turning a switch, took up a pair of tongs and plunged them into the glowing mass with which it was filled.

  A blinding glare met Mr. Krantz’s eyes, then he saw that the girl held in her tongs a white-hot object about the size of an orange, which she at once dropped into a tub of water on the floor at her side.

  There was a prodigious hissing, accompanied by clouds of steam. For several moments the girl waited, glancing at an open book which lay on a small table. Then she took up her tongs, and fishing about in the water of the tub, brought up a round, black mass.

  Her companion now joined her, and with a hammer proceeded to break open the object as one might crack a nut; thereupon they gazed eagerly at something contained within it, showing, meanwhile, the greatest delight. Then, with a few words which Mr. Krantz could not hear, the man switched off the lights and, with his companion, went out.

  The turning of a key in the lock of the door was distinctly audible, and also the closing of the heavy window shutters. The building had evidently been closed for the night.

  With sweat streaming down his back, Mr. Krantz descended to the floor below. If the things he had seen meant what he thought they did, it was well that he had come.

  One thing was certain—he would have to find out before he left the place, provided he could leave it at all, now that the door was locked. That, he argued, was to prevent anyone from entering from without; a quick inspection of the windows with the aid of a lighted match told him he would have no difficulty in making his escape from within. And the fact that the shutters were closed made it possible for him to turn on the lights without danger of detection from the house.

  It took him several moments to locate the switch; but, this done, the room was at once illuminated with a very brilliant greenish-white light.

  The dark object which the man had broken open with the hammer still lay on the table. It consisted of a rough, granular shell of what looked like cast iron.

  As Mr. Krantz examined it an expression of amazement crossed his face.

  Inside, occupying a small cavity, was a grayish crystal about the size of a large pea. He g
lanced at it eagerly for a moment, then thrust it into his waistcoat pocket.

  The book lying open on the table next attracted his attention. It was a work on industrial chemistry. One of the paragraphs was marked. Mr. Krantz stared at it with bulging eyes as he read:

  Ever since the successful experiments by Henri Moissan, scientists have known that the manufacture of crystallized carbon, or diamonds, is well within the possibilities of the modern electric furnace. Moissan made actual diamonds, but they were very small. Only the proper development of his process is needed to make them of any size desired.

  But the problem is of no interest to the scientist, because, unlike synthetic rubber, or indigo, carbon crystals have no value in the industrial world. Nor would their production on a large scale attract the manufacturer, since his investment would become so much junk the moment his product was put on the market.

  The mere knowledge that quantity production was at hand would at once reduce the value of all the diamonds in the world, even the Kohinoor, to the price of so much glass. Hence the manufacture of diamonds is not likely to be attempted, unless by some individual operating in the strictest secrecy, and marketing his product with the utmost care.

  With a groan Mr. Krantz turned from the book. All the diamonds in the world worth no more than so much glass! And Krantz & Co. had over a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of stones in their vaults!

  Scarcely able to think, he raised one of the windows, unfastened the shutters, and, having switched off the lights, dropped noiselessly to the ground outside.

  Was the thing real? He could scarcely believe it. And yet how else explain the uncut diamonds the young man had brought to the office, had sold at far below their real market value?

  He had one in his waistcoat pocket now. As he waited for the New York train he drew the diamond across the pane of the station window. It cut a deep, white mark.

  In the private office of Mr. Jacob Krantz three very white-faced men sat about the senior partner’s desk the next day. Mr. Krantz himself was so filled with dismay that his features had shriveled up to the semblance of a dried apple. Mr. Stern was as gray as a death mask. Young Morris Krantz, his sleek hair on end, his eyes wide and fearful, had just finished an account of his adventures.

  “Sam,” Mr. Krantz remarked slowly, “what do you think we should do?”

  “Do?” Mr. Stern picked up the uncut stone and gazed at it helplessly. “We can’t do nothing. If diamonds can be made in a lab’ratory, like Morris here says, we might just as well now go out of business. Why, if the story got in the newspapers we couldn’t sell our stock at five cents on the dollar!”

  “For why should it get in the newspapers, Sam?” Mr. Krantz asked. “These people is cleaning up a thousand or two a week selling us some stones. Ain’t it the last thing in the world they’d want to do—have their secret made public? I ain’t afraid they’ll tell anybody. I got a better idea, Sam. Let’s have a talk with this fellow. Tell him we’re on to his secret and are ready to market his product for him fifty-fifty. Make him sign an agreement not to sell through anybody but us. Point out to him that if he ain’t careful he’ll lose the whole works.”

  Mr. Stern nodded slowly in agreement.

  “You’re right, Jake,” he said. “We better get out to Jersey at once and have a talk with him. Tell him where he gets off.”

  A knock at the door followed his words. Miss Pollock came in bearing a letter. Mr. Krantz tore it open, read aloud the contents:

  Dear Mr. Krantz:

  Please be at the above address tonight at eight o’clock. Bring your son and your partner, Mr. Stern, with you. Ask for Miss Vance, on the sixth floor. We want to talk to you about diamonds.

  “That’s that,” said Mr. Krantz, dropping the note on his desk. “Sam, I ain’t feeling well. Think I’ll get a cup of coffee.”

  * * *

  —

  Elinor came into the living room wearing a gown of green and silver which made Donald McRae catch his breath. He could combat the girl’s intelligence, her gay insolence, but her beauty always left him helpless.

  “It’s good of you to come here, Donald,” she said sinking into a chair. “You remember what I told you about Miss Pennington. Well, I’ve taken action in her case, and—”

  “You haven’t been doing anything you shouldn’t, I hope,” he said, noting the seriousness of her smile. “Of course, if you’re in any trouble—”

  “Thanks, old dear. I’m not—yet. But I may need your help before the evening’s over. You have authority to make arrests, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” Donald lit a cigarette, regarding Elinor with a puzzled frown. What deviltry was she up to now? An amazing woman, who would stop at nothing to gain her ends. She enjoyed the risks to which she was forever subjecting herself as other women might enjoy a hand of bridge. Even now she was gazing at him like some mischievous elf.

  “What’s the game?” he asked suddenly.

  “Don’t look so downhearted, old dear,” she laughed. “The worst I’m capable of tonight is a little blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?” Donald gasped.

  “Well, you might call it that.” She went to the door and called to someone in the next room. A tall, eager-faced young man came in, accompanied by a slender and very charming girl of twenty. Elinor took the latter’s hand.

  “Miss Pennington,” she said, smiling, “this is my friend, Mr. McRae, and Mr. Ashton, Mr. McRae.” She nodded to the young man with the eager face. “Mr. Ashton is an electrician—a chemist. He and I have been making some very interesting experiments at his private laboratory over in New Jersey, looking to establishing Miss Pennington’s innocence of the crime of which she has been accused. We hope we have succeeded.”

  Mr. Ashton slipped his arm about his companion’s waist.

  “If we haven’t,” he said grimly, “somebody’s due for an awful beating up before the evening’s over.”

  “Remember, please,” Elinor said, placing her hand on his arm, “you promised not to start anything—”

  “Well—” he turned away grimly—“I guess that goes. Till the evening’s over, anyway. Glad to have met you—” He nodded to McRae. “Come along, Jane.” With his arm still about the slender girl, Ashton returned to the adjoining room.

  “She won’t marry him,” Elinor whispered, “until her innocence has been proved. Her pride, you know. She’s afraid he might still think—” A timid knock at the door stopped her, then she opened it.

  Mr. Krantz, Mr. Stern, and young Morris filed in solemnly. Even in their perturbed state of mind they did not fail to note the costly fittings of the room. “A thousand a week, easy,” Mr. Krantz muttered to himself, glancing at Mr. McRae.

  “My lawyer,” Elinor said, introducing him.

  “If I’d known it was a case of lawyers,” Mr. Krantz remarked, staring uneasily at Donald, “I could’ve brought my own.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need one,” Elinor remarked gaily. “Would you gentlemen mind stepping into the dining room?”

  “Dining room! If you should ask me now, miss, to eat anything—”

  “It isn’t that. There’s something I want to show you.” She swept aside the curtains at the end of the room. “Just go in and take a seat. Don’t fall over the chairs.”

  Her caution was needed. The room was in almost total darkness. Guided by the light which came through the parted curtains, the four men slowly filed into the room, Donald bringing up the rear. A semicircle of chairs confronted them, two of which were already occupied, but the women who sat in them were not recognizable in the dim light.

  “Find chairs, everybody,” Elinor cried. “We’re ready to begin.”

  In a state of complete bewilderment, Mr. Krantz and his companions sat down.

  A faint whirring sound came from the rear of the room where Mr. Ashton stood. />
  Then a moving picture suddenly appeared on a screen suspended against the opposite wall. Mr. Krantz gave a groan. The picture showed a small room, fitted up as a laboratory, and near the center of it, beside a table, stood Elinor herself, a pair of tongs in her hand. Presently, using the tongs, she lifted a small white-hot object from a box on the table and dropped it into a tub of water at her feet. A short delay ensued, then the little audience saw her take the object from the tub, saw the young man who had now joined her break it open on the top of the table, whereupon they both proceeded to examine its contents with the utmost care.

  Suddenly the scene blacked out, to be at once resumed with young Mr. Krantz as its central figure. For a few moments only was he visible, but during this time he moved swiftly and distinctly as he picked up the two halves of the dark object on the table, gazed at them for an instant, removed something from one of them, and thrust it into his waistcoat pocket. Almost immediately thereafter this picture, too, faded out and the dining room was suddenly flooded with light.

  Mr. Krantz and his companions looked about, blinked.

  Young Morris, recognizing Jane Pennington as one of the two women who sat near him, rose to his feet snarling like a trapped fox.

  James Ashton stepped toward him, his fists clenched. Elinor swept into the half circle made by the chairs.

  “Just a moment, please, everybody!” she exclaimed, raising her hand. “What you have just seen is a picture of a small private laboratory at Hillsdale, New Jersey, belonging to my friend, Mr. James Ashton. The picture was taken last night, by means of an automatic camera and the specially installed vacuum lamps with which the place is equipped.

  “Mr. Krantz, Jr., forced his way into the place and, as you have seen, stole a diamond belonging to me worth two thousand dollars. Mr. Ashton and myself watched him do it through an opening in the door. There is a gentleman here who has authority to make an arrest.”

  “But—” Mr. Krantz, Sr., rose unsteadily to his feet—“that ain’t the point, miss. Here’s your diamond.” He took the stone from his pocket and handed it to Elinor. “That ain’t what we want to talk to you about. It—it’s the diamond business.