The Star of Delhi s-225

by Maxwell Grant

The Star of Delhi was a fake!

  Never before had these jewelers seen such a large imitation gem.

  Theories were popping thick and fast, all to one conclusion. Facts had been reversed, with but one possible explanation, according to the experts.

  Roger Sherbrock must have cut the real Star of Delhi into six matched gems. That was the really clever part of it. Small sapphires were more apt to be suspected than one so well described as the Star of Delhi.

  Probably Sherbrock had sold the imitation Star, a wonderful replica of the original, to Lenfell. He had then disposed of the six matched gems to Walder, who had probably learned that they were the portions of the real Star and had advertised the fact.

  Threatened with exposure by Lenfell, the man he had swindled, Sherbrock had been forced to murder his dupe and other men who knew about the crooked sale. It was a sound theory, and one that pleased Weston as well as Cardona who was present, for it cleared The Shadow.

  Undoubtedly, Sherbrock had come to Lenfell's last night to steal back the fake Star of Delhi, thereby disposing of evidence against himself. The Shadow had been on hand, crossing Sherbrock's trail again, as on a preceding night. Weston was mentioning this in an aside to Cardona, when The Shadow himself appeared in the office.

  Of course, he came as Cranston. Out of the hubbub, he learned of the recent discovery, and looked at the Star of Delhi for himself. Turning to Weston, The Shadow inquired quietly:

  "Who detected the fraud?"

  "I did!" bragged Weston. Then, noting glances from some jewelers: "Thanks to Jan Garmath."

  "Which man is he?"

  Looking about, Weston couldn't find Garmath. It turned out that Garmath, like some of the other jewelers, had supposed that the conference was ended, and was therefore gone. When Weston asked where Garmath could be reached, no one knew. Garmath, it appeared, had a large fortune which he had brought from Europe, and was retired, rather than active, as a jeweler.

  "It sums up to this, Cranston," declared the commissioner, no longer interested in Garmath. "Six real sapphires have gone back to their original owner, whoever he may be. We believe that those stones were cut by Sherbrock from the actual Star of Delhi. We shall try to find the owner and question him -

  confidentially, of course - in hopes of evidence against Sherbrock."

  "Naturally, the owner of the six sapphires may be loath to declare himself, for fear of death.

  Nevertheless, we know what we are after - and that it is the first important step."

  LATER that afternoon, Lamont Cranston met Margo Lane and calmly told her how Louis Talney was a guest at his residence, sent there by The Shadow. After piecing Talney into the picture, Cranston remarked:

  "I shall have to call him later. He will be interested to hear about the Star of Delhi."

  "How it was really cut into six smaller gems," nodded Margo. "I read all about it in the early afternoon editions. Clever of your friend, the commissioner, to find out that the large sapphire was an imitation.

  Well, it's up to the police to look for the six small stones."

  "Which they can never find."

  "Can never find?" Margo echoed. "Why not?"

  Seldom did The Shadow put so much emphasis into the tone of Cranston as he did on this occasion, in response to Margo's query.

  "It was Garmath, not Weston," he said, "who exposed the great sapphire as a synthetic stone. After that, Garmath conveniently disappeared. It is Garmath who must be found. I believe that he manufactured the synthetic gem."

  "And sold it to Lenfell?"

  "No. Lenfell already had it. He wanted to keep it and dupe Talney and the rest into thinking that it had been cut. So he needed six small, synthetic stones, and asked Garmath to make them."

  "Which Garmath did -"

  "Which Garmath did not!" Cranston interposed. "He made six poisoned rings, instead. Knowing that Lenfell had a sale for the real Star of Delhi, Garmath naturally kept it. He made the large synthetic sapphire to dupe Lenfell. The poison worked too soon for Lenfell to ever take it to his customer."

  It all struck home to Margo. Trails had diverged; the one that the police sought was quite different from The Shadow's quest. The law was after six real sapphires, whereas The Shadow wanted to uncover a single stone, the great Star of Delhi itself. The law's trail did not exist, but The Shadow's did!

  Arriving late at the commissioner's conference, The Shadow had lost his opportunity to trail immediately the daring supercrook, Jan Garmath, who had personally given Weston the wrong start. But The Shadow would soon find a way to pick up Garmath's trail.

  It wouldn't be through the two thugs captured the night before. At dusk, when The Shadow, fully cloaked, appeared within his sanctum, the hidden room where he formulated campaigns against crime, he found blank reports awaiting him. Harry Vincent and other agents had been unable to locate Dwig Brencott through the prisoners.

  But there were other sheets of consequence, supplied by Rutledge Mann, an investment broker in The Shadow's service. Those sheets listed the names of wealthy men who were investors in gems, as well as stocks and bonds.

  Less than an hour after he had left Margo Lane, The Shadow completed a check-up of the lists.

  The Shadow had rated them in order of importance, intending to investigate them, each in turn. He felt sure that one of the first four would prove to be the man who could supply much-needed information.

  In that surmise, The Shadow was correct: Second on the list was the name of Uriah Crome.

  It should have topped the list, as The Shadow was soon to learn!

  CHAPTER XVII. A MATTER OF PRICE

  WHILE The Shadow was still busy in his sanctum, Uriah Crome was receiving a visitor, which was something very unusual. Though he lived near the center of Manhattan, Crome was twin brother to a hermit. His penthouse, located on the flat roof of an antiquated eight-story office building, might well have been a cave in the middle of a wilderness.

  Old, dyspeptic, as bald as an eagle and beak-nosed as a vulture, Crome had only two delights in life: jewels and milk toast. He liked gems because they glittered, and appealed to his miser's sense of ownership. He preferred milk toast because it was the only fare that did not cause him indigestion.

  Crome's penthouse could only be reached by an elevator that had a night operator especially for service to the top floor. Since Crome owned the office building, it was impossible for anyone to come upstairs without his permission. The night man always telephoned up first, to make sure that Crome would receive any candidate for admission who happened to be downstairs.

  On this evening, Crome was seated in an oak-paneled room which he termed his den, when one of his several servants entered with a note. After reading it, Crome placed bony fingers to his thin chin, pondered for a few moments, then ordered:

  "Show the visitor up."

  The visitor was Jan Garmath, and Crome received him alone. While he finished his milk toast, the vulturous man kept surveying his dry-featured visitor with a look that would have suited a bird of prey.

  Crome's gaze, however, was actually defensive. He regarded Garmath as the vulture; himself as anything from a worm to a fat-sized guinea hen, or whatever sort of tidbit a vulture might choose.

  Crome opened negotiations with a sharpish query:

  "You have come regarding the Star of Delhi?"

  "I have brought the Star of Delhi," returned Garmath in the mild tone he so often used. "I thought that you would be pleased to view a priceless gem that happens to have a price."

  Producing a small jewel case, Garmath exhibited a great blue gem, which, to all appearances, was the synthetic replica that Commissioner Weston had taken credit for detecting that afternoon. Crome had evidently read the newspapers, for he shook his head as he held the jewel to the light.

  "Bah!" he snorted. "This sapphire is false!"

  "It happens to be real," returned Garmath. "The synthetic stone is now in the possession of the police."

  "But this could be an i
mitation, too."

  "There could be another imitation," agreed Garmath, "had I chosen to manufacture two, instead of only one. But one" - he gave a dry cluck - "was all I needed. This is the genuine Star of Delhi!"

  BUSY with a microscope, Crome was learning for himself that Garmath spoke the truth. He pressed a button on his desk. One of the wall panels swung about, becoming a jewel case with shelves of resplendent gems that gave a great glitter to that side of the room.

  "Bah!" Crome pressed the button again, to turn the shelves away from sight. "I must have these buttons marked. I pressed the one that controls the emerald showcase, by mistake. Here is the sapphire button."

  He pushed it. A block of shelves swung from another panel, creating a bluish shimmer as they came.

  Hobbling over to the display, Crome compared the Star of Delhi with other large sapphires. The comparison was in favor of the great gem that Garmath had brought. Coming back to the desk, Crome planked the Star in front of him and said to Garmath:

  "I want it!"

  "Of course you want it," chuckled Garmath. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have made a deal with Lenfell. Let me see" - Garmath faked a tone of recollection - "what was the price he wanted? Three hundred thousand dollars?"

  Garmath was simply making an estimate, for he had not heard Lenfell mention price to Crome during their phone conversation. Garmath calculated that if six smaller sapphires would have rated fifty thousand each, Lenfell certainly would not have set the price for the Star of Delhi as less than the sum of the smaller stones, had they been cut from the great gem.

  Garmath's own deals with Lenfell had been strictly limited to the providing of six small synthetic sapphires; nothing more. But he wanted Crome to think that there had been a closer association.

  The estimate was near enough. Early in negotiations with Crome, Lenfell had mentioned three hundred thousand dollars as a suitable price. Hence, though Crome shook his head, he did it slowly.

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Crome told Garmath. "That was the most that I would have paid Lenfell. But my present offer" - he dug clawish fingers into the desk and leaned across with a triumphant grin - "is only two hundred thousand!"

  Garmath's eyes showed surprise, so well feigned that Crome was deceived. His beakish face agleam, Crome gloatingly detailed why he expected the Star of Delhi at a bargain price.

  "I knew Lenfell's ways," asserted Crome, "the measures that he was taking to acquire the Star of Delhi as his own. He was betraying his associates; more than that, he was actually swindling them! That, of course" - Crome shrugged - "was not my affair. It was Lenfell, not I, who had to cover up what he had done.

  "Nevertheless, his failure to do so could have caused me certain difficulties, should it become known that I owned the real Star of Delhi. I insisted that Lenfell take that into consideration, and he did.

  "Now, in your case, Garmath, men have not merely been swindled; they have died! Too bad" - Crome was clucking as though really sorry - "but it means that you will have to give some extra consideration to the matter of price, in selling the Star of Delhi."

  Crome meant "extra" to the tune of fifty thousand dollars, which he expected to retain, at Garmath's expense, in return for silence regarding Crome's own suspicion of the murders that Garmath had maneuvered. He was reaching to a desk drawer, bringing out crisp currency in bills of a thousand-dollar denomination and higher.

  "Ten, twenty, thirty -" Crome had come down to the mere thousand-dollar bills, when he finally said:

  "Two hundred." He extended that sheaf to Garmath, while he put other bills away. Garmath merely folded his arms.

  "My price," he said, "is half a million."

  "What!" exclaimed Crome. "Preposterous!"

  "Not at all," remarked Garmath mildly. "I reason rationally, not the other way about, as Lenfell did. The greater the crime, the greater the risk, and therefore - the greater the price!"

  Crome swept back the money and dumped it in the desk drawer. Garmath was not at all annoyed. He simply leaned forward and added, pointedly:

  "And the more certain the sale!"

  THE words crept home to Crome as insidiously as the creep of Garmath's footfalls had once impressed Lenfell. Crome's hand had made an involuntary gesture toward the telephone. Garmath waved for him to complete it.

  "Call the police," suggested Garmath. "Tell them that you intended to buy the Star of Delhi. When you do so, you will implicate yourself, not in five swindles, but in six murders! The police will find you, Crome, but they will not find me!"

  Crome sagged back into his chair.

  "No police?" queried Garmath. "Then call your loyal servants and, have them eject me, while you keep the Star of Delhi for yourself. That is as far as you would dare go, Crome, for neither you nor your servants are of sufficient grit and caliber to go through with murdering me.

  "But I specialize in murder, Crome!" Garmath's tone had as snap a pronounced as the glint from his eyes.

  "I, and the men in my employ. Remember that, Crome, if you do not buy the Star of Delhi. Should you buy it" - his tone was easing - "you can remember that I also give protection to those that I think deserve it."

  Crome's breath came back with a great gasp.

  "You mean that if I buy the Star of Delhi at your price, no one will ever know of the transaction?"

  "Not through me," returned Garmath. "Moreover, should anyone learn the fact" - his chuckle became raspy - "I can guarantee that they will never tell. Whatever service you may need from me goes with the sale, as a matter of good will."

  Good will from a master of evil!

  The paradox struck Crome hard; nevertheless, he felt forced to take Garmath's word. His numbed expression showed that Crome was reasoning matters slowly, but he was coming to a sound conclusion.

  Good will or evil, Garmath's word could be relied upon. It would have to be so; otherwise, he couldn't have kept the confidence of murderous accomplices to the extent that he undoubtedly had.

  With trembling hands, Crome reached for the money drawer, brought out the cash and began to count it.

  He made up a total of some three hundred and sixty thousand dollars, and looked worried about the remainder, when Garmath suggested:

  "Your check will do, or - better - checks for some odd amounts, made out to cash. I understand that you often purchase jewels in amounts up to fifty thousand dollars. So keep the various checks below that sum."

  Crome wrote out the checks and handed them along with the cash After counting up to the total and finding that it made exactly half a million, Garmath arose with a gratified smile. He pointed to the Star of Delhi, then gestured to Crome's showcase.

  "Put it with your other sapphires," Garmath said. "You can feast your own eyes upon the prize as often as you wish. But do not let others see the Star of Delhi. I spoke of protection. I have already given it. The police do not know that the Star of Delhi still exists.

  "Hence, you are quite safe - while they are looking for six sapphires, matched ones that can never be found. However, as part of our bargain, I shall call you occasionally, beginning with tomorrow night.

  Good evening, Crome."

  Rising, Garmath went to the door and Crome noticed the creeping sound of the murderer's departure, recalling, numbly, that his visitor had entered in the same style, though Crome hadn't regarded it as insidious, then.

  A servant was outside the door; hastily covering the Star of Delhi with one hand, Crome gestured with the other, signifying for the man to show Garmath out.

  When Garmath reached the ground floor, he went out by the back way, as there were two exits from the office building. His creeping walk, which he did not try to hide, echoed uncannily back through the passage, bringing shivers to the elevator man who was seated in the car with the door open.

  The elevator operator wasn't the only one who heard those sounds.

  FROM a limousine that had just stopped out front, a tall man in evening clothes was entering the building.


  He was Lamont Cranston, coming from a chat with one millionaire jewel collector, to call upon another.

  With the head man off The Shadow's list, Uriah Crome was next in line.

  The Shadow heard Garmath's last evasive creeps just as they faded, with a quickened touch, from beyond the closing rear door. Before he could snap from Cranston's leisurely pose and move in the rapid style of The Shadow, he was confronted by the elevator man, who, hearing new footsteps from the front, was peering out to see what they meant.

  Easing into Cranston's manner, The Shadow nodded to the elevator man and announced himself, saying that he had come to see Mr. Crome. He knew that the name of Cranston would carry weight with the old collector, for, though they had never met, Cranston had sometimes outbid Crome's representatives when they appeared at jewel auctions.

  As one collector to another, Crome couldn't afford to entirely ignore Cranston. Within a few minutes, they were chatting with each other over the telephone, and though The Shadow detected a tremolo in Crome's tone, it was one that could have been attributed to his advanced age - as the old man, himself, was smart enough to recognize.

  But The Shadow, having heard the creeping below, had quite another explanation for the wavering tone that he heard across the wire. In his turn, he did not drop one whit from Cranston's quiet form of speech; nevertheless, his words made a hard dent on Crome.

  The old collector was saying that it was too late for him to receive a visitor; that he would be glad to have Cranston call some other time. Pressing the point, The Shadow set the meeting definitely for the morrow; then he sprang a neat surprise.

  "I am calling on behalf of a friend," he stated. "One who is very anxious to meet you, Mr. Crome. I may not be able to come tomorrow, but I would appreciate it if you would receive my friend."

  "Of course, of course," interposed Crome, hastily, his voice betraying only a slight touch of its quiver.

  "Any friend of yours will be welcome here, Mr. Cranston. But about this friend -"

  "He is deeply interested in gems," came Cranston's interruption, "particularly in rare sapphires. He hopes that some well-informed person, like yourself, can give him the advice he needs. Good night, Mr.