The other chuckled again. “Thank you, Señor,” he mocked. “But even should you change your mind—it will be of no use. A pleasant trip—and good fortune.”
Again there was the clicking sound. Jo Gar went away from the cabin phone, frowning.
“I think the gentleman is a liar,” he muttered very softly, “but I can not afford to simply think. As for this being a pleasant trip—”
He squeezed the brown paper of the cigarette with stubby fingers, raised his narrow shoulders very slowly in a half shrug.
“He is too wise for that,” he said with finality. “It will be extremely unpleasant—for one of us.”
On the third day out the Cheyo Maru was rolling a bit; spray was breaking over the prow and there were not too many passengers on the decks. Jo Gar stood near the starboard rail, well aft, and watched the woman in black and the little girl who accompanied her. The woman was middle-aged, had a rather sharp, sunburned face. The child was not very pretty. She was stringing beads. The woman paid little attention to her, and none to the other passengers. Jo had been watching her closely for two days, and yet he had not appeared to be watching. And he had listened to many voices of men, hearing none like the one that had come over the phone. He had not expected that.
He was working under a handicap; he felt that he was being watched and he did not know the person who watched him. He had learned that the woman who wore black much of the time was named Rosa Jetmars, that she had come aboard at Manila and that the child was her daughter. The purser volunteered the information that he understood Mrs. Jetmars was Spanish, had married an American in the Islands. Her husband had died very recently. His body was not aboard the vessel, but it was thought that his widow was going to the States and his family. That was all the Island detective had learned. It had little to do with the nine missing diamonds.
Someone near the rail called attention to a school of flying fish. It was a large one; the little girl jumped from her deck chair, started towards the rail. She tripped, fell awkwardly, crying out. Beads scattered and rolled across the deck. Jo Gar started forward, but an elderly man had already lifted the girl. Something blue rolled and struck against Jo’s right shoe. The woman in black was bending over the girl. She seemed angry. She spoke in Spanish and very rapidly. Her back was turned to Jo.
He leaned down and picked up the bead. It was peculiarly cut, for a bead—touch told him that instantly. He glanced at it, his eyes narrowing. Several men were picking up other beads from the deck surface—much fuss was being made over the child. The woman in black had taken her back to her chair, was talking rapidly to her. Jo Gar slipped the bead in his pocket and stared at the vanishing school of flying fish.
When he glanced towards the woman in black again she was still talking to the child. Men were putting beads in the girl’s lap. There was laughter now, and the woman in black did not seem so angry. After a few minutes Jo Gar went below, locked his cabin door and got the one Von Loffler diamond from its tiny pocket in the cork of one of his medicine bottles.
He compared it with the bead, which was blue. His lips parted and he said very softly:
“The cutting is—exactly the same!”
An hour later, in the captain’s cabin, he had the diamond expert who had helped him earlier in the trip examine the bead. When the expert had finished his examination he said in a puzzled voice:
“It is exceptionally well cut—diamond cut. Nothing cheap about the cutting. A great deal of care has been taken—for a piece of blue glass.”
Jo Gar said slowly: “There is no doubt but what it is glass?”
The expert smiled at him. “Not a bit—it is blue glass, cut as a fine diamond might be. A good-sized diamond. Like, say, one of the Von Loffler stones you—”
Jo Gar’s frown stopped him. The captain raised his head and stared at Jo. But the Island detective simply reached for the bead, slipped it into a pocket of his light suiting. He reached for his packet of cigarettes.
The captain of the Japanese liner said in his stiff English:
“It is very curious, Señor Gar—”
The Island detective showed his white teeth in a lazy smile. He nodded his head very slowly.
“Very curious,” he agreed cheerfully. “But many curious facts are not too important.”
The captain said: “It will not be very long before we dock in San Francisco, Señor. It has been an exciting voyage for you, and not very successful. One diamond recovered—and nine still missing.”
Jo Gar offered cigarettes, lighted one. The diamond expert spoke.
“But he has this bit of blue glass—it may be that it is important.”
The Island detective smiled. “In what way?” he asked.
The two others looked at each other. The captain shrugged, smiled. The diamond expert muttered to himself. The captain said:
“Each of us has our profession—yours is a difficult one, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective grinned. “Often I am given unexpected help,” he said. “Perhaps it will be that way—before we land.”
He went towards the door of the captain’s cabin, still smiling. But when he had bowed to the two men and was outside, his smile faded. He went without too much haste to his cabin, and had been inside only a few minutes when the phone buzzed. The flat voice said:
“I have additional information for you, Señor. The diamonds are to be smuggled through the customs as the child’s beads. Perhaps they will be dipped in ink, or painted blue.”
Jo Gar said evenly: “Thank you. But the diamonds have no holes in them—how can they be strung?”
There was slight impatience in the other’s tone.
“Perhaps there will be some beads cut somewhat like the diamonds, in a box the child has. Some will be strung, but others will not be strung. It is not likely the customs officers will examine each bead in the box.”
Jo Gar was smiling grimly, but his voice was serious. “That is so. It is a clever idea.”
The other’s voice said: “But do not work too fast, Señor. I do not think the child has the diamonds, at present.”
The clicking sound followed. Jo hung up and looked out of the port, at the roughening water. He thought: Nor do I think the child has them at the present moment. The woman in black was not much concerned about the spilled beads, when the girl fell on the deck. If I were to get into the cabin occupied by the woman and child, find a box of beads—I would probably find no diamonds. And yet, if I wait until the customs inspection is made—
He turned away from the port, frowning. He breathed softly:
“This one who calls—he knows so much. And yet he would share much with me. He would lose a great deal of money by doing that. The whole reward would be his if he did not—”
He broke off, and his gray-blue eyes got very small and long. After a short time he inspected his Colt automatic, slipped it into a pocket of his light coat, stuffing a handkerchief over it. When he reached deck he walked slowly towards the bow, conscious, as usual, of the curious glances the passengers directed towards him.
He circled the deck twice; the second time he noted that the woman in black and the child had vacated their chairs. A middle-aged man approached, walking unsteadily as the boat rolled. He looked at Jo, but there was no expression in his blue eyes. He had flabby, pale skin and very thin lips. They were almost opposite each other when the boat rolled more sharply. The Island detective let his small body strike the left side of the thin-lipped one, knocking him off balance.
“Pardon,” Jo said. “I’m very—sorry.”
He stood close to the other man, watched anger show in the blue eyes. More than anger showed, he thought. It was as though the thin-lipped one hated him fiercely, and had hated him for more than seconds.
“It was very careless of me,” Jo said.
The other man’s lips parted. He started to speak, but did not. A faint smile showed in his eyes; slowly his face twisted with it. He jerked his head downward abruptly, in an awkward
bow. He shrugged, moved away from the Island detective.
Jo Gar continued his walk around the deck. But he did not meet the thin-lipped one on the starboard side. He did not see him again in the next half hour, and when he did locate the man he was in the smoking room, seated at a small table and with his back turned to the entrance from the port side of the deck.
A steward strolled along and smiled amiably at Jo. He beckoned to him, handed him a dollar bill. He designated the chair occupied by the thin-lipped one.
“That gentleman I seem to know,” he said. “I should like you to go to the far end of the smoking room, then turn and come back. You will be able to see him. I should like to know his name. You are the deck steward?”
The steward nodded. He went into the smoking room and Jo Gar went to the port rail. When the steward returned he was smiling cheerfully.
“I placed his chair for him,” he said. “He is a Mr. Tracy. He came aboard at Honolulu.”
Jo nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “It is not the one with whom I am acquainted.”
He did a few more turns on the deck, his face expressionless. Then he went below and talked to the purser. Mr. Eugene Tracy occupied Cabin C. 82. He had booked passage at the last moment and had been forced to take a cabin on the lower deck, though he had wanted better quarters.
Jo Gar went up above and saw that the thin-lipped one was still in the smoking room. He was reading a magazine, and was slumped low in a comfortable chair. The Island detective moved close to the chair, very quietly. No other person was near the two of them; Jo spoke sharply but low, his voice holding a faint questioning note.
“Mr. Tracy?”
His words were very clear, but the one in the chair did not move. Jo stepped directly in front of the chair and looked down at the magazine that hid the thin-lipped one’s face.
“Mr. Tracy?” he said again.
The man in the chair lowered his magazine. He looked at the Island detective with his blue eyes wide and questioning. Jo stared at him stupidly, shook his head.
“I’m sorry—again,” he stated. “It is another Mr. Tracy I’m looking for—and they pointed you out. Please pardon me.”
The one in the chair smiled almost pleasantly. He nodded his head, raised his magazine. Jo said very quietly:
“Have you the time, by any chance?”
Anger edged into the eyes of the man in the chair. Then the forced smile showed again. He shook his head. Jo bowed and moved away. As he went towards his cabin there was a half smile on his browned face. He was thinking that the thin-lipped one was a very silent person.
After dinner Jo Gar watched the thin-lipped man take the same chair he had occupied hours before, in the smoking room. The Island detective went to his cabin and changed from his dinner clothes to a dark, lightweight suiting. He wore a dark-colored shirt and was knotting a black bow tie when there was a knock at the cabin door. At his call a tall, slender man entered, closing the door carefully behind him.
“The captain said you had something for me to do,” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Porter—I’m an American and traveling to Frisco from Honolulu through courtesy of the line. I do ship news for a San Diego paper, and this is sort of a vacation.”
Jo Gar nodded. “It is very simple,” he said. “In the smoking room at present there is a man named Tracy. I will go up with you and point him out. I would like you to stay as close to him as is possible, for the next few hours, and to remember what he does. That is all. I shall be glad to pay—”
Porter smiled, shaking his head. “Not necessary, Señor Gar,” he interrupted. “I’m glad to help out. And I won’t talk.”
Jo Gar smiled back at the newspaper man. “You would be very foolish if you did,” he said. “There wouldn’t be anything to talk about.”
They went on deck and after walking several times around it, Jo pointed out the thin-lipped man. There was a vacant chair near him; Porter said he would go in and use it. Jo nodded.
“Do not come to me and do not speak to me if we meet later. I will speak first to you.”
The newspaper man went into the smoking room. Jo passed the woman in black and the child, on the way to his cabin. The boat was rolling quite a bit and the woman looked sick and tired. She wore no jewelry and she paid little attention to the child, who trailed along behind her.
When he reached the cabin his phone was making a buzz sound. Jo Gar closed the door behind him, locked it. He lifted the instrument, said slowly:
“This is Señor Gar.”
The voice was flat and low. It said: “Mrs. Jetmars is having the child attract attention to itself. She is letting passengers see that the child has an interest in beads.”
Jo Gar said nothing. The voice continued:
“I point this out to you, because perhaps you do not believe she has the diamonds for which you are searching.”
The Island detective said with his almond-shaped eyes almost closed:
“Perhaps it would be wise for me to enter her cabin, with the ship’s captain, while she is absent. A thorough search—”
“I do not think it would be wise,” the voice cut in. “But that is up to you, of course.”
There was the clicking sound. Jo hung up and went to the ship switchboard room again. When he had asked the question the operator smiled cheerfully.
“The call came from Cabin C. 80,” he stated. “I have been paying attention to the calls since you first asked me—”
He had been looking at a small book as he was speaking. His voice died abruptly; he widened his dark eyes on Jo Gar’s expressionless ones.
“Cabin C. 80 is vacant,” he said stiffly. “It is one of the poorest cabins on the ship.”
The Island detective nodded his head. “The doors of vacant cabins are not always locked, are they?” he asked.
The switchboard boy narrowed his eyes. “No, Señor Gar,” he replied. “They are left half-opened, for ventilation.”
Jo Gar moved towards the main saloon, frowning. Too many persons aboard the boat knew too much about him; even the Chinese boy at the switchboard was now addressing him by his name. He murmured to himself:
“It becomes—always more difficult.”
In the smoking room the thin-lipped one was seated in the chair he had occupied before, still reading his magazine. The newspaper man was sprawled in a chair that faced the port-side entrance to the room. Jo Gar beckoned to him, watched him rise slowly, stroll towards the entrance. The Island detective walked slowly aft, and Porter followed in the same fashion. Behind a ventilator Jo halted and lighted a cigarette. Porter reached his side.
“Well?” The Island detective’s voice was very low.
Peter grinned. “You didn’t expect him to move around much in that length of time, did you?” he replied. “He only turned two pages of the magazine.”
Jo said steadily: “He never left the chair?”
Porter grunted. “All he moved was his fingers,” he replied.
Jo sighed heavily. Then he showed white teeth in a slow smile.
“You have been very kind—and I shall not need your help for the present, Señor Porter.”
The newspaper man looked surprised. “He wasn’t the right guy, maybe?”
The Island detective made the tip of his cigarette glow in the semidarkness.
“After I left you I went to my cabin. I received a phone call that I half expected. But I expected, also, that the gentleman you were watching would make the call.”
Porter whistled softly. “He didn’t,” he said. “That’s sure enough.
He stuck right in his chair.”
Jo Gar nodded. Porter said slowly: “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the other way—the way you expected, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective smiled with his lips tight against the paper of the cigarette. He stood with his short legs spread, swaying with the roll of the ship. He had picked the thin-lipped passenger as the one who had called him, using the flat, peculiar tone. He had listened t
o most of the others talk—those who had come aboard at Honolulu.
The others he had heard before; it had been a long trip from Manila. And the thin-lipped one had failed to answer quickly, naturally to the name of Tracy. He had not spoken to Jo—had not answered his question about the time. It was difficult to disguise a voice, and Jo felt that the thin-lipped one had not made the effort. Thus he had not spoken when addressed. And yet, there had been the phone call just received—and the thin-lipped one had not made it.
Jo frowned down at the cigarette glow. Then, suddenly, his small body straightened; he drew a deep breath. Porter was watching him closely.
“You got an idea—that time,” he muttered.
The Island detective narrowed his eyes on Porter’s.
He spoke very slowly and softly, and his eyes held little expression.
“That is so, Señor Porter—but it is so difficult to tell whether it is a good idea.”
The newspaper man said grimly: “If it isn’t—you’ll probably find out quick enough.”
Jo Gar smiled narrowly. “That is the trouble,” he said simply.
The door of Cabin C. 82 was tightly closed, locked. Jo Gar took from his pocket the small, adjustable key, worked with it swiftly and expertly. It was after nine o’clock, but the thin-lipped man was still seated in his chair in the smoking room. The cabin steward for this section of the Cheyo Maru was on the opposite side of the boat; Jo had come to Cabin C. 82 slowly and carefully. When the lock made a faint clicking sound he returned the master key to his pocket, moved the knob and slowly opened the door. He stepped inside quickly, shut the door without sound but did not lock it from the inside. The cabin was small and held the odor of cigarettes. There was little baggage about, but what there was bore the initials E.T. Jo Gar smiled a little, went towards cool-colored curtains that formed a protection for hung clothes. There was only a coat of gray material hanging behind the curtains.
“Señor Tracy is traveling very lightly,” Jo observed in a half whisper.
He got his small body back of the curtains, arranging them so that he had a slitted view of the room, where they met. For several minutes he remained motionless. Then he stepped from behind the curtains and started the search. He worked very slowly and thoroughly, placing each object that he touched in the same spot from which he had raised it. Twice there was sound in the corridor, but neither time did he lock the cabin door. Instead, he got his diminutive body behind the curtains that faced the door from the opposite end of the cabin, waited.
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