Scarlet Imperial

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  “Some of the news boys discovered us and made us heroes.” He was sardonic. “That’s how we happened to be at the reception when the Imperial was stolen.” His laugh was explosive.

  “It doesn’t sound important, does it? A gimcrack stolen. An expensive bauble, covered with precious jewels, but what good was it? Something to look at. It couldn’t be anything important to anyone who’d been through what Thad and Gavin and I had. It wasn’t important with men dying all over the globe.” His voice was vicious. “Killing each other as if they were killing wooden toys. Do you know how a man can go on killing men like himself? Only by emptying his mind, like an idiot. By turning other men to wooden toys.”

  His hand flattened on the desk. “A jeweled Easter egg wouldn’t seem important at that time, would it?” He shook his head. “But it was. For a couple of hours it was an international incident.” The line of his mouth was white. “Until it turned up that night. Turned up in Thad’s kit.”

  He didn’t seem to remember she was there. “Thad. The sweetest, bravest kid that ever lived.”

  She said, “It wasn’t Thad.”

  “Of course it wasn’t Thad.” He turned on her. “What would he want with a bunch of jewels? You can’t eat jewels. You can’t buy life with jewels.”

  He spoke flatly. “Thad was arrested that night. The next morning he was dead.”

  Horror fixed her. She hadn’t known it was done so swiftly. “Without trial?”

  His mouth was a sharp blade. “He committed suicide.”

  “No!”

  “No,” he said quietly. “He’d come back to the living. He’d fought through everything foul to hang on to life. He didn’t snuff it out.” He spoke now as in a vacuum. “His throat was cut. The town was full of men who’d cut a throat for a few pennies.”

  She hadn’t wanted to cry for years. Not since they’d told her Thad was dead. She had no tears now, only hurt. Crying to heaven for vengeance. She asked dustily, “And where were you and Gavin while Thad was locked up to die?”

  “We didn’t know until he was dead. I went to the American legation. Towner Clay was a member of it. I’d known him slightly in New York. I had to leave it up to him. My orders had come through.”

  “And where was Gavin?” The words were stones.

  “Gavin had the bad luck to run into an officer of the British Commission that he’d met up with during the Irish Revolution. A black and tan … He had to skip.”

  With the Imperial. Bry was innocent. He didn’t know a man like Gavin, a man who didn’t recognize law, not any law. Not even the law of decency. Gavin had held the Imperial over the years until the right moment, until there was a buyer who’d pay on demand. Whatever story he’d concocted to account for possession, Bry in his honesty would believe. But Gavin hadn’t known that Towner Clay was the man who’d wanted the Imperial. When he’d found out, he’d had to get the Imperial back into his hands. Because he was afraid of Towner, the official who’d investigated the theft of the Imperial, who was still seeking proof.

  She didn’t blame Towner his anger against her now. She had deserved the blow he struck in that anger. Because she had carelessly, stupidly allowed it to fall back into Gavin’s hands.

  She saw a shimmer of silver in the doorway. Feather’s sweet husky voice cooed, “Bry, darling. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Bry’s head turned. “Hello, Feather.” He spoke absently. He didn’t appear surprised to see her, nor interested.

  Feather’s hand caught his. “But come along. Towner doesn’t know you’ve come, I’m sure. Hubert is so literal. Towner didn’t mean you when he said no interruptions while he talked with Jones.”

  “Jones is with Towner?” Bry was quick.

  “Yes. They’re deep in business but they’ve been hoping you’d get here soon.”

  Bry settled his shoulders. No one invited Eliza to follow. She tagged along. She couldn’t stay behind alone, haunted by shame, gnawed with regret. She didn’t enter the chosen circle in the silver and gold room. She sat to herself, outside, ignored.

  Towner was correct, offering the drinks, making certain of the comfort of guests before touching on business. Hope brewed in Eliza. Because Towner wasn’t distraught, because his very ease meant something had been worked out.

  He said, “Er—Bry—you don’t know where Gavin Keane is putting up, do you?”

  Bry shook his head. He saw Eliza but his glance was brief. Not too brief for Jones. The F.B.I. man said coldly, “He’s no longer at Miss Williams. He was there the night he killed Hester.”

  Self defense. She didn’t speak. She no longer could defend him; he had sent Thad to death. For a piece of junk. “The night Pincek shot at him.”

  Eliza’s eyes opened wide, wider.

  Jones said, to Bry, “The bullet your doctor dug out of Keane last night came from Pincek’s gun.”

  Tower said, “And Keane later killed Pincek.”

  Jones pulled his lower lip. “Could be. But he wasn’t alone when he called on Pincek. Seems peculiar he’d take along a witness.”

  Eliza had meant to efface herself, not to court Towner banishing her a second time. But impatience forced her to speak. “Why do you sit here talking? Why don’t you do something? Do you want him to get away with the Imperial? Do you want him to kill Dekertian too?”

  Jones fastened his unpleasant eyes on her. “My men are looking for Gavin Keane. They have been ever since he gave them the slip this afternoon. As for Dekertian—”

  Towner’s good humor was definitely restored. “Feroun Dekertian is safe. He is waiting at the Waldorf.”

  “Is it really Dekertian?” Eliza asked. She couldn’t doubt Jones’ face. “But why did he go with Gavin?”

  “Because Keane had the Imperial.” Towner didn’t like to answer such simple questions.

  “Because he thought you were on the wrong side,” Jones added without inflection.

  “You’ve talked with him? He got away from Gavin?”

  “Yes. He rang me up.” Towner was well pleased with himself.

  Feather glittered in a saffron chair. “I can’t see why we’re wasting a perfectly supreme evening. Why can’t the F.B.I. catch this crook and get this thing you’re after, Towner?” She yawned. “I don’t know why you want it anyway. You have too many things now in your collection.”

  “Feather!” Towner rebuked.

  Bry said, “Towner wants to return it to Iran where it belongs. He doesn’t want it for himself.”

  The collector’s itch. The phrase came to her out of memory. Gavin’s voice spoke it. Eliza shriveled in her chair. If you carried forward the idea, if you put small pieces together and they began to fit? She couldn’t believe; it was too hideous to believe. This room, the exquisite room with each separate piece a collector’s precious item, fogged before her eyes. Even Feather fit, another exquisite collector’s item.

  She heard from the archway the hollow voice, “Mister Dekertian.”

  She turned slowly. It wasn’t Feroun Dekertian standing there. It was Gavin Keane.

  Gavin shouldn’t have come here. He should have known the risk. He should recognize the grim determination in Jones’ jaw, Jones who believed the wrong side. He should know that Towner was clever, so viciously clever. That his vagueness was an actor’s cloak. That his plans were never less than perfect.

  Gavin knew. That was why he was standing there with the reckless smile on his mouth and his eyes like blue metal. He knew the risk and he liked it, hat cocked on the back of his head, his coat open carelessly, under his left arm the square white box; in his right hand, a gun. That was why he asked insolently, “Mind if I join you, too?”

  “How did you get in?” Towner was deceptively quiet.

  “Used a phony name,” Gavin smiled.

  Bry moved without seeming to move. To Eliza, to stand by her chair. A guard. Did he think she’d try to run away now? She couldn’t move; there was jelly where blood and sinew should be. He should know she was innocent of i
ntent; he should recognize her ignorance in this.

  Jones said, “You can put the gun away, Keane. You won’t need it.”

  Gavin eyed him. He agreed, “All right.” He flipped it, thrust it carelessly into his pocket. “I just wanted everyone to know I came prepared.” He grinned. “And I’m quick on the draw.”

  Towner was watching Gavin. “That is the Scarlet Imperial?”

  “It is.” Gavin didn’t sit down and he didn’t offer the box. He stood there surveying his audience. “I’m thinking now that we’re all together at last we can finish up our business in a gentlemanly fashion.”

  Eliza was rigid. Gavin was so sure of himself.

  “Ten thousand dollars. One thousand in advance. Nine thousand owing. How about that, Clay?”

  Towner quivered. “My business was not with you.”

  Gavin cut him off. “But if you don’t pay Brewer, I don’t get my cut. No pay, no Imperial. I’m ready to deliver. When I get paid.” He shifted the box beneath his arm.

  Towner bit his moustache. “I believe my credit is good, Bry.”

  “No credit. Cash,” Gavin proclaimed.

  Jones said slowly, “You don’t have to pay a cent. I’ll take care of this. We want Keane downtown. I’ll see that Dekertian gets the Easter egg after we’re through with it as evidence.”

  Gavin wasn’t smiling now. He warned, “Careful.” His hand in his pocket.

  “Wait.” Towner’s breath came unevenly. “I have promised for many years that I would return the treasure to Iran. It is a point of honor.”

  Hope returned to Eliza. Hope and sanity.

  “If you need it for evidence, Mr. Jones, Dekertian will cooperate. But I must first put it into his hands.” Towner didn’t ask Bry; he inquired of Gavin. “You will take a check?”

  “That certified one you showed Bry this morning?” Towner’s lips thinned. He took the fold of paper from his watch pocket. “This is it.” He shook it to length, extended it towards Gavin.

  Gavin said, “Well let Liza deliver it. Just to be safe. Liza!”

  She didn’t move, not until Towner nodded. She walked in silence to him. He didn’t touch her; she didn’t meet his eyes. In silence she recrossed the quiet rug to Gavin. He winked at her.

  Towner’s voice was sharp. “Bring me the box, Eliza.”

  Gavin laughed. “Sure. Give him the box.” He put it in her hands. “You want to be sure it isn’t a cake of soap,” he swaggered.

  She effected the transfer, stumbled back to her chair. Bry’s knuckles were white on the chair back. As if he expected all hell to break loose. As if he were tensed, hoping for it.

  Towner set the box on his knees. Deliberately he untied the string. As deliberately he lifted off the lid, laid it aside. He was the connoisseur, delaying each step that he might savour the final moment in most complete esthetic fulfillment. He laid away the tissue paper and lifted out the Scarlet Imperial. In the silence his hands cupped it like a chalice.

  He knew the silence must be broken. His smile was foolish. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” He moved it in his hands, watching the blaze of color cascade under the lights.

  “And now,” Gavin’s voice was loud. “You get to satisfy your honor. You give it to Feroun Dekertian.”

  Towner looked up at him with blank eyes. The look passed beyond Gavin and all eyes turned to the arch. Feroun Dekertian was standing there, small, neat, smiling. In his hand he held his pinseal briefcase.

  “Mr. Dekertian decided not to wait for you at the Waldorf,” Gavin explained cheerfully. “He was afraid something might happen to the Imperial while you were taking it to him.” Gavin slouched into a chair. “So he came along with me. And a friend of mine. We’ll see he gets the Imp back to the hotel safely. From there it’ll travel under guard to Iran. Once it’s where it belongs, it’ll be so closely guarded no one can ever steal it again. Right, Mr. Dekertian?”

  “You are correct, Mr. Keane.”

  Dekertian was waiting, the smile on his brown face, his eyes too black for expression.

  Towner’s fingers writhed about the Imperial. When she saw the break of perspiration on his tall forehead, Eliza closed her lids.

  She heard his voice as from a cavern. “It is an honor to return the Scarlet Imperial to you and your illustrious nation, M’sieur Dekertian.”

  “I thank you.”

  She lifted her lashes as Dekertian spoke. Towner was empty handed. Dekertian tucked the royal Easter egg into the box, lidded it. He was starting to leave.

  “Please!” She was out of the chair, brushing away Bry’s restraining hand. She stood in Dekertian’s path. “You promised if it were returned to find out who stole the Imperial.”

  The painted smile did not fade. “But I know who stole it,” he said gently. “I have always known that. It is unfortunate I could do nothing with my knowledge.”

  Gavin stood beside him. Across the room Towner sat down again in his chair, took up his drink. Feather yawned. Jones was alert, ready to move when Gavin moved.

  “Saub told me who was the thief.”

  She echoed dully, “Saub.”

  Dekertian said, “It was a daring coup, the theft of the Imperial. Executed by a crafty man who understood how it taxed the resources of my poor department to guard the visiting dignitaries of the three nations. In the midst of these more important matters, who would expect the theft of a small treasure to be important?”

  The smile went now; as if it had never been there, it was gone. “He did not know, the thief, the importance of this one small treasure. A gift of friendship from our northern neighbor. It was a luckless accident that in the necessity to quickly rid himself of evidence, the thief chose Thaddeus Skowa’s kit for hiding place.”

  The glaze was baked on Dekertian’s black eyes. “The miserable porter, Saub, saw him hide it there. To obtain police favor, he told of the hiding place. Lieutenant Skowa was incarcerated. The Imperial was held at headquarters until I could reach there. Saub did not tell us the name of the thief. That he saved for himself, a source of blackmail, yes?”

  Dekertian continued precisely, “The beggarly Saub was exuberant on that evening. He had found a source of gold beyond his poor dreams. He displayed gold, foreign gold, to his admiring friends in the coffee house.” His face darkened. “I must regret, there was corruption in my own office. This I did not know. Saub was allowed to visit Lieutenant Skowa. As he was hired to do. He carried a knife when he entered the prison. When he departed he carried away the Scarlet Imperial.”

  She saw Gavin’s face, the tight anger of his jaw.

  Jones was critical. “It wasn’t guarded very well.”

  “The Imperial was locked away. Someone had information.” Dekertian’s glance darted. “I believed that my jefe was an honest man. He was not an evil man. But there was too much foreign gold dangled for a poor old man. When he went to release the beggar Saub asked for, the deed was done.”

  He blinked once. “Saub did not live to enjoy his evil gains. As he fled, he was struck down by a speeding car.” Fatalism masked his face. “The Scarlet Imperial was not found in his rags.”

  “Funny thing.” Gavin’s smile was broad. But only his mouth smiled. “I was wandering around the back alleys of Teheran on that night. I saw the fellow struck down.”

  She didn’t want it to be Gavin; she’d never wanted him to be the one.

  “Matter of fact, I was following him. Furtive little beggar. Something under his blouse. It was after we passed the American legation car loitering there—”

  Towner was without interest in anything but his drink. He looked stupid; he was dangerous when he looked that way. Eliza moved slightly closer to Bry.

  “The car was speeding,” Dekertian said apologetically.

  Gavin denied, “Can’t gather up much speed in one block. But then the street fight started about that time. No one was paying any attention to the car, only me. I saw it run down Saub. I got to him before the chauffeur did. He was dead.” His eyes we
re very blue. “The Scarlet Imperial was, as you say, gone.”

  “It couldn’t have been!” Eliza cried.

  Dekertian was sombre. “I did not know this about the car.” Or about Gavin Keane bending over a bundle of rags in a dark Persian alley.

  Gavin said, “I couldn’t stick around to tell you. I was in a spot of trouble myself, old trouble catching up. I only had time to get to the airport and stow away with some lads on their way to India.”

  With the Scarlet Imperial in hand.

  Towner spoke bitterly then. “All luggage leaving Teheran was checked in search of the Imperial. Even diplomatic luggage.”

  Gavin smiled. “I didn’t have time to pick up my kit, y’know. I stowed only myself aboard. And what I carried in my pockets. Big pockets in a trench coat.” His voice was hearty. “What do you say we depart, Mr. Dekertian? Pottsy is liable to get tired waiting outside.”

  Eliza’s eyes narrowed. Pottsy shouldn’t be in this. Pottsy was a Bey man; Pottsy was a thief. She shook her head slightly. Dekertian knew who Pottsy was; Dekertian sometimes did business with the Bey. Potts and the unfortunate Hester might have been the secondary bowstring. To make sure the Imperial reached Dekertian’s hands. The inscrutable ways of the East were not the ways of the West. But the echo of Gavin’s words came again. He would use Potts and the puppy-faced man wouldn’t know. Potts was useful but he wasn’t smart.

  Dekertian bowed to Bry. “I am grateful to you, Mr. Brewer. The Iranian government will repay you in full.” He was again starting to leave.

  Against judgement, Eliza cried again, “Please. You have not told who was the thief.”

  “The good will of the American government is important to Iran. Now as then. I could not accuse a member of the American legation. Although the transcripts of that which Saub’s friends related are with me.” The brief case was tight in his hand. He was humble. “It could not be proven these men spoke the truth. All are thieves and liars and, as you say, jailbirds. I could not dare bring them into court to testify against a prominent American. One who served his country in high position.” He said slyly, “I have been assured by Mr. Keane that you knew these facts, Miss Williams. That you too have done your part in restoring the Scarlet Imperial.”