CHAPTER IX
AND MORE DIAMONDS!
There was a rap on the door, and a clerk thrust his head in.
"Mr. Birnes to see you, sir," he announced.
"Show him in," directed Mr. Latham. "Sit down, both of you, andlet's see what he has to say."
There was an odd expression of hope deferred on the detective'sface when he entered. He glanced inquiringly at Mr. Schultze andMr. Czenki, whereupon Mr. Latham introduced them.
"You may talk freely," he added. "We are all interested alike."
The detective crossed his legs and balanced his hat carefully ona knee, the while he favored Mr. Czenki with a sharp scrutiny. Therewas that in the thin, scarred face and in the beady black eyes whichinevitably drew the attention of a stranger, and half a dozen timesas he talked Mr. Birnes glanced at the expert.
He retold the story of the cab ride up Fifth Avenue, and the car tripback downtown--omitting embarrassing details such as the finding oftwo notes addressed to himself--dwelt a moment upon the empty gripsackwhich Mr. Wynne carried on the car, and then:
"When you told me, Mr. Latham, that the gripsack had containeddiamonds when Mr. Wynne left here I knew instantly how he got rid ofthem. He transferred them to some person in the cab, in accordancewith a carefully prearranged plan. That person was a woman!"
"A woman!" Mr. Latham repeated, as if startled.
"Dere iss alvays wimmins in id," remarked Mr. Schultzephilosophically. "Go on."
Mr. Birnes was not at all backward about detailing the persistenceand skill it had required on his part to establish this fact; andhe went on at length to acquaint them with the search that had beenmade by a dozen of his men to find a trace of the woman from the timeshe climbed the elevated stairs at Fifty-eighth Street. He admittedthat the quest for her had thus far been fruitless, assuring them atthe same time that it would go steadily on, for the present at least.
"And now, Mr. Latham," he went on, and inadvertently he glanced atMr. Czenki, "I have been hampered, of course, by the fact that youhave not taken me completely into your confidence in this matter. Imean," he added hastily, "that beyond a mere hint of their value Iknow nothing whatever about the diamonds which Mr. Wynne had in thegripsack. I gathered, however, that they were worth a large sum ofmoney--perhaps, even a million dollars?"
"Yah, a million dollars ad leasd," remarked Mr. Schultze grimly.
"Thank you," and the detective smiled shrewdly. "Your instructionswere to find where he got them. If there had been a theft of amillion dollars' worth of diamonds anywhere in this world, I wouldhave known it; so I took steps to examine the Custom House recordsof this and other cities to see if there had been an unusual shipmentto Mr. Wynne, or to any one else outside of the diamond dealers,thinking this might give me a clew."
"And what was the result?" demanded Mr. Latham quickly.
"My agents have covered all the Atlantic ports and they did not comein through the Custom House," replied Mr. Birnes. "I have not heardfrom the western agents as yet, but my opinion is--is that they wereperhaps smuggled in. Smuggling, after all, is simple with thethousands of miles of unguarded coasts of this country. I don't knowthis, of course; I advance it merely as a possibility."
Mr. Latham turned to Mr. Schultze and Mr. Czenki with a triumphantsmile. Diamonds in meteors! Tommyrot!
"Of course," the detective resumed, "the whole investigation centersabout this man Wynne. He has been under the eyes of my agents as noother man ever was, and in spite of this has been able to keep incorrespondence with his accomplices. And, gentlemen, he has done itnot through the mails, not over the telephone, not by telegraph, andyet he has done it."
"By wireless, perhaps?" suggested Mr. Czenki. It was the first timehe had spoken, and the detective took occasion then and there to stareat him frankly.
"And not by wireless," he said at last. "He sends and receivesmessages from the roof of his house in Thirty-seventh Street byhoming pigeons!"
"Some more fandastics, eh, Laadham?" Mr. Schultze taunted. "Somemore chimericals?"
"I demonstrate this much by the close watch I have kept of Mr. Wynne,"the detective went on, there being no response to his questioning lookat Mr. Schultze. "One of my agents, stationed on the roof of thehouse adjoining Mr. Wynne's" (it was the maid-servant next door) "has,on at least one occasion, seen him remove a tissue-paper strip from acarrier pigeon's leg and read what was written on it, after which hekissed it, gentlemen, kissed it; then he destroyed it. What did itmean? It means that that particular message was from the girl to whomhe transferred the diamonds in the cab, and that he is madly in lovewith her."
"Oh, dese wimmins! I dell you!" commented Mr. Schultze.
There was a little pause, then Mr. Birnes continued impressively:
"This correspondence is of no consequence in itself, of course. Butit gives us this: Carrier pigeons will only fly home, so if Mr.Wynne received a message by pigeon it means that at some time, withina week say, he has shipped that pigeon and perhaps others from thehouse in Thirty-seventh Street to that person who sent him themessage. If he sends messages to that person it means that he hasreceived a pigeon or pigeons from that person within a week. And howwere these pigeons shipped? In all probability, by express. So,gentlemen, you see there ought to be a record in the express offices,which would give us the home town, even the name and address, of theperson who now has the diamonds in his or her keeping. Is that clearto all of you?"
"It is perfectly clear," commented Mr. Laadham admiringly, while theGerman nodded his head in approval.
"And that is the clew we are working on at the moment," the detectiveadded. "Three of my men are now searching the records of all theexpress companies in the city--and there are a great many--for thepigeon shipments. If, as seems probable, this clew develops, it maybe that we can place our hands on the diamonds within a few days."
"I don'd d'ink I vould yust blace my hands on dem," Mr. Schultzeadvised. "Dey are his diamonds, you know, und your hands might gedin drouble."
"I mean figuratively, of course," the detective amended.
He stopped and drummed on his stiff hat with his fingers. Again heglanced at the impassive face of Mr. Czenki with keen, questioningeyes; and for one bare instant it seemed as if he were trying tobring his memory to his aid.
"I've found out all about this man Wynne," he supplemented after amoment, "but nothing in his record seems to have any bearing on thiscase. He is an orphan. His mother was a Van Cortlandt of old Dutchstock, and his father was a merchant downtown. He left a fewthousands to the son, and the son is now in business for himself withan office in lower Broad Street. He is an importer of brown sugar."
"Brown sugar?" queried Mr. Czenki quickly, and the thin, scarred facereflected for a second some subtle emotion within him. "Brownsugar!" he repeated.
"Yes," drawled the detective, with an unpleasant stare, "brown sugar.He imports it from Cuba and Porto Rico and Brazil by the shipload, Iunderstand, and makes a good thing of it."
A quick pallor overspread Mr. Czenki's countenance, and he arose withhis fingers working nervously. His beady eyes were glittering; hislips were pressed together until they were bloodless.
"_Vas iss?_" demanded Mr. Schultze curiously.
"My God, gentlemen, don't you see?" the expert burst out violently."Don't you see what this man has done? He has--he has--"
Suddenly, by a supreme effort, he regained control of himself, andresumed his seat.
"He has--what?" asked Mr. Latham.
For half a minute Czenki stared at his employer; then his face grewimpassive again.
"I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "Mr. Wynne is a heavy importerof sugar from Brazil. Isn't it possible that those _are_ Braziliandiamonds? That new workings have been discovered somewhere in theinterior? That he has smuggled them in concealed in the sugar-bags,right into New York, under the noses of the customs officials? I begyour pardon," he concluded.
Late in the afternoo
n of the following day a drunken man, unshaven,unkempt, unclean and clothed in rags, lurched into a small pawnshopin the lower Bowery and planked down on the dirty counter a handfulof inert, colorless pebbles, ranging in size from a pea to a peanut.
"Say, Jew, is them real diamonds?" he demanded thickly.
The man in charge glanced at them and nearly fainted. Ten minuteslater Red Haney, knight of the road, was placed under arrest as asuspicious character. Uncut diamonds, valued roughly at fiftythousand dollars, were found in his possession.
"Where did you get them?" demanded the amazed police.
"Found 'em."
"_Where_ did you find them?"
"None o' your business."
And that was all they were able to get out of him at the moment.