The inspector turned through the pages until he found his citation, then stood looking at it blankly.
Poggioli glanced over his shoulder, then drew in his breath.
“Oh — that man!” he ejaculated.
The inspector turned sharply.
“That man? What man?”
“Read there at the bottom of the page.”
Slidenberry read with an uncomprehending expression,
July 5th. Today visaed the passport of the Magnificent Pompalone. Shipped him to Guiana on the French Line.
“Of course! Of course! Of course!” shouted Poggioli in amazed remembrance. “Dr. Sanchez is the Magnificent Pompalone — or once was. Heavens, yes, I remember him now!”
Slidenberry looked around.
“Who is he — or was he?”
“Why he’s an ex-dictator of Venezuela.”
“Is what he says true?”
“I suppose it is. In fact, I’m sure it is.”
“But, Mr. Poggioli, how is it possible—”
“Why, you see, a group of nations — America, England, France, Holland and some others — went into an agreement not to allow the ex-dictator to return to his country because he would start another revolution. That would upset business and cost everybody money and time. When I knew him the Dutch authorities were trying to keep him on Curaçao, but he got away during a storm.”
Slidenberry was amazed.
“Then there must be some truth in what he’s telling. I suppose the authorities got tired of following him about and just lodged him in jail on some charge or other as the easiest way to keep him.”
“Certainly. And what could be simpler than a customs offense?”
The inspector was moved at the old man’s trials.
“Well, I’m going back and tell him he has nothing to fear from me.”
The two men re-entered the stateroom and found Dr. Sanchez sitting on his bunk, which was scattered with small, snowy, harp-like designs. The old man said acridly—
“I trust, señores, my finding these hasn’t upset any plan you may have had to land me in prison.”
Slidenberry exclaimed automatically—
“Poggioli, there are the feathers!”
Dr. Sanchez laughed with brief irony.
“Officer, I declare these egret feathers. I don’t know how many there are.”
The inspector looked blankly at the ornaments.
“You can’t enter these in the United States; they are prohibited.”
“I know that, señor. It has always struck me as touchingly beautiful for the American people to be so considerate of the wild birds of Venezuela while they kept a Venezuelan imprisoned year after year for fear he might go home and upset their commerce.”
Slidenberry paid no attention to this.
“What are you going to do with your feathers? They can’t go ashore.” For answer the old man drew out his cigar lighter, snapped a flame and began applying it to the egrets one by one. The stench filled the cabin. Slidenberry watched the destruction rather blankly.
“Have you got any diamonds in your bags?” he asked after a space.
“That I don’t know,” said the ex-dictator.
“Well, since you have feathers, I suspect you have diamonds too.”
“Why? Do the two things go together?”
“So I’ve been informed.”
“If I fail to find them and you do find them, will I be put in prison as a smuggler?” inquired the old man.
“Of course not,” snapped the inspector. “If you actually help me search your bags for diamonds we’ll be partners in the matter, won’t we?”
With this agreement the two returned to the work in good earnest, rummaging through the trunks and the rest of the clothes. Slidenberry was more expert than the ex-dictator; he examined the trunks for false bottoms and double tops; he ran his fingers along the seams of the coats and trousers; he looked under the lining of Dr. Sanchez’ hat. In the midst of this work he pushed aside a stray envelope on the floor with the toe of his shoe. A faint tinkle made him stoop and pick it up. He opened the flap and looked inside.
“Here they are,” he said dryly.
Poggioli was astonished.
“You don’t mean they were thrown around loose like that!”
“That’s part of the technique,” returned the inspector, “hiding it right under our eyes.”
Dr. Sanchez watched this discovery impassively.
“What would you have done, señor,” he inquired, “if by chance I had picked up the envelope before you did?”
The customs officer had to think twice before he knew what the old man meant, then he exclaimed—
“You think I put them there!”
“Think?” snapped the old man in sudden wrath. “I know it! Do you imagine I would deliberately help you customs men land me in jail by attempting to smuggle so much as a pin into your country?”
Slidenberry studied the exiled Venezuelan—
“You and I started searching for these diamonds together, didn’t we?”
Sanchez nodded slowly and questioningly.
“You admitted you had them — or might have them — but neither of us knew where they were?”
“Si, señor — and what is your conclusion?” asked Sanchez in suspense.
“My conclusion is you have declared these diamonds and all that is required is for you to pay the normal duty on them and enter this country as a free man, señor.”
Poggioli interrupted.
“Look here,” he pointed out. “These diamonds were not mislaid in a chance envelope in the middle of the floor. That’s impossible.”
Slidenberry gave a short laugh.
“I know that, but under the circumstances I am going to rule arbitrarily that these diamonds were mislaid and found.”
The scientist turned to the passenger.
“Dr. Sanchez, how do you explain this envelope?”
“Señor,” said the old man, “why does so simple a thing need any explanation? Captain Slidenberry comes into my room and throws a package of diamonds on my floor. He means to arrest me, but for some reason he has a change of heart—”
“Look here,” interrupted Slidenberry, “you know that’s a falsehood!”
“Slidenberry! Slidenberry!” protested the psychologist. “Maybe he actually believes what he says!”
“How can he? Either he or I—”
“No, not necessarily; some third person could have stepped in here and dropped the envelope; then each one of you would think the other did it.”
“What third person?”
“I don’t know — the man who sent the cable; another inspector besides yourself. You see, when the United States has pledged itself to keep Dr. Sanchez out of Venezuela, what easier method would there be than to keep him in jail?”
Slidenberry nodded, unconvinced, and cooled off.
“Well, at any rate I have agreed to let Sanchez go free when he pays the duty on these jewels. I stand by my agreement.”
As the inspector said this Poggioli poured some of the stones out in his palm and looked at them, at first casually, then with dawning astonishment and suspicion.
“Mr. Slidenberry,” said the scientist in an odd tone, “Dr. Sanchez didn’t bring these stones on this ship.”
“Why do you say that?” demanded the officer.
The criminologist handed over the jewels.
“Because they’re glass.”
The inspector received the sparkling bits incredulously, or at least with an excellent imitation of incredulity.
“Then I should say,” he diagnosed slowly, “that Dr. Sanchez was fooled in his purchase.”
Poggioli shook his head.
“No, an ex-dictator, an ex-millionaire, would hardly mistake paste for diamonds.”
“Then what is there to think?” demanded Slidenberry quite at sea.