Mr. Tillson sighed.
"There's nothing new about that," he protested. "You haven't got the money to reimburse this jeweller for his necklace, and therefore you desire the sealed package to be preserved in his safe until you post him the money and request him to send it to you. And when he tires of waiting for his instructions he opens the package and discovers that you have absconded with the necklace and left him the receptacle containing the pebbles. That's a very old one, Fred, don't you think?"
"Haven't got the money, nothing!" said Happy Fred scornfully. "Of course you've got the money — I tell you I'm putting up a thousand quid for this job. No jeweller would be taken in with that old trick you're thinking of these days — he'd send for the police as soon as you suggested it. You pay cash for this bit of jewellery you buy, and it's all square and above-board. Now listen to what I've got to say."
Mr. Alfred Tillson listened, and was impressed. Happy Fred's variation on an old theme appeared to have many of the qualities that were claimed for it by its proud inventor; and although it did not exactly come within Mr. Tillson's self-chosen province, it was true that the seasonal falling-off in transatlantic steamship travel had left him particularly receptive to ideas that opened up new possibilities of income.
The new swindle is a thing that every confidence man dreams of creating; it is the brain wave that sweeps through the trade once in a generation, and produces a golden harvest for its pioneers before the officious publicity of the press sends the soaring market slumping back again. Life is like that for chevaliers d'industrie like Happy Fred Jorman: the criminological trend of the Sunday newspaper reduces the ranks of the suckers every Sabbath, and the movies they see during the week haven't helped either. But this new swindle looked as if it might enjoy a fair run of success before it went the way of all other brilliant inventions.
Possibly it was because both partners in the new alliance were so pleased with the potentialities of their own brilliance that they temporarily forgot their common ambition to meet Simon Templar again — with a convenient canal and a length of lead pipe thrown in.
Simon himself was not thinking about them, for he had his own views on the kind of acquaintance which he was anxious to renew. Ruth Eden was a very different proposition. The fact that he had been privileged to rescue her in romantic circumstances from the attentions of the unspeakable Mr. Julian Lamantia, and that subsequently Mr. Lamantia had been one of three men who found themselves unexpectedly poorer for that meeting, included her among the register of people whom Simon Templar would have been pleased to meet again at any time.
He had managed to get her a job with another acquaintance of his, who was such an exclusive jeweller that he had an office instead of a shop, and produced his treasures out of a vast safe instead of leaving them about in glass-topped counters; but after that he had heard nothing of her for some while.
She rang him up one day about this time, and he was delighted to hear her voice. From the date of their first meeting she had exhibited commendable symptoms of hero-worship, and Simon Templar had no modesty in his composition.
"Have you forgotten me altogether?" she demanded; and the Saint chuckled into the transmitter.
"To tell you the truth, I've been so busy murdering people that I've hardly had a minute to spare. I thought you must have got married or something. Come and have dinner and see my collection of skulls."
"I'd love to. When?"
"Why not tonight? What time does Alan let you go?"
"Half past five."
"I'll call for you at six — that'll just give you time to put your hat on, darling," said the Saint angelically, and rang off before she could make a suitable reply.
He was engaged in a running commentary on her inevitable feminine manoeuvres in front of a mirror in Alan Emberton's outer office when the glass-panelled door of the inner sanctum opened, and the sound of a voice that seemed vaguely familiar made him break off in the middle of a sentence. In another second, to her intense astonishment, he had vanished under a desk like a rabbit into its burrow; and if she had not turned abruptly back to her mirror while Emberton showed his client out, she would have had to burst out laughing.
But Simon was on his feet again when the jeweller came back and he was completely unruffled by his own extraordinary behaviour.
"Hullo, Templar," said Emberton, noticing him with some surprise. "Where did you spring from?"
He was a big man, with a jovial red face, who looked more like a retired butcher than an exclusive jeweller, and he liked the Saint in spite of his sins. He held out his beefy hand.
"I was under the desk," said the Saint unblushingly. "I dropped a penny and I was looking for it. How's life?"
"Not so good as it might be," answered the other frankly. "However, I suppose I can't grumble. I've just sold a thousand-pound diamond bracelet to that fellow I was showing out. Did you see him?"
"No," said the Saint untruthfully.
He had just seen Mr. Alfred Tillson quite distinctly; and the problem of what Broads Tillson could possibly want with a thousand-pound bracelet bothered him quite a lot in the taxi in which he carried Ruth Eden off to the West End. Broads Tillson, he knew, was often extravagantly generous to his lady friends; but somehow he could not associate thousand-pound diamond bracelets even with that amorous man. Either Mr. Tillson had recently made no small click, or else there was more in that purchase than met the eye; and Simon had a constitutional objection to his old acquaintances embarking on enterprises of which he knew nothing.
The girl noticed his silence and challenged him.
"Why did you disappear under that desk, Simon? I feel there's some thrilling secret behind it."
"It was pure instinct," said the Saint brazenly, "to avoid being recognized. You see, Alan's latest client is one of the slickest card-sharpers in the world, and I once diddled him of fifteen quid that he threw out for ground bait."
"Are you sure? Gee, why ever didn't you tell Mr. Emberton at once?"
"Because I'd like to know what his new trick is first." The blithe cavalier's blue eyes glinted at her mockingly. "Didn't you once tell me you'd love to be an adventurer's partner, Ruth? Well, here's a chance for you. Find out the whole details of the deal, every single fact you can get hold of, without saying anything to Alan. Give your best imitation of an adventuress worming out secrets so that the victim doesn't even know they have been wormed. And come and tell me. I'll promise you I'll see Alan doesn't get swindled; but wouldn't you hate to do anything so dull as just tell him to send for the police?"
She met him the next evening, full of excitement over the triumph of her maiden effort at sleuthing. She could hardly contain her news until he had ordered a cocktail.
"I can't see the catch in it at all; but perhaps you can. Mr. Tillson gave Mr. Emberton a cheque for the bracelet yesterday, and he particularly asked Mr. Emberton to get a special clearance so that there wouldn't be any difficulty about it. So the cheque must be all right. Mr. Tillson is sending the bracelet to a friend of his in Paris for a birthday present, he says, and he's having it insured to go over. A valuer came from the insurance company today to have a look at it. Mr. Tillson —"
"Call him 'Broads'," suggested the Saint. "He'd take it as a compliment."
"Why 'Broads'?" she asked, wrinkling her forehead.
"It refers to a hobby of his. How exactly is this bracelet being sent?"