“I asked to see Berthier, who was still overwrought and irritable.
“ ‘Hello, West,’ he said to me. ‘You’re just the man I want. Please come down and talk with these detectives. You must help me.’
“ ‘Nothing doing,’ I said. ‘Your man Armand has just been very offensive.’
“Berthier stared at me in amazement.
“ ‘Armand!’ he repeated. ‘Armand has been offensive!’
“ ‘He called me a Balkan, said I had big feet, and that I had a square head, and that I was hardly what one would call a gentleman.’
“Berthier’s eyes popped out like saucers.
“ ‘It’s unthinkable,’ he said. ‘He must have been describing that crook we’re after.’
“I could see that Berthier took this robbery seriously.
“ ‘I thought you never fell for those old gags,’ I said.
“ ‘Old gags!’ he retorted, his voice rising. ‘Hardly a gag, that!’
“ ‘Old as the hills!’ I assured him. ‘The basis of most of the so-called magic one sees on the stage.’ I paused. ‘And what will you do with these nice people when you catch them?’
“ ‘Ten years in jail, at least,’ he growled.
“I looked at my watch. The twenty-four hours were well over. Berthier had talked himself out of adjectives concerning this gang of thieves; he could only sit and clench his fists and bite his lips.
“ ‘Four million,’ he muttered. ‘It could have been avoided. That man Armand—’
“I took my cue. ‘That man Berthier,’ I said crisply, accusingly, ‘should run his establishment better. Besides, my wager concerned you, and not Armand—’
“Berthier looked up sharply, his brain struggling with some dark clew. I mechanically put my hand in my trousers pocket and very slowly drew out a long iridescent string of crystallized carbon ending in a great square pendant.
“Berthier’s jaw dropped. He leaned forward. His hand raised and slowly dropped to his side.
“ ‘You!’ he whispered. ‘You, West!’
“I thought he would collapse. I laid the necklace on his desk, a hand on his shoulder. He found his voice.
“ ‘Was it you who got those necklaces?’
“ ‘No. It was I who stole that necklace, and I who win the wager. Please hand over the yellow diamond.’
“I think it took Berthier ten minutes to regain his composure. He didn’t know whether to curse me or to embrace me. I told him the whole story, beginning with our dinner at Ciro’s. The proof of it was that the necklace was there on his desk.
“And I am sure Armand thinks I am insane. He was there when Berthier gave me this ring, this fine yellow diamond.”
West settled back in his chair, holding his glass in the same hand that wore the gem.
“Not so bad, eh?” he asked.
I admitted that it was a bit complicated. I was curious about one point, and that was his make-up. He explained: “You see, the broad low-crowned hat reduces one inch from my height; the wide whiskers, instead of the pointed beard, another inch; the bulgy coat, another inch; the trousers, high at the shoes, another inch. That’s four inches off my stature with an increase of girth about one-sixth my height — an altogether different figure. A visit to a pharmacy changed my complexion from that of a Nordic to a Semitic.”
“And the hotel?” I asked.
“Very simple. I had Berthier go around and pay the damages for plugging that hole. He’ll do anything I say now.”
I regarded West in the waning firelight.
He was supremely content.
“You must have hated to give up those Indian gems after what you went through to get them?”
West smiled.
“That was the hardest of all. It was like giving away something that was mine, mine by right of conquest. And I’ll tell you another thing — if they had not belonged to a friend, I would have kept them.”
And knowing West as I do, I am sure he spoke the truth.
Night Shade
Mystery League Magazine, October 1, 1933
A sedan with no lights burning was standing beside the road just above Piney Falls bridge and as I drove past it a girl put her head out and said, “Please.” Her voice was urgent but there was not enough excitement in it to make it either harsh or shrill.
I put on my brakes, then backed up. By that time a man had got out of the sedan. There was enough light to let me see he was young and fairly big. He moved a hand in the direction I had been going and said, “On your way, buddy.”
The girl said again, “Will you drive me into town, please?” She seemed to be trying to open the sedan door. Her hat had been pushed forward over one eye.
I said, “Sure.”
The man in the road took a step toward me, moved his hand as before, and growled, “Scram, you.”
I got out of my car. The man in the road had started toward me when another man’s voice came from the sedan, a harsh warning voice. “Go easy, Tony. It’s Jack Bye.” The sedan door swung open and the girl jumped out.
Tony said, “Oh!” and his feet shuffled uncertainly on the road; but when he saw the girl making for my car he cried indignantly at her, “Listen, you can’t ride to town with—”
She was in my roadster by then. “Good night,” she said.
He faced me, shook his head stubbornly, began, “I’ll be damned if I’ll let—”
I hit him. The knockdown was fair enough, because I hit him hard, but I think he could have got up again if he had wanted to. I gave him a little time, then asked the fellow in the sedan, “All right with you?” I still could not see him.
“He’ll be all right,” he replied quickly. “I’ll take care of him, all right.”
“Thanks.” I climbed into my car beside the girl. The rain I had been trying to get to town ahead of was beginning to fall. A coupe with a man and a woman in it passed us going toward town. We followed the coupe across the bridge.
The girl said, “This is awfully kind of you. I wasn’t in any danger back there, but it was — nasty.”
“They wouldn’t be dangerous,” I said, “but they would be — nasty.”
“You know them?”
“No.”
“But they knew you. Tony Forrest and Fred Barnes.” When I did not say anything, she added, “They were afraid of you.”
“I’m a desperate character.”
She laughed. “And pretty nice of you, too, tonight. I wouldn’t’ve gone with either of them alone, but I thought with two of them...” She turned up the collar of her coat. “It’s raining in on me.”
I stopped the roadster again and hunted for the curtain that belonged on her side of the car.
“So your name’s Jack Bye,” she said while I was snapping it on.
“And yours is Helen Warner.”
“How’d you know?” She had straightened her hat.
“I’ve seen you around.” I finished attaching the curtain and got back in.
“Did you know who I was when I called to you?” she asked when we were moving again.
“Yes.”
“It was silly of me to go out with them like that.”
“You’re shivering.”
“It’s chilly.”
I said I was sorry my flask was empty.
We had turned into the western end of Hellman Avenue. It was four minutes past ten by the clock in front of the jewelry store on the corner of Laurel Street. A policeman in a black rubber coat was leaning against the clock. I did not know enough about perfumes to know the name of hers.
She said, “I’m chilly. Can’t we stop somewhere and get a drink?”
“Do you really want to?” My voice must have puzzled her; she turned her head quickly to peer at me in the dim light.
“I’d like to,” she said, “unless you’re in a hurry.”
“No. We could go to Mack’s. It’s only three or four blocks from here, but — it’s a nigger joint.”
She laughed. “All I ask is that I don’t get poisoned.”