“Sure I have.”
“Well, there’s lots haven’t.”
“Right. That’s what makes brains useful.”
“Let’s drop the foolishness. You know what this game is, Joe. Hard plugging.”
“Correct.”
“That story-book stuff is all applesauce. Grind to get your information. That’s what we do. And we get it.”
“We’re not getting it now, Malone.”
“I know it, Joe, and that’s because we’re doing too much grinding. This case is different; it calls for a little fancy headwork.”
“How?”
“Listen, Joe. There’s a mind in back of this. There’s been a couple of smaller robberies. Didn’t make much noise, because they were little. We haven’t got to the bottom of them yet, though.”
“Well, Malone, we haven’t had the best men on them.”
“I know that. But I figure they were lead-ups to this one. And I figure more. The way I dope it out, there’s been a different gag and a clever gag - in each case. This was the big shot; the others were experiments.”
“This one is murder.”
“Yes, Joe, but that wasn’t intended. Now let’s figure it a bit from the viewpoint of the crook that’s running it.”
“There you go, Malone. You’re assuming this master-crook stuff. You’ve been to the talkies.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no big crook, Malone. There’s a bunch of little racketeers in town; no big man.”
The moving arms of the janitor cast a grotesque, pumping shadow over the table before Malone,
“Move out of the light, Fritz,” growled the inspector.
The janitor moved across the room, carrying his bucket, and began to mop toward the hall, slowly nearing the door.
“Look at that Scanlon murder,” said Cardona. “We know who did it. Steve Cronin. Got away, but as soon as we do lay hands on him, he’ll be through. Then take that fellow Croaker - killed the same night. Double-crossed some of his gang. That shows they’re a bunch of cheap racket-men. Some other second-rate crook was out tinkering with Laidlow’s toy safe, and happened to bump off the millionaire. Simple enough - the tough part is, what became of him?”
The inspector shook his head.
“I don’t agree with you, Joe.”
“Well, that’s my opinion.”
“Change it, then.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve got to try a new track, Joe. Figure this case as complicated; not simple. First of all, let’s figure what become of the jewels?”
“They’ll be fenced. That may give us a clew.”
“I don’t think so, Joe. What about all those little jewel robberies? Do you think they’re holding the stuff? Not by a long shot. Do you know why those jobs were pulled? I’ll tell you what I think, Joe. They’re trying a new way to get rid of the stuff. That’s why none of the jewels have shown up.”
Cardona shook his head.
“Wish I could agree with you, Malone. But I don’t. Where would they get rid of the stuff outside of the places we know about?”
“Maybe they’re selling them to some chink.”
Another shake of the Italian’s head.
“No, Malone. These crooks don’t trust the Chinese.”
“Well, that’s usually true. But I’ve heard talk of the chinks handling stuff.”
“All talk, Malone. I’ve investigated. Looked over plenty of chinks. Nothing to it.”
“Maybe they were putting one over on you, Joe. The chinks are a foxy lot.”
The Italian detective almost accepted this idea.
“Maybe so,” he said.
“Well, if you get a tip on the chinks,” said Malone, “I’d advise you to follow it.”
“I agree with you there,” said the detective. “I’ll jump to any real tip with a Chinese twist.”
“Yeah, and think of this other angle. A big man in back of it. Two men, maybe. More than two, perhaps. I’m old in the game, Joe. This is something new. Big fellows laying low; little fellows doing the dirty work. Even then, I may not be at the bottom of it.”
“Listen, Malone,” said Cardona. “The big-minded idea is all right enough, but a big mind betrays itself. And there’s none in sight right now. I know. Because I handled a case once that had a big mind in it. You remember Diamond Bert?”
“Yeah. What was his real name?”
“Well, I’m not quite sure. Diamond Bert Farwell was what we knew him as. He went after jewels. Always had trouble getting rid of them, though. That’s where we began to get him.”
“Maybe there’s another like him.”
“Not a chance, Malone. That fellow was wise. He would wait for anything. Played safe. The public never heard of him, just on that account. He must have been preparing a long while before he pulled his first jobs. Then they came quick; but he slipped up when he turned the jewels over to a fence. That was where he made his mistake.”
“I know that, Joe.”
“There’ll never be another like him, Malone. He’s gone now. Killed five years ago. We got the goods back; recovered so much that the public forgot all about the robberies. Then we were after Diamond Bert. Had his picture, his record - everything. He’d been a bad boy when he was younger.”
“Do you think we’d have got him, Joe?”
“If he hadn’t been killed when that car went off the bridge? You bet we’d have got him!”
“Maybe. He was smart, though.”
“Sure. Came from a good family. Met his brother once. He came from California. Guess he was glad enough when Bert cashed in. Tough on a good family when the black sheep makes trouble.”
“When did you meet the brother?”
“Before Bert died. He had a couple of brothers and sisters. All fine people. I sorta ran into them when we were getting the goods on Bert. Then - phooey - Bert was killed and that was the end of it all. Yes, Malone, there was one man. One man. He might have been clever enough to pull this kind of a game you’re talking about, but he’s gone. Wise - could talk all kind of languages. Smooth - could pass in any company. He’s dead, and that’s that. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Inspector Malone lifted himself from his chair.
“Well, Joe, let’s move along. Keep working, boy.”
“I’ll do that, inspector. We’ll keep on grinding and watching the fences. That’ll bring results.”
“Look for brains, too,” said the inspector as they reached the door.
“Fritz, for example,” replied Cardona, pointing his thumb at the slow-moving janitor who was now working down the corridor.
“Watch the chinks,” reminded Malone.
“I’ll do that - if I get a real tip-off.”
The two men passed the janitor.
“Good-night, Fritz.”
“Yah.”
The door clanged behind the inspector and the detective. Fritz the janitor, leaned on the handle of his mop.
“Diamond Bert,” he said softly. “Diamond Bert Farwell! Dead!”
He thrust the mop and the bucket into a niche in the wall. He shambled down the corridor toward the door
