Star of Delhi for yourself. That is as far as you would dare go, Crome, for neither you nor your servants are of sufficient grit and caliber to go through with murdering me.
'But I specialize in murder, Crome!' Garmath's tone had as snap a pronounced as the glint from his eyes.
'I, and the men in my employ. Remember that, Crome, if you do not buy the Star of Delhi. Should you buy it' - his tone was easing - 'you can remember that I also give protection to those that I think deserve it.'
Crome's breath came back with a great gasp.
'You mean that if I buy the Star of Delhi at your price, no one will ever know of the transaction?'
'Not through me,' returned Garmath. 'Moreover, should anyone learn the fact' - his chuckle became raspy - 'I can guarantee that they will never tell. Whatever service you may need from me goes with the sale, as a matter of good will.'
Good will from a master of evil!
The paradox struck Crome hard; nevertheless, he felt forced to take Garmath's word. His numbed expression showed that Crome was reasoning matters slowly, but he was coming to a sound conclusion.
Good will or evil, Garmath's word could be relied upon. It would have to be so; otherwise, he couldn't have kept the confidence of murderous accomplices to the extent that he undoubtedly had.
With trembling hands, Crome reached for the money drawer, brought out the cash and began to count it.
He made up a total of some three hundred and sixty thousand dollars, and looked worried about the remainder, when Garmath suggested:
'Your check will do, or - better - checks for some odd amounts, made out to cash. I understand that you often purchase jewels in amounts up to fifty thousand dollars. So keep the various checks below that sum.'
Crome wrote out the checks and handed them along with the cash After counting up to the total and finding that it made exactly half a million, Garmath arose with a gratified smile. He pointed to the Star of Delhi, then gestured to Crome's showcase.
'Put it with your other sapphires,' Garmath said. 'You can feast your own eyes upon the prize as often as you wish. But do not let others see the Star of Delhi. I spoke of protection. I have already given it. The police do not know that the Star of Delhi still exists.
'Hence, you are quite safe - while they are looking for six sapphires, matched ones that can never be found. However, as part of our bargain, I shall call you occasionally, beginning with tomorrow night.
Good evening, Crome.'
Rising, Garmath went to the door and Crome noticed the creeping sound of the murderer's departure, recalling, numbly, that his visitor had entered in the same style, though Crome hadn't regarded it as insidious, then.
A servant was outside the door; hastily covering the Star of Delhi with one hand, Crome gestured with the other, signifying for the man to show Garmath out.
When Garmath reached the ground floor, he went out by the back way, as there were two exits from the office building. His creeping walk, which he did not try to hide, echoed uncannily back through the passage, bringing shivers to the elevator man who was seated in the car with the door open.
The elevator operator wasn't the only one who heard those sounds.
FROM a limousine that had just stopped out front, a tall man in evening clothes was entering the building.
He was Lamont Cranston, coming from a chat with one millionaire jewel collector, to call upon another.
With the head man off The Shadow's list, Uriah Crome was next in line.
The Shadow heard Garmath's last evasive creeps just as they faded, with a quickened touch, from beyond the closing rear door. Before he could snap from Cranston's leisurely pose and move in the rapid style of The Shadow, he was confronted by the elevator man, who, hearing new footsteps from the front, was peering out to see what they meant.
Easing into Cranston's manner, The Shadow nodded to the elevator man and announced himself, saying that he had come to see Mr. Crome. He knew that the name of Cranston would carry weight with the old collector, for, though they had never met, Cranston had sometimes outbid Crome's representatives when they appeared at jewel auctions.
As one collector to another, Crome couldn't afford to entirely ignore Cranston. Within a few minutes, they were chatting with each other over the telephone, and though The Shadow detected a tremolo in Crome's tone, it was one that could have been attributed to his advanced age - as the old man, himself, was smart enough to recognize.
But The Shadow, having heard the creeping below, had quite another explanation for the wavering tone that he heard across the wire. In his turn, he did not drop one whit from Cranston's quiet form of speech; nevertheless, his words made a hard dent on Crome.
The old collector was saying that it was too late for him to receive a visitor; that he would be glad to have Cranston call some other time. Pressing the point, The Shadow set the meeting definitely for the morrow; then he sprang a neat surprise.
'I am calling on behalf of a friend,' he stated. 'One who is very anxious to meet you, Mr. Crome. I may not be able to come tomorrow, but I would appreciate it if you would receive my friend.'
'Of course, of course,' interposed Crome, hastily, his voice betraying only a slight touch of its quiver.
'Any friend of yours will be welcome here, Mr. Cranston. But about this friend -'
'He is deeply interested in gems,' came Cranston's interruption, 'particularly in rare sapphires. He hopes that some well-informed person, like yourself, can give him the advice he needs. Good night, Mr.
Crome.'
Upstairs, Uriah Crome was half slumped at his desk, his shaky hand barely able to replace the telephone on its stand. He had an idea who Cranston's friend might be: Police Commissioner Ralph Weston. The very thought horrified Crome; he wished with all his might that Jan Garmath had still been around when Cranston's call came through.
Then, gradually, Crome's nerve returned; he managed to force a laugh between his trembling lips. Let Weston come! As Garmath had said, the police were thinking in terms of six small sapphires, not one large gem. He'd talk in terms of small sapphires, too, Crome would, and thus veer the trail still further from himself.
Nevertheless, as he stared at the great Star of Delhi, with its rare radiant streaks gleaming up from the jewel case upon the desk, Uriah Crome could find no happiness in possession of the gem that he had so long coveted.
CHAPTER XVIII. CROME'S WAY OUT
IT was singular, to Margo Lane, the way that Lamont Cranston suddenly lost interest in the Star of Delhi and the chain of murder which the famous gem had caused. For all of Cranston, the police could keep on hunting for six lesser stones that didn't exist, while he kept his own opinions to himself.
That, at least, was Margo's conclusion while she lunched with Lamont. He was so totally indifferent to the case, that when he did glance at the newspaper, he turned to the sporting pages. There he found something that intrigued him. Margo guessed that it had to do with polo.
'Well, well!' exclaimed Cranston. 'Another old friend has arrived for the matches. I'll have to drop around and chat with him. Here is his picture.'
He passed the newspaper to Margo, who expected to see a photograph of some wealthy polo player from the Argentine, since Cranston was well acquainted with many members of South American teams.
The picture that Margo did see rather amazed her.
She saw a handsome, darkish man who wore a turban; the rest of his attire was a military uniform, well sprinkled with medals. Beneath the picture, she read the name: 'Rajah of Lengore.'
'Fancy the rajah being in New York,' chuckled Cranston. 'With all his palaces and possessions you'd suppose he would never leave India. I remember his great jungle estate, so large that we were lost for three days while on a tiger hunt.'
With sharp gaze, Margo tried to pierce Cranston's impassive front. When looks failed, she tried words.
