J. Fletcher - The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 5, No. 1 — April 1922)

Claude Lange gathered in the cards which had been tossed upon the table. He arranged the deck in two stacks; then he ripped each stack in half. He threw the bits into the air, rose and stumbled away from the table. Another deck of cards was produced and the game went on. The club members were accustomed to Lange’s idiosyncrasies.

An hour later, when Farris was leaving the club, Lange came up to him and asked if he could see Farris alone for a few moments.

“Certainly,” replied Farris, “but if it’s about a loan—”

“It’s not — a loan.”

When they were in a room of Farris’ apartment on One Hundred and Twentieth Street, Lange said, simply, “I know a woman who has a pear-shaped emerald drop on a platinum festoon. The drop alone, because of its unique design, is worth upward of fifteen thousand. Does that interest you?”

Farris regarded the other through narrowed eyes. Lange, he knew, had lost heavily that evening, and it was obvious that the loss had unnerved him. There had been rumors that with Lange’s next disastrous plunge, he would be disinherited and disowned. Farris guessed that it was the fear of such a calamity that had driven young Lange to flirt with crime.

“I don’t quite get you, Lange,” said Farris.

“Cut out the innocence stuff! I’ve heard about Scofield’s lavalliere — we’re members of the same yacht club. I’m making no insinuations. Maybe the lavalliere was not stolen — in that case, you’re not the man I want to talk to. You needn’t be afraid to be frank. There are no witnesses — I couldn’t prove anything on you, nor you on me. If you’re really handy at making jewels disappear, say so.”

“What’s your proposition?” asked Farris.

“Mrs. Ellingwood is giving a weekend party at her place in Great Neck. I can have you invited. If you get the stone, I get half the profits. Yes or no?”

Farris answered that he would be glad to be one of the guests at Mrs. Ellingwood’s week-end party...

Mrs. Ellingwood entertained some ten guests. Farris and Lange arrived on Friday evening in the latter’s car. Saturday passed and Sunday forenoon; in all that time, Mrs. Ellingwood had worn no jewelry of any kind except her rings.

Then Lange drew Farris aside in the garden and confided, “I’ve taken the liberty to look about a bit in the house. There’s a strong box in Mrs. Ellingwood’s boudoir—”

“So I noticed myself,” smiled Farris. “But the box is about ten-by-twelve-by-fourteen inches and it weighs several pounds. It could hardly be hidden under a Palm-beach suit. And even if we could get it out of the house, it would probably be missed at once and we’d have to run for it. And that’s one rule I never break — I never run away. I don’t like the idea of being hunted.”

“Well — couldn’t you open the strong box somehow—?”

“All it takes is a little skill and a hairpin and—”

“Then why not—?”

“And time,” finished Farris. “I’d have to be certain no one would disturb me for at least half an hour. Of course, Mrs. Ellingwood stays downstairs with her guests. But there’s the maid — she’s in and out of the boudoir all the time.”

Lange thought it over. “Suppose — suppose that after dinner this evening, I succeed in coaxing the maid to take a spin in my car—”

“Excellent — if you can manage it.”

“I don’t think she’ll take much coaxing,” grinned Lange.

Lange’s evening, up to a certain point, was a grand success. The maid slipped in and out of the house unobserved. The two motored over an hour and Lange was not required to keep more than one hand on the wheel. But when, on returning, he again drew Farris aside, he could tell by the latter’s downcast expression that the plan had gone awry.

“There was someone on the upper floor all the time,” said Farris. “I didn’t have the chance to go anywhere near the boudoir.”

The next morning the party broke up and Farris and Lange returned to the city.

The day was a rather hectic one for young Lange. He spent it trying to borrow the money with which to pay off the I O U’s he had written during his last disastrous poker game. But Lange met with no success; his friends were unanimously of the opinion that it was a bad investment to lend him money.

Lange was haunted by the fear that some of his creditors might become obstreperous and threaten to sue. And he was now on his good behavior; any notoriety would serve to break the truce existing between him and his father.

His only asset was his car, which might bring two thousand dollars. He was in debt for over five thousand. If Farris had only succeeded in getting that emerald drop—

At nine o’clock, Mrs. Cartwright called up Lange on the phone.

“Mrs. Ellingwood had me on the long distance wire a short while ago,” said Mrs. Cartwright. “She had intended going to the opera this evening, and she wanted to wear her festoon. She found that her strong box had been forced open and that the emerald drop had been clipped from the festoon. It’s upset her terribly. The last time she used the strong box was on Thursday, so she can’t be sure that one of her week-end guests is the thief. She’s going to put a private detective on the case and instruct him not to bother any of her friends until every other possibility has been run down....”

Farris had tricked him! Lange went into a paroxysm of fury. He paced his room repeating, “The skunk double-crossed me!” The deception was apparant; Farris had denied the theft so as to avoid the necessity of sharing the proceeds. And the enraged Lange decided not to let Farris get away with it.

Immediate action was necessary. He would confront Farris and demand his share of the profits. If Farris tried to bluff... Lange took a revolver out of his bureau. It would be dangerous to match wits with a man of Farris’ cunning. But Lange, urged on by his lack of funds and by his anger against Farris, did not reflect long upon the risk. He was in the mood to play a desperate game and to kill, if necessary.

So the reckless Lange went forth on the quest which could end in but one way — disastrously...

Farris admitted Lange into his apartment, led him into the sitting-room and then offered him a glass of wine. Lange impatiently waived his claim to hospitality and told Farris about Mrs. Cartwright’s phone call.

“What rotten luck!” exclaimed Farris. “Someone else beat us—”

“You stole that pendant!” cut in Lange. “I’m here to demand a split!”

“Are you suggesting that I may have—?”

“You double-crossed me!”

Farris became nettled at the other’s insolence. “I could throw you out of here, you know!”

“You could try! But it’ll be a man-sized job to get me out of here before I’m convinced you haven’t that stone.”

“If it’ll ease you any, you might search the place. Don’t mind me. I’ll have a few drinks while you’re enjoying yourself.”

That, in Lange’s opinion, showed Farris’ hand. Farris had already disposed of the stone. There was nothing Lange could do... he could not even threaten blackmail. He was beaten. He had made it possible for Farris to attempt the job — and now Farris had cheated him out of his share.

Lange went momentarily mad with rage. Every semblance of self-control went from him. He lashed out furiously and caught Farris a stinging blow on the side of the head. “You’re going to take a beating!” cried Lange.

But Farris met his rush with a straight-arm jolt to the wind which sat Lange neatly upon his haunches. Infuriated, the tears of chagrin streaming down his face, Lange drew his gun as he staggered to his feet.

Farris closed in. They wrestled. Farris slipped and in his attempt to keep the gun from being twisted against his chest, he unfortunately put his hand over the front of the barrel just as Lange pulled the trigger.