Эрл Гарднер - The Adventures of Paul Pry

He thrust one of the evening papers, damp from the press, under the eyes of the ex-detective.

Mugs Magoo scanned the screaming headlines.

Mugs Magoo grunted his interest, sat down in one of the typical overstuffed chairs with which the hotel room was furnished, and knitted his brows over the printed account.

When he had finished, he regarded Paul Pry with a speculative scowl.

“She was dressin’ for a ball,” he said.

“Precisely.”

“And the butler got drunk an’ slugged ’er. When she came to, her hundred thousand dollar diamond necklace was gone.”

“Correct.”

“But the butler was still there.”

“Exactly.”

“Stewed to the gills.”

“So the paper says.”

“And he couldn’t remember nothing about what had happened. He took a drink. He claims it was a single drink. But he got stewed on it an’ went blotto.”

“Well?”

“Oh, nothin’, but I can see what happened easy enough. They slipped him a drugged drink. Big Front Gilvray had a moll in the house, planted for the job probably. She jiggled a little powder in his drink. Then Double Phil Delano slipped in, pretended to be pie-eyed, hunted up the missus, had an argument, slugged her, took the diamond necklace, an’ left the poor butler to take the rap.”

Paul Pry nodded.

“That, Mugs, is exactly what happened. Only the thoughtful Mr. Delano went one step farther. He planted some stolen gems of small value upon the form of the unconscious butler. The police found them.”

“A slick frame-up,” remarked Mugs Magoo. “Double Phil Delano has been changin’ his tactics. He always went in for alibi stuff before. But now Big Front Gilvray has got hold of him he’s usin’ him for rough stuff. But it’s pretty smooth at that!”

Paul Pry nodded thoughtfully.

“There’s quite a bit in the paper about the Goldcrest history, Mugs. It seems they made their money on the stock market crash. They consistently sold everything short and stayed with it. They cleaned up a lot of money out of the misfortunes of others.”

“Yeah,” agreed Mugs Magoo. “I told you they was newly rich, awful rich an’ awful new.”

Paul Pry chuckled.

“I’m on my way out to see them. I want you to hold down the room. If any calls come in answer them. Don’t give out any information. Just get the numbers that call.”

Mugs Magoo looked puzzled.

“You expectin’ calls?”

“Yes.”

“Who from?”

“Newspapers.”

“What’ll they want to know?”

“That,” said Paul Pry, “depends upon various things.” And out he went, whistling cheerily.

Mugs Magoo groaned and settled down in the chair.

Paul Pry staged his entrance at the Goldcrest mansion when there was a slight lull in the excitement incident to newspaper interviews, flashlight photographs and police surveillance.

He rang the doorbell and smiled patronizingly at the young woman who answered it.

“Tell Mr. Goldcrest that George Crosby is here.”

The girl looked blank.

“He was expecting you?”

But there sounded swift steps thudding down the corridor and an avalanche of weight pushed her to one side.

“Come right in, Mr. Crosby, come right in. I’ve got awful bad news for you, awful bad. I got your wire a coupla hours ago, but, would you believe it, I ain’t got the diamonds.”

Paul Pry, assuming the name of George Crosby, and carrying himself with cordial dignity, clucked his sympathy.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

The paunchy man with purple jowls and pop eyes regarded him with hands that waved shoulder high, palms outward.

“Serious? My wife is slugged, the necklace gone! Ain’t that serious? But come in, come on in and have a chair. Have a cigar, have a drink. Your wire said you were buyer for a private collector who didn’t want his name known. How’d you hear about the necklace?”

Paul Pry followed his host into an over-furnished living-room and dropped into the indicated chair.

“But this is dreadful!” he exclaimed.

“Sure it’s dreadful. A hundred thousand dollar necklace!”

Paul Pry’s eyes grew searching.

“Did you pay a hundred thousand for it?” he asked.

Rodney Goldcrest ran a pudgy forefinger around the inside of his moist shirt band.

“Well, of course, between the two of us, it wasn’t quite that much. But it was a big sum, an’ the wife likes to see her name in print, so I made it a hundred thousand even for the newspaper chaps.”

“And it’s gone?”

“Gone slick as a whistle, Mr. Crosby. And when I got your wire I knew it was a bad break all around. You know if some collector had paid a fancy price for the necklace, or had even offered a fancy price, it’d have given the wife a lot of publicity. The little woman likes to see her picture in the papers. An’ you know how it is with women. You gotta humour ’em.”

Paul Pry nodded slowly.

“Yes. I see. But this is a dreadful misfortune. The gems in that necklace came from a certain source which I will not divulge at the present time. But I believe my chief would have gone as high as two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for them.

“You see, diamonds vary. That is due both to the gems as well as the manner in which they are cut and polished. Now there was a certain gem-cutter who achieved wonderful results with a diamond from a certain locality.

“I must naturally be vague about the details, Mr. Goldcrest, both to protect the name of my client as well as to prevent a sharp advance in the price of certain diamonds. But I can assure you that if it hadn’t been for this unfortunate robbery your wife would have had her picture in the rotogravure section of every society paper in the land. She would have been the proud possessor of a valuable bit of jewellery which would have branded her as a woman of taste and refinement.”

Goldcrest’s eyes glinted.

“That’s the line! That’s just what the little lady wants, taste an’ refinement. That’s the line she’s tryin’ to get across. You know it ain’t easy to crash into the better class of society right off the jump. We moved out here in this neighbourhood so it’d look right on our stationery, and we’ve gone to lots of trouble to do everything right. But we ain’t had much success.

“Not that I mind. It’s the little woman that I care about. She’s set her heart on it. The newspapers don’t give us the breaks. We keep the boys in cigars and whiskey, and keep ’em supplied with pictures, but they don’t use ’em.”

Paul Pry interrupted.

“It sure is tough. And especially since my chief is very prominent socially. However, there seems to be nothing that can be done about it. Please keep my telegram and my mission secret. I’m at the Bargemore Hotel if you get any trace of the gems. Don’t say a word to anyone, though.”

Goldcrest nodded.

“I can keep my mouth shut. But I want you to meet the little lady. She’s a bit shaken up, but she’ll be glad to see you. We talked a lot about your wire. You wait right here, and I’ll get her down right away.”

And Rodney Goldcrest heaved his great bulk from the chair and waddled in stately dignity from the room.

Five minutes and he was back, his face beaming.

On his arm was a matron who was as inclined to fleshiness as her husband. There was a welt over her left temple, but the undershot jaw and thick neck indicated that it would take more than one tap from a slungshot to disable her for any length of time.

Paul Pry knew that she had been a hostess in a speakeasy when her husband had started his meteoric rise to wealth. Now she strove to give an impression of culture.