Blood on the Stars (21 page)

“End of the line,” he told Randolph, thrusting the bulky envelope of paper clippings down behind the seat cushion so that only one corner of it protruded.

As Randolph got out, he said doubtfully, “I’m always afraid one of these things will misfire. That’s a lot of money to leave in an unlocked car.”

Shayne shrugged, leading the way back toward the bay front and a small bar on the corner. “Honor among thieves,” he reminded Randolph ironically. “We’ve got to trust them to leave the bracelet in place of the envelope if we hope to get it back at all.” He looked at his watch as they entered the bar. It was exactly 2:28. They sat in a booth against the wall and Shayne ordered a double cognac while Randolph contented himself with a beer.

“My throat feels as though it had been dried out with an electric wire,” he explained. “The cold beer might relieve it.”

They sat in the booth for twenty-two minutes, making desultory conversation and sipping their drinks. There were a few fishermen at the bar, a scattering of tourists, and occasionally a clerk or workman from the neighborhood would slip in for a quick snort and then dart out again.

At 2:50, Shayne gulped down the last of his brandy and said, “Let’s go.”

Randolph paid the bill and they went out. Shayne’s car was just where he had left it.

They reached the car together, and Randolph jerked the door open. The envelope lay on the front seat and clippings were scattered all over the seat and the floorboard. He stared at them disbelievingly, picked up a couple and let them flutter away in the breeze. “I don’t understand this, Shayne,” he exclaimed nervously.
“These slips of paper!
Cut to look like bills. The bracelet isn’t here! Did you try to pull a fast one by substituting this damned paper—
”

Shayne shoved Randolph aside and stuck his red head in the door. “Wait a minute,” he said roughly. “That’s what they want you to think. It looks as though they had a bundle of this stuff made up, brought it along, and left it lying here to give you the idea
I’d
done it.
An excuse for not returning the bracelet.”

“Goddamn it to hell, Shayne!” There were tears of rage and of disappointment in Randolph’s bulging and murky eyes. “I trusted you to arrange this. I gave my personal word of honor to the main office that this wasn’t a gyp game and that we’d get the bracelet back.”

“Stop your yapping.” Shayne moved back and said, “Get in,” and went around
to get
under the steering-wheel. He slammed the door, started the motor, and roared away eastward.

Randolph slumped beside him, flaccid, unnerved and inert. All life seemed to have flowed out of his body.

SOME REMARKABLE COINCIDENCES

WHEN MICHAEL SHAYNE PUSHED THE BUTTON of the Mark Dustin suite at the
Sunlux
Hotel, Peter Painter opened the door at once and demanded officiously, “What’s this all about, Shayne?”

Shayne looked over the immaculate little man’s head. Mark Dustin was the only other occupant of the large living-room. He sat in a deep chair near the open east window, his face bandaged and his right hand in a plaster cast. He was hollow-eyed and wan, his torso caved-in, and it was as though the death of his beautiful young wife had been more than even his splendid physique could endure.

“Timothy
Rourke
said I was to meet you here at three,” Painter snapped irritably. “Where is he?”

Shayne moved past Painter, saying, “I imagine Tim will be along. Have you got anything more on the jewel theft?”

Randolph followed Shayne into the room, his shoulders slumped and his eyes bewildered.

Painter said, “Nothing definite,” strutting along beside them. “We’re following out several leads.” He touched the insurance man’s coat sleeve and asked, “Anything from your end, Randolph?”

“Not a thing,” said Shayne swiftly, forestalling an answer from Randolph.

The buzzer sounded again, and Shayne swung around, stalked to the door and opened it. “Oh, here you
are, Tim—and
Voorland
. Come in.”

Painter whirled and went back to meet the newly arrived guests. He said, “You wanted me here,
Rourke
,” impatiently.
“What for?”

Timothy
Rourke
looked around the room, his eyes burning and his nostrils twitching. “It was Mike’s idea,” he said, and grinned.

“If I’d known that—” Painter began angrily.

“You wouldn’t have come,” Shayne cut him off sharply. “That’s why I had Tim issue the invitation. Now that you’re here, you might as well stick around and make an arrest.”

The five men in the room reacted according to their instincts.
Voorland
fumbled in his pocket and brought out a stick of gum,
unwrapped
it slowly, and put it in his mouth. Mark Dustin lifted his bandaged head and let his miserable eyes roam over the men standing around him. Timothy
Rourke’s
eyes burned eagerly in their cavernous sockets as they roamed from one face to another. He nervously took notepaper from his pocket and fumbled for a pencil. Painter darted his black and angry eyes at Shayne, then thumb-nailed his neat black mustache as his gaze went slowly from
Voorland
to Dustin, and finally came to rest upon Randolph’s big round face.

Randolph stammered, “I don’t understand. Are—you—expecting someone else, Shayne?”

“No one else.”
Shayne’s eyes were very bright. “I think we can settle the whole thing just between ourselves. Why don’t you all sit down and we’ll examine the remarkable coincidences I’ve discovered in connection with the sale of the fabulously expensive star rubies from Walter
Voorland’s
jewelry store on Lincoln Road.”

Painter’s black eyes snapped and. he took a few steps toward Shayne. “Look here, Shayne, you can’t—”

“Sit down,” Shayne said quietly.

The others moved across the carpet soundlessly and found chairs. Painter looked at Shayne’s gaunt face and set jaw, then sank into a chair close by and sat with his small feet planted on the carpet and his body erect. “You’d better make this good, Shayne,” he warned, “and quick.”

Shayne stood. He said, “First, we have the curious fact that from right here in one retail store on Miami Beach during the past five years star rubies have been sold for a price totaling four hundred and five thousand dollars—though perfect star rubies are the rarest of stones, and only happen once during many years, perhaps many ages. I know the reason for this, and I offer it only as the first of a series of remarkable coincidences.

“The second is that in each of these instances the jewels have been stolen soon after their purchase,
and none of them have ever been recovered—
even though star rubies are the most difficult of gems to fence to advantage.

“Add to this,” Shayne went on, “that the first two purchasers, namely, James T. King and Roland Kendrick, apparently disappeared from the face of the earth immediately after collecting insurance on their stolen rubies. There is absolutely no trace of these two men.”

Painter bristled and got to his feet. “How do you know there’s no trace of them?” he snapped. “You’re just putting on a—”

Shayne said, “Sit down. I’ve a couple more coincidences before I’m through. The second and third purchasers, Kendrick and Dustin, are curiously similar, in that neither of them has any past life that can be traced through friends or relatives. In the space of two years, each of them wandered into Walter
Voorland’s
exclusive jewelry store and laid large sums of money on the line for his latest in star rubies.

“Another final similarity is that the wives of both Kendrick and Dustin have been murdered.”

Mark Dustin interrupted with an angry shout. “See here, Shayne. What are you trying to get at? For God’s sake quit beating around the bush, and tell me who murdered Celia.”

Shayne’s wide mouth relaxed into a smile. “I’m pointing out a lot of coincidences,” he said equably. “Give me time, Mr. Dustin, and we’ll see if they all add up to something we can use in solving your wife’s murder.”

“None of them are so very remarkable,” Earl Randolph broke in nervously. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, and his eyes, still murky, appeared to stand out on stems. “I’ve explained to you—”

“I know,” said Shayne. “A lot of people have wasted a lot of time during the past eighteen hours giving me reasonable explanations for one or more of these coincidences,” Shayne admitted. “They all have to be added up to get anywhere.” His gray eyes were bleak as they traveled over the group.

Painter jumped up and demanded, “Where? Where does it get you?”

“To the bottom of one of the most ingenious insurance frauds ever conceived in a man’s mind. Murder was only a sideline in this business.
Money
was the first consideration, and murder came afterward.”

Painter was still standing. “If you know so much about Mrs. Dustin’s death, let’s have it.
And quick.”

Shayne ignored him and turned back to the others. “I think most of you know,” he said, “that Celia Dustin was murdered because she telephoned my apartment and made a date to meet a man who impersonated me. I think we have all assumed that when we have discovered exactly what she meant by what she said over the phone, we would know who killed her to shut her up.”

Silence was thick in the room until Painter said doubtfully, “If you can produce the man who talked to her from your apartment—”

Shayne moved back to a chair near the door. Before he sat down he said, “I’ll let Earl Randolph take over.”

Randolph, still suffering from a hang-over, had been sitting in a deep chair, his body relaxed and his legs sprawled, his eyes sleepily half closed. He bent forward at Shayne’s words. His face contorted with fear and anger when he said, “Goddamn you, Shayne, you promised—”

“That’s right,” said Shayne glibly. “I forgot to tell you one small detail. Randolph gave me a bribe to keep his part in this quiet.
Ten thousand bucks.”
He took the envelope from his pocket and sailed it over to Randolph. “That squares me. Count the money and start talking.”

Randolph said thickly, “Why did you let me—”

“Because I wanted you to feel perfectly safe and stick around long enough to get the insurance reward for me.”

“You’re responsible for that money,” Randolph roared. “I intend to hold you responsible—”

“I accept the responsibility. If your company has to pay one dime on the Dustin policy I’ll refund every penny. Tell them exactly what Mrs. Dustin said when you answered the telephone in my apartment.”

Randolph gulped, swallowed his Adam’s apple, and said in a choked voice, “She said she had some information—”

Wretchedly he told the story he had told Shayne earlier. When he reached the point where he admitted hurrying to the Beach to keep the appointment, Dustin leaped to his feet with an oath. He had to be held back by Painter while Randolph stumbled on with his story.

“I swear she was dead when I reached there,” he said in an agonized voice. “I don’t know how I can prove it, but it’s God’s truth.” Shakily he raised his right hand. “I defy anybody to prove differently.” He turned his murky eyes toward Shayne and sank back in his chair.

“There you are.” Shayne stood up and said, “Sit down, Dustin. That’s only one man’s story for whatever it’s worth.” He waited until Mark Dustin sank back into his chair and Painter had resumed his stiff position on the edge of his chair.

“If we accept Randolph’s version,” he continued quietly and firmly, “we have to conclude that Celia Dustin somehow learned something of importance in connection with the ruby bracelet that she wished to tell me.”

Shayne paused and once again his gray eyes went over the group. Timothy
Rourke
had his notepaper on his knee, but his pencil was idle in his right hand, which hung loosely at his side. His eyes were half closed, and there was a look of extreme boredom on his thin face.

Shayne said, “I think all this brings us to you,
Voorland
.”

Timothy
Rourke
came alive with a start.

Voorland
said, “To me? I do not see what—”

“To you and one more coincidence.
This time, the case of the great ruby expert who gave me all the inside dope on the manufacture of synthetic gems without even mentioning the earliest experiments by a German chemist, and a man named Michaud. Remember those two gentlemen now,
Voorland
?”

Voorland
appeared unperturbed. He fished out a stick of gum,
unwrapped
it, and popped it into his mouth before answering. After he methodically masticated it for a time he said, “Naturally I know about those experiments. But the
Verneuil
process—”

“Is the one in general use now,” Shayne said. “I know all about that. Yet, I wondered—”

Shayne suddenly turned away from
Voorland
and addressed the others. “You see,” he said, “we come back again to the curious fact that during the past several years
Voorland
has apparently succeeded in cornering the finest star rubies in the world. From the beginning, I toyed with the possibility of those gems being spurious.

“I know,” he went on wearily, as both
Voorland
and Randolph raised themselves partially from their chairs, “it simply can’t be done. And you, Randolph, appraised the ring purchased by King. Also, you appraised the Dustin bracelet, while another insurance man appraised the Kendrick pendant. Still—I wondered.”

Shayne hesitated for a moment. The lines of his gaunt face were drawn, his brows knitted, but his gray eyes gleamed.

“If they were artificial—if
Voorland
had actually discovered some secret process of manufacturing star rubies, I could see a profit in it for him. But I couldn’t see how that hooked up with their sudden theft and complete disappearance. Not until I read a few paragraphs in an old encyclopedia and found out about the earliest known process of making artificial rubies. They didn’t call those gems synthetic, but
reconstructed
gems. That’s because that is what they were.
Reconstructed from a number of smaller stones.
The reason that original process was discarded was two-fold: It was almost impossible to completely eradicate the faint lines of fissure where the smaller stones were joined, and they were very brittle and likely to burst asunder from interior pressure at any time.