Sammy was uneasy. He had a telegram from Sara announcing her sudden return from New York. She was arriving in the morning. But there was no letter in answer to several urgent ones from Sammy, a bit misspelled and messy, but to the point, He had suggested among other things that Sara remain east until September.
Sara, after the tragic failure of her long-laid plans, had taken a trip to New York. She put on her best clothes and took plenty of funds. She wired to the Plaza for a suite of rooms—a sitting-room, bedroom, and bath. She arrived in the morning of April 10 on the Twentieth Century, had a good lunch, and went to a dressmaker whose name and ability she had learned. She ordered a half-dozen new gowns. She secured, at the hotel, orchestra seats for two good shows—Ziegfeld’s Follies and a revue at the Winter Garden, and she also got a seat for The Jewels of the Madonna at the Metropolitan. She hired a car with a liveried chauffeur and drove through the park and down the avenue to Washington Square and back to the Plaza and had tea there; she took a walk, went to the Capitol, and dined at the Ritz.
For four or five days Sara tried the joys of free spending and costly amusement. She was desperately lonesome. Then she struck up acquaintance with a lady and her husband whom she met at the Plaza by the accident of sitting at the same table. They were from Texas. Sara was a bit dismayed, but did not flinch. They were as lonesome and distraught as she and grabbed like her at the novelty of a new voice. They played together at theater and dinner, rides to Westchester and Long Island, and at night they went to Texas Guinan’s club, accompanied by an extra man whom the husband had picked up somewhere. Sara was sleepy and bored, and the drinks which she tasted made her sick. Her escort when sober danced indifferently and was quite impossible as he got gradually drunk.
Next morning Sara arose late with a headache, reserved a berth to Chicago, and wired Sammy:
“Arrive tomorrow morning at nine.”
Sammy had not been expecting this. In fact he had made up his mind that she would be away at least three months and was laying his plans. This sudden turn upset him. He looked about the office helplessly. When the Fall campaign began, he would want Sara back in harness; but he was not ready for her now. First of all, that damned Towns had made no move toward a divorce. There were his belongings which Sara had bundled up hastily and sent to him when she left. They were in the corner of his office now, and Sammy rose and aimlessly looked them over. There was a bundle of clothes, two boxes of books, and two bags. What had Sara written about these bags? Yes, here was the note.
“This smaller bag is not his and doesn’t belong in the house. It was sitting in the library. It may belong to some of the guests or to that woman. If it is inquired for, return it. If not, throw it away.”
Sammy lifted it. It seemed rather solid. He picked it up and examined it. It was of solid thick leather and tarnished metal, which looked like silver. It was securely locked. There was a small crest stamped on the silver. Yes, it undoubtedly belonged to the Princess. It would be an excuse for another visit to her.
Then Sammy sat down, eyeing the bag idly, and returned to his thoughts. Neither Sara nor Matthew had made the slightest movement toward a divorce. Now it was Sammy’s pet idea that Sara should not begin proceedings. He wanted her to pose for some time as the injured victim. He wanted Towns to kill himself beyond redemption by not only deserting Sara but brazenly seeking legal separation. Now that neither made a move Sammy got uneasy. What was the big idea? Was Sara going to hold on to him because she wanted him back or just to thwart the other woman? Did Matthew want his freedom, or was he playing around and ready to return to Sara later? Sammy was stumped. He had spoken to Matthew before the lady, and yet Matthew had neither answered nor taken any steps. Didn’t the woman want Matthew divorced?
Then Sammy looked at the bag again. Queer woman—queer bag. Didn’t look or feel like a toilet case. No—contents weren’t soft enough for clothing. Well—he must get rid of this junk and clean up his office and Sara’s and get ready for her tomorrow. Then Sammy looked at that bag again. What was this “Princess,” anyhow? What was her game? Here was a chance to find out. He tried to open the bag. It was securely locked. The lock was very curious and was probably a combination and not a key lock, in spite of certain holes. Sammy again felt carefully of the contents—shook the bag, turned it around and upside down. Then suddenly he shut and locked the door and drew the curtain and took out his knife. He attempted to slit the leather. It was very heavy, and once cut, after considerable difficulty, it revealed a fine steel mesh below. Sammy was aroused and beset with curiosity. He got a wire ripper and soon had a hole about two inches long. Through this he drew a small Russian leather box fastened with a gold or gilded clasp. He opened this and found a dozen or more large transparent unset stones that looked like diamonds.
Sammy began to perspire. Then he wiped the sweat from his brow and sat down to think. He examined his own diamond ring. These stones certainly looked genuine. They scratched the window glass. But—it couldn’t be! If these were diamonds they’d be worth—Hell! Sammy took out one, closed the box, and inserted it in the bag. He closed the aperture carefully and started with it to the safe. No, suppose Sara asked for it! No, he turned it around and set it carelessly and in full sight in the corner. Then he unlocked the office door and phoned Corruthers.
“Say,” he said when Corruthers appeared, “take this to Ben and see if it’s worth anything.”
Corruthers ran his fingers through his red hair.
“Phony,” he declared. “Who stuck you with it?”
“Shut up,” said Sammy, “and ask Ben and don’t try no monkey business neither.”
Corruthers was back in a half hour.
“Say,” he began excitedly. “Where’d you get this—”
Sammy interrupted. “Send them clothes and books to Towns.”
“Sure—but—”
“What’s the stone worth?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
Sammy bit his cigar in two but managed to keep from swallowing the stub and dropping the end—
“Oh—er—that all?”
“Well—you might get more if you could prove ownership. He says it’s an unusual stone. How—”
“ ’Tain’t mine,” said Sammy. “Probably stolen. A bird wanted to sell it, but I don’t know—” and he shooed Corruthers out.
Five thousand! And one of a dozen! And that bag. Again Sammy locked up carefully, drew the shades, and turned on the electric lights. Then he brought the bag to the desk and with a knife and improvised tools, tore it entirely open. There were a half-dozen boxes, several paper bundles, and two or three chamois bags. He spread the contents out on the desk and literally gasped. Such jewels he had never seen. Not only smaller uncut diamonds in profusion, but several large stones in intricate settings, beautiful emeralds, two or three bags of lovely matched pearls, and above all, a great crimson ruby that looked like a huge drop of blood.
Sammy gasped, sat down, stood up, whistled, and whirled about; and whirling, faced, sitting quietly in his own chair, a person who seemed at first an utter stranger. Then Sammy recognized him as the Indian with whom he had had several conferences during the campaign and whom he had met together with the young radical Negro down at the radical Box-Makers’ Union.
Sammy suddenly grew furious.
“How the hell—” he began; but the Indian interrupted suavely.
“Through the window there,” he said. “You pulled the shade down, but you didn’t lock the window. I have been watching there several days.”
“Well, by God,” and Sammy half turned toward the desk; but the Indian still spoke very quietly.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said.
Sammy didn’t. On the other hand he sat down in another chair and faced the Indian.
“Well, what about it?” he said.
“These jewels,” said the Indian, “are, as I presume you suspect, the property of her Royal Highness, the Princess of Bwodpur. In fact they are part of the crown jewels which always accompany the heir to the throne wherever he or she goes. Her Royal Highness is unfortunately very careless. She had the jewels with her when she started to interview Mr. Towns that night, and in the turmoil of the evening, evidently forgot them. Yesterday she sent me a note asking that I find them. I went to the residence of Mrs. Towns and found it locked on account of her absence, but I secured entrance.”
“That kind of thing sometimes lands people in jail,” said Sammy dryly.
“Yes,” said the Indian, “and the theft of jewels like these might land one further in jail and for a longer time.”
Sammy didn’t answer, and the Indian continued: “I searched the house and was satisfied that the bag was not there, and then I learned that certain things had been delivered at your office. I came down here and saw the bag sitting here. That was early yesterday morning, while the janitor was sweeping.”
“Damn him!” said Sammy.
“It wasn’t his fault,” said the Indian. “I forget what excuse I gave him, but you may be sure it was a legitimate one. Yesterday and today I have spent watching you to be sure of your attitude.”
“Well?” said Sammy.
“Well,” returned the Indian, “I had hoped that the proof which I have would secure the bag, untampered with and without question or delay.”
“What proof?” asked Sammy.
“A careful description of the jewels made by the well-known firm which has insured them and which would at the slightest notice put detectives on their track. Also, a letter from her Royal Highness directing that these jewels be delivered to me.”
“And you expect to get these on such trumped-up evidence?”
“Yes,” said the Indian.
“And suppose I refuse?”
“I shall persuade you not to.”
Sammy thought the matter over. “Say,” said he, “can’t you and I come to some agreement? Why, here is a fortune. Is there any use wasting it on Matthew and that Princess?”
“We can come to an agreement,” said the Indian.
“What?” asked Sammy.
“You have,” said the Indian, “an unset diamond in your pocket which, with a certificate of ownership that I could give you, would easily be worth ten thousand dollars. You may keep it.”
Sammy rose in a rage. “I can not only keep that,” he said, “but I can keep the whole damn shooting-match and—” But he didn’t get any further. The Indian had arisen and showed in the folds of his half-Oriental dress a long, wicked-looking dagger.
“I should regret,” he said, “the use of violence, but her Royal Highness’ orders are peremptory. She would rather avoid, if possible, the police. I am therefore going to take these jewels to her. If afterward you should wish to prosecute her, you can easily do it.”
Sammy quickly came to his senses: “Go ahead,” he said.
The Indian deftly packed the jewels, always managing to face Sammy in the process, Finally, with a very polite good night, he started to the door.
“Say,” said Sammy, “where are you going to take those jewels?”
“I have orders,” said the Indian slowly, “to place them in the hands of Matthew Towns.”
The door closed softly after him. Sammy seated himself and thought the matter over. He had a very beautiful diamond in his pocket which he examined with interest. His own feeling was that it would make a very splendid engagement ring for Sara. Then he started. … Suppose these jewels were given to Matthew, or part of them, and suppose Sara got wind of it? Would she ever give Matthew up? That was a serious matter—a very serious matter. In fact, she must mot get wind of it. Then Sammy frowned. Good Lord! He had actually had his hands on something that looked like at least one million dollars. Ah, well! It was dangerous business. Only fools stole jewels of that sort.
A messenger boy entered with a telegram.
“Have decided to go to Atlantic City. Do not expect me until I write.