There is always love (10 page)

"Laughing at me were you?" Grant demanded cockily. "I'll teach you . . ." Linda saw the blaze of jewels as Miss Crane put up her arm to ward off his hand before it descended on her shoulder. The men in the party were on their feet; she must get Skid out before they knocked him down. Why, why was he making a spectacle of himself and her? She seized his arm.

"S—^Tom! Tom! Come," she begged. She looked pleadingly at Lorillo; the tears in her eyes were genuine. "Please don't call the manager. I'll get him away, really I will. Tom— Tom, dear —^please come."

"She—she was laughing at me." He made an attempt at dignity and scowled. "No—no one can get a—away with laughing at me—Sugar." He smiled at Linda vacantly. "W—^what we standing here for? Gargon! Gargon! L'addi-tion!"

As the excited waiter presented a slip, he flung it to the table with a bill. "Come on, let's get out of this joint where a guy-"

"Pedro! Don't follow them! It's Sanders' secretary watchdog with her boy friend who's on a binge! What d'you know—"

Linda jerked Skid out of hearing of Altx Crane's piercing whisper. A hundred red-hot eyes burned into her neck, left bare by the heart-shape opening of her frock. Snickers and murmurs followed her as she passed between the tables to gay music which had swung into a rumba. The rhythmic motion of the orchestra leader's baton seemed to mock her.

Waves of embarrassment flamed through her as she steered Grant past the zebra-striped banquettes in the azure-and-silver foyer toward the coatroom. She knew now what it must feel like to be burned at the stake. A man followed and stood near while she helped Skid with his coat and thrust his hat into his hand.

"He never has been like this before, really he hasn't," she 54

explained to the person with the pouter-pigeon figure, pendant cheeks and cold eyes whom she took to be the proprietor.

It seemed to her years before she had slipped into her long white coat with the enormous gold frogs and they were through the revolving doors, swaying down the steps, walking toward the avenue.

"Perhaps you'll explain now what all this melodrama is about, Skid Grant," she demanded indignantly. He straightened his opera hat which had been tipped at a ribald angle.

**That woman in the sequin frock was wearing one of Mother's stolen bracelets.'*

"Skid! Are you sure? That was Alix Crane, the night-club

smger

'Well, I'll be darned! Who was the guy—"

A hand seized his shoulder. Whirled him round. Linda had a hectic vision of a patrol wagon with its clanging gong.

"What in thunder is this all about. Grant?" a furious voice demanded. Greg Merton! Topcoatless. His finely modeled head uncovered. "What d'you mean dragging Lindy through that disgusting scene?"

So he still thought of her as "Lindy"! Nice of him when he believed her to be a double-crosser.

"Keep your shirt on, Merton." Skid's voice was low but steady. "Lindy and I were putting on an act. Take her home, will you? I've got to hang round here. Hi! Taxi."

With one foot on the step of the cab Linda looked over her shoulder.

"I don't need anyone to take me home, thank you.**

"Just the same I'm coming."

She sprang in and slammed the door before Merton could follow.

"Go on! Quick, driver," she ordered. And the driver, who knew his business, went on.

XI

THE TWO men watched the red light of the cab dim in the distance. Merton linked his arm in Grant's.

"What's it all about, Skid? You'll have to have a pretty smooth reason for putting on that act with Linda Bourne. I sat a few tables beyond. Tried to reach you to help, but people got in my way."

Grant told him.

"Your mother's bracelet! There must be dozens of diamond bracelets in that room. How could you be sure?"

"She was told years ago that eight was her lucky number. She had the figure 8 in small diamonds set somewhere in

every piece of jewelry she owns, which is always made to order for her. This time there was an 8 on each side of a large emerald."

"Do you mean you could see the numbers in the bracelet of a woman at another table? You must have the eyesight of a condor."

"Not at first. It was the arrangement of the stones that caught my attention. Mother always comes to me to clasp her bracelets. She's awful sweet. Then I kiss her and she says, Thank you, dear,' and smiles at me the way mothers do and we're both all warmed up inside. It's a sort of family ceremony."

Sand in Greg Merton's eyes. His mother had had no diamond bracelets for him to fasten but he knew that smile.

"After that, I had to get near enough to see if that 8 was there," Grant explained. "Luck was with me. I saw it, but what do I do now? Linda says that the dame is Alix Crane the night-club singer!"

"Alix Crane! The girl gossip had Sanders backing in a musical comedy? Are you sure?"

"For the love of Pete! Sanders!"

"How did Linda know her?"

"Probably has seen her in the office. Gosh, I remember. I heard the Crane woman whisper, 'Pedro! Don't follow theml It's Sanders' watchdog secretary.' I lost the rest."

"Who's Pedro?"

"The boy friend with her, I presume. Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Grant stopped under a light. "That's an idea! Who is Pedro? Got to find out. How? I ought to follow that couple, but if I go in after my imitation of a high-roller on high, I'll be chucked out, pronto."

"I'll go for you. I was with a party, but as an extra stag only. I won't be missed. I'll ask questions. This is a new place but I know the proprietor." He anticipated Grant's warning. "Don't worry. I know that all you've told me is off the record. I won't breathe a word of it. Thanks for letting me in on the excitement. Boy, I feel like a cross between J. Edgar Hoover and Philo Vance. Drop into my office in the morning. I may have something to report."

"I'll be there. My name is Tom. Tom Sterling, in case anyone cares."

The proprietor was in the foyer when Greg entered. He had been there when he had dashed past in pursuit of Linda and Grant.

"Did you find your friends, Monsieur?" The Frenchman's outlines swelled like those of a balloon figure being inflated. He puffed pendant cheeks.

"Put 'em in a cab, Francois. When fresh air straightened 56

him up he was darned ashamed of himself. He was cleaned out at the races today and was trying to forget his troubles, not that that is an excuse for such a hick performance."

"I agree with you, Monsieur Merton. Eet would be better eef your friend nevaire try to forget here again. You tell heem. You know heem well?'*

"No. My interest was in the young lady. Old family. Not used to Cafe Society. Tough spot for her. She thinks she dropped a vanity case when she jiunped up from the table. I'll look for it. I remember where they sat."

"Very good. Bonne chance. Monsieur Merton.'*

He had been pretty garrulous about the affair, Greg realized, as he went on to the supper room. Francois, whom he had known for years, must wonder what had made the agent for the premises suddenly so communicative but he knew that said agent could accommodate the proprietor if he lagged in his rent payments or could close him out. He would not talk.

As he entered the supper room, he told the maitre d'hotel his errand. That dignitary was all concern as he ushered him to the table Grant and Linda had occupied. The girl in the gold-sequin frock stared up at him. Shrugged and whispered to the man beside her. He glanced at them casually, but not so casually that he wouldn't recognize them again, before he began to hunt for the missing vanity case. Alix Crane and Pedro! Who was Pedro?

"Not here," he said to the maitre d'hotel. "In the excitement the young lady must have forgotten that she put the vanity into her bag. Thanks."

He slipped a bill into the man's hand and returned to the foyer. The proprietor hurried up to him.

"Did you find the vanity case of the charming mademoiselle. Monsieur Merton?"

"No. If it should be found send it to my office, will you, Francois?"

**Certainment. But you are not leaving so early. Monsieur?"

"Not until I know the name of the party who engaged the table at which the girl in the gold-sequin dress is sitting."

The cheeks of Francois puffed and deflated.

"But, Monsieur, there are so many charming ladies in gold—"

"Listen, Francois. I need the name of the man who was host at that table. Perhaps my tipsy friend wants to send to the lady, via him, an apology in the shape of flowers. Whatever my reason for wanting the information it will not affect you in any way. You don't think I'm fool enough to get a tenant who is paying the enormous rent of a place like this into trouble, do you?" A wireless of understanding flashed between them.

"You may not be a G-man, may you, Monsieur Merton?** The proprietor's strained expression eased in response to Greg's laugh.

"No. No, Fran9ois. I am exactly what you know me to be, a hard-working realtor trying to help a friend ease a guilty conscience. Poor Tom—'*

"What did you say his name was. Monsieur?"

"Never mind his name. He won't come here again, but if he should I'd advise you to be cordial. Scads of money. I'll wait in your oflfice till I get that name."

As he paced the floor of the walnut-paneled room with its scarlet-leather chairs, he thought of his incredulous surprise as he had heard Grant's voice and had seen Linda, cheeks aflame, trying to drag him away from the table. And he thought of his impetuous rush after them and of her contemptuous dismissal of him as he had attempted to follow her into the cab. Quite as if she were the injured party. Hadn't Sanders reluctantly admitted that he had had the first news of Jane Steele's decision to sell from her?

He looked up as a red-faced man with baggy jowls, sparse brown hair and gray-green ferret eyes, in sleek dinner clothes, entered and closed the door behind him.

"Jim Shaw! What are you doing here?"

The man gave an excellent imitation of the proprietor's shrug and bared his prominent teeth in a grin.

"The same to you, Monsoor Merton?"

"I told Francois what I wanted."

Shaw abandoned his Gallic imitations.

"I have it, the name of the host whose guest your tipsy friend tried to discipline for laughing at him. The man is Senor Lorillo. A rich Brazilian. He arrived in New York recently."

"Thanks, Jim. I can't explain now why I want that name. I may need your help about it later. Keep all this under your hat. I'll be seeing you.'*

The next morning Greg Merton grinned as he looked at Skidmore Grant, seated on the comer of the broad, flat desk in his office.

"Why the dark glasses? Why the stubble on your upper lip which, experience tells me, indicates a budding mustache?"

"Disguise, boy, disguise!" Grant hissed. "Can't take a chance of being recognized as the heel who got fresh with a lady, and a night-club singer at that, can I?" He removed the dark spectacles, replaced them with his own and squinted at the slip of paper he held. "Senor Pedro Lorillo. Did you get a good look at him when you went back?"

"I did. Thought him a regular fella till his eyes met mine. 58

It was like an electric shock. Sort of Doctor-Jekyll-and-Mr.-Hyde stuff. He gave me the shivers."

"What's his line?"

"He's working at being a rich Brazilian. You know the brand, they have 'em in the movies—stupendous coffee fa-zendas, sensational cattle ranches, or what have you."

•Think he's a phony, I take it. The others at the table had the New Yorker look all right. Suppose we try to locate him at a hotel? Mind if I use your phone?"

"Just a minute, Skid. Wasn't that jewelry insured? Hasn't the insurance company set scouts tracing it?"

"It has. But I have views. I'd like to try trailmg the thief or thieves myself. I'm really in the big city to find Mother's diamonds, if you want to know.'* He grinned. "I'm psychic. Something tells me they are here."

"Are you sure it was her bracelet? One diamond bracelet looks a lot like another to me. My sister has several but I couldn't pick one of them out of a bimch to save my life."

"As sure as I can be about anything but death and taxes. The one I spotted last night was one of three stolen. The thief got a load of other expensive gewgaws, but I wouldn't be able to identify those in a crowd. If I can trace this one bracelet I may get the others and unearth a gang of international jewel thieves. Lindy knows what I saw last night but you're the only soul on earth who knows the whole story of what I'm after. I've got to have someone to talk to or bust."

"Why me? Why not Sanders? He's a friend of your family."

"Sanders! A friend of the family! He's a friend of the girl who's wearing Mother's bracelet, isn't he? That's an idea! I'll smoke him out. He might give us a tip about the Brazilian. Nope, on second thought, can't do it. He might suspect what I'm up to and it would get around that I'm sleuthing and spoil everything. Besides, I've never liked him since he tried to cut me out with Liudy. Mother admires him. We met him on a North Sea cruise. He has a smooth line with women, especially older ones, and gosh, how they fall for it. You struck me as being a straight-shooter the first time I saw you. I've liked you more since I turned the office building over to you to handle. If you can bear up under the strain I'll sob out my troubles on your shoulder."

Greg wondered if he would be so friendly if he knew that Lindy's charm, her smile and her treachery dominated his thoughts.

"Thanks, Skid. I hope you'll never change your opinion. I'll help all I can. After I left you last night I ran into Jim Shaw, who was at the Club on plainclothes duty. He's a detective who has worked for me tracing tenants who have

the wanderlust, tenants who pick up goods and chattels and depart leaving the rent unpaid. You'd be surprised how often that happens in the best-regulated families and most expensive apartments. He's good. What say, if we set him s niffin g along the trail?"

"You didn't tell him why I put on the act?"

"Hold everything. I didn't tell him that it was an act He's keen. He can snoop out the thief if anyone can. Shall I phone him to come here?"