West of Guam (40 page)

There was a pause. The voice said: “Speak, please, Señor Gar.”

Jo Gar smiled with a touch of grimness. “I am still in my cabin, Señor,” he replied.

The other said: “That is wise. You will be wiser not to attempt tracing this call. It will prove useless.”

The Island detective said: “Perhaps that is so.”

There was a short silence. Then the other said in the same, flat voice:

“You would be well rewarded if you were to return to Manila with the missing stones, and the murderer, Señor Gar. There would be rest for you. That is why I ask the amount you would be willing to pay.”

Jo Gar said slowly: “I am a poor man.”

The other’s voice became sharp again. “You have been fortunate, Señor Gar. In the States it will be different. And the diamonds will not be difficult to sell.”

The Island detective’s voice held a grim note. “They are very fine stones, and perfectly matched. By this time they are very well known. Perhaps they would be extremely difficult to sell.”

Impatience was evident in the voice that came from the other end of the wire.

“You are not a fool—you know the stones will not be difficult to dispose of, Señor Gar. You know they will be smuggled through the customs officers. And in San Francisco you will lose the trail you were lucky enough to pick up. Even if you should blunder on—”

The voice died. Jo Gar said grimly: “All this being so, why do you call me?”

The voice said: “I do not care what becomes of the nine diamonds, or of a certain murderer. I need money. I call you to give you the chance, the big chance. You have traveled many miles, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective spoke in a low voice. “How do I know that you will direct me to the right person?”

The voice held a hard note. “I do not expect you to trust me, señor.

You may pay after you are convinced.”

The Island detective was silent. The other said: “The question is—how
much
will you pay?”

Jo Gar replied steadily: “There is a reward of ten thousand dollars offered by the owner of the Manila jewelry shop, whose son was killed. I imagine the insurance company would pay twenty thousand dollars for the return of the stones.”

“No—that will not do.” The other’s voice was steady. “That is all in the future. I must have payment now. If I do not have it—the murderer and the diamonds will vanish when the
Cheyo Maru
arrives at San Francisco. That is all.”

Jo Gar spoke gently into the French phone mouthpiece. His eyes were almost closed.

“I do not carry thousands of dollars about with me. I am a poor man.”

The voice said calmly: “You are known to the captain of the boat. I am not asking much. Five thousand dollars, and one half of your reward, when you receive it, Señor Gar. And I am not to be betrayed.”

Jo Gar widened his eyes and smiled. “You are only to betray,” he said grimly.

The other’s voice was very low and hard. “That is—quite so,” he said. “You agree?”

The Island detective stopped smiling. “I agree,” he said simply. “I will pay five thousand dollars to you, in the manner you direct, after the stones are recovered and the murderer is under arrest. I will give you half of my reward when it is paid. I am very tired. Your identity will not be known, only to me.”

“No,” the other said. “It will not be known to you. I will trust you. If you do not pay, I will kill you. That will be very simple, since you will not know against whom to guard.”

Jo Gar said tonelessly: “Yes—very simple.”

There was a short pause. The other’s voice was very flat when it reached Jo’s ear again.

“In Cabin C. 15 there was a woman named Jetmars. She has with her a little girl of about eight. She got aboard at Manila, and dresses in black most of the time. Possibly you have seen her.”

The Island detective said steadily: “Yes—I have noticed her, and the little girl.”

The voice said: “In her cabin or on her person, or on the person of the little girl—are the diamonds. When you have obtained them I will communicate again with you. I will know the time.”

Jo Gar said, “And she is also a murderess?”

The voice replied flatly: “Yes.”

There was a clicking sound, and when Jo spoke again there was no answer. He hung up the receiver, threw a light robe about him and hurried from the cabin. When he reached the small cabin that held the
Cheyo Maru
switchboard, he was breathing swiftly. A Chinese boy stared at him with dark, long eyes.

“I am Señor Gar,” Jo said softly. “An important call just reached me in Cabin B. 10. I would like very much to know where it came from—what part of the boat.”

The Chinese boy said easily: “I remember making the connection. It came from one of the three phones in the men’s smoking room.”

The Island detective smiled a little wearily.

“Thank you,” he said, and moved back towards his cabin. Inside, he removed his robe, lighted a brown-paper cigarette and lay flat on his back, blowing thin streams of smoke towards the cabin ceiling. There was very little motion to the boat.

“Curious,” Jo murmured. “A woman who dresses in black. A little girl. And the one who gives me the name tells me the woman is a killer and possesses the stones. He would share a large reward with me, and he will kill me if I refuse to pay his share. He is very careful—”

The Island detective sat up slowly as the phone made a buzzing sound again.

“Señor Gar,” he said.

The flat voice came clearly. “I told you it would be useless to attempt tracing the call, Señor. You have made a bargain. If you do not stick to it—”

Jo Gar said grimly: “You will kill me?”

The other replied: “Yes.”

The Island detective was silent for a few seconds. Then he said:

“In that case you will be able to collect the diamonds and the reward. You will not have to share anything.”

There was a tight-lipped smile on his face as he spoke. But the one at the other end of the wire said sharply:

“It is simpler for you to do—than for me. That is why I made an offer.”

Jo Gar inhaled smoke from his cigarette. “Look about the smoking room,” he suggested. “Is there a short man present—rather heavy? Smoking a cigar—very black?”

The man at the other end of the phone chuckled. It was a dry, rasping chuckle.

“Thinking, that such a person might be present, I am not making
this
call from the smoking room,” he said almost pleasantly. The switchboard boy will tell you I am calling from the sun deck, port side.”

Jo Gar said: “Pardon—I shall make no further effort to learn your identity.”

The other chuckled again. “Thank you, Señor,” he mocked. “But even should you change your mind—it will be of no use. A pleasant trip—and good fortune.”

Again there was the clicking sound. Jo Gar went away from the cabin phone, frowning.

“I think the gentleman is a liar,” he muttered very softly, “but I can not afford to simply think. As for this being a pleasant trip—”

He squeezed the brown paper of the cigarette with stubby fingers, raised his narrow shoulders very slowly in a half shrug.

“He is too wise for that,” he said with finality. “It will be extremely unpleasant—for one of us.”

On the third day out the
Cheyo Maru
was rolling a bit; spray was breaking over the prow and there were not too many passengers on the decks. Jo Gar stood near the starboard rail, well aft, and watched the woman in black and the little girl who accompanied her. The woman was middle-aged, had a rather sharp, sunburned face. The child was not very pretty. She was stringing beads. The woman paid little attention to her, and none to the other passengers. Jo had been watching her closely for two days, and yet he had not appeared to be watching. And he had listened to many voices of men, hearing none like the one that had come over the phone. He had not expected that.

He was working under a handicap; he felt that he was being watched and he did not know the person who watched him. He had learned that the woman who wore black much of the time was named Rosa Jetmars, that she had come aboard at Manila and that the child was her daughter. The purser volunteered the information that he understood Mrs. Jetmars was Spanish, had married an American in the Islands. Her husband had died very recently. His body was not aboard the vessel, but it was thought that his widow was going to the States and his family. That was all the Island detective had learned. It had little to do with the nine missing diamonds.

Someone near the rail called attention to a school of flying fish. It was a large one; the little girl jumped from her deck chair, started towards the rail. She tripped, fell awkwardly, crying out. Beads scattered and rolled across the deck. Jo Gar started forward, but an elderly man had already lifted the girl. Something blue rolled and struck against Jo’s right shoe. The woman in black was bending over the girl. She seemed angry. She spoke in Spanish and very rapidly. Her back was turned to Jo.

He leaned down and picked up the bead. It was peculiarly cut, for a bead—touch told him that instantly. He glanced at it, his eyes narrowing. Several men were picking up other beads from the deck surface—much fuss was being made over the child. The woman in black had taken her back to her chair, was talking rapidly to her. Jo Gar slipped the bead in his pocket and stared at the vanishing school of flying fish.

When he glanced towards the woman in black again she was still talking to the child. Men were putting beads in the girl’s lap. There was laughter now, and the woman in black did not seem so angry. After a few minutes Jo Gar went below, locked his cabin door and got the one Von Loffler diamond from its tiny pocket in the cork of one of his medicine bottles.

He compared it with the bead, which was blue. His lips parted and he said very softly:

“The cutting is—exactly the same!”

An hour later, in the captain’s cabin, he had the diamond expert who had helped him earlier in the trip examine the bead. When the expert had finished his examination he said in a puzzled voice:

“It is exceptionally well cut—diamond cut. Nothing cheap about the cutting. A great deal of care has been taken—for a piece of blue glass.”

Jo Gar said slowly: “There is no doubt but what it is glass?”

The expert smiled at him. “Not a bit—it is blue glass, cut as a fine diamond might be. A good-sized diamond. Like, say, one of the Von Loffler stones you—”

Jo Gar’s frown stopped him. The captain raised his head and stared at Jo. But the Island detective simply reached for the bead, slipped it into a pocket of his light suiting. He reached for his packet of cigarettes.

The captain of the Japanese liner said in his stiff English:

“It is very curious, Señor Gar—”

The Island detective showed his white teeth in a lazy smile. He nodded his head very slowly.

“Very curious,” he agreed cheerfully. “But many curious facts are not too important.”

The captain said: “It will not be very long before we dock in San Francisco, Señor. It has been an exciting voyage for you, and not very successful. One diamond recovered—and nine still missing.”

Jo Gar offered cigarettes, lighted one. The diamond expert spoke.

“But he has this bit of blue glass—it may be that it is important.”

The Island detective smiled. “In what way?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other. The captain shrugged, smiled. The diamond expert muttered to himself. The captain said:

“Each of us has our profession—yours is a difficult one, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective grinned. “Often I am given unexpected help,” he said. “Perhaps it will be that way—before we land.”

He went towards the door of the captain’s cabin, still smiling. But when he had bowed to the two men and was outside, his smile faded. He went without too much haste to his cabin, and had been inside only a few minutes when the phone buzzed. The flat voice said:

“I have additional information for you, Señor. The diamonds are to be smuggled through the customs as the child’s beads. Perhaps they will be dipped in ink, or painted blue.”

Jo Gar said evenly: “Thank you. But the diamonds have no holes in them—how can they be strung?”

There was slight impatience in the other’s tone.

“Perhaps there will be some beads cut somewhat like the diamonds, in a box the child has. Some will be strung, but others will not be strung. It is not likely the customs officers will examine each bead in the box.”

Jo Gar was smiling grimly, but his voice was serious. “That is so. It is a clever idea.”

The other’s voice said: “But do not work too fast, Señor. I do not think the child has the diamonds, at present.”

The clicking sound followed. Jo hung up and looked out of the port, at the roughening water. He thought: Nor do
I
think the child has them at the present moment. The woman in black was not much concerned about the spilled beads, when the girl fell on the deck. If I were to get into the cabin occupied by the woman and child, find a box of beads—I would probably find no diamonds. And yet, if I wait until the customs inspection is made—

He turned away from the port, frowning. He breathed softly: