The Chinese Jewel/Chapter 3

HEN Marvella—she had chosen the name for herself—first met King Tom Reagan, Billy Steele was on hand to witness the meeting. And from that moment, having a full view of Reagan's face and reading Reagan's unhidden look, he thought that at last he had an indication of the first step toward the hoped-for undoing of the master criminal. For it was Steele's good fortune to know much of Marvella Nevil—the surname, too, by the way and for less sentimental and more practical reasons had been hand-picked after other worn-out names had served their purpose and been discarded—and of her record, while it devolved later that she danced into King Reagan's knowledge for the first time that night.

That Steele should have been in a place where he could observe their meeting was due not in the least to chance, but altogether to his persistence in keeping his quarry in sight as much as possible. To-night he had followed him from his own home to his club; thereafter to the Delmere for dinner. He saw Reagan take his chair; he marked how Reagan's eyes began their customary swift survey of the room. And in this case he knew that Reagan had not seen him. For the keen, questing eyes, before ever they traveled to that part of the dining room where Steele sat, had found Marvella.

Steele knew that Reagan had never been a man to lose his head over a woman; in all Reagan's past career, which he knew, there had never entered a woman. The look now in Reagan's eyes told Steele of a man who after long years sees the Wonder Woman. In his heart he must have dreamed dreams; now in a brief daze of amazement he saw his dreamings materialized in Marvella Nevil.

“I didn't know Marvella was in New York,” mused Steele as he looked back and forth between the two persons whose destinies he saw on the verge of commingling. “If those two joined forces—what a combination!”

Marvella Nevil was of that rare type of woman, who, seen only once and even casually, insists upon creating a vivid and lasting impression. Here was a superlative beauty as unquestioned as the beauty of the loveliest orchid. Steele had seen her the first time some three years before, at a time when she was under suspicion of heading a shrewd organization that was smuggling diamonds from Europe into New York via the long route through China. A case on which he had been working at the time promised to implicate her, but in the end left her unmolested. He had had one brief interview with her which he had not forgotten. A second time he had seen her one night at the opera when he was with Adolf Blair, the artist. Blair, on seeing her, had started violently, and Steele had felt the positive thrill through the man's shoulder as his careless eyes found her and rested on her in an astonishment that was little short of adoration.

“Good heavens,” Blair had said sharply. “Who is that woman?” And then, rushing on without tarrying for an answer, speaking under his breath in a sort of awed whisper: “I'd give a thousand dollars for the chance to get her down on canvas!”

Well, Steele did not laugh at Blair. Nor did he so much as smile at the burning enthusiasm, for it was natural for an artist like Blair to long for so striking a model as Marvella Nevil. The woman at the time had been only a few weeks in New York, and already the city, or at least that part of it which knew her, was quite willing to go mad over her. Upon this woman now were the eyes of King Reagan bent.

Blair might have made a fair image of Marvella; words are too cold for the beginning of the task. She. made one think somehow of dusky twilight in some “far-off corner of the South Seas,” if ever there were a setting to do her justice.

Now Reagan's was no light, passing interest; Steele was sure of that. The man was fascinated and did not care the snap of his big, powerful fingers who knew. For a long time he sat regarding her intently. Marvella was alone, just beginning her solitary dinner. Now and then she nodded and smiled as some acquaintance passed; a party entered and two of the men hung on their heels a moment to greet her, while Marvella rewarded them with a brilliant smile. Then it was, as the two men moved on to rejoin their companions, that Reagan sprang to his feet. Immediately Steele knew what he was going to do. Reagan knew one of these men who had spoken to Marvella, and within two minutes he himself had been introduced. And now no longer was Marvella dining alone. Reagan, his back toward Steele, was her dinner partner.

Steele, taking that Reagan did not see him, got up then and hurried to the Western Union desk. In code he wrote a message to Chet Andrews, San Francisco. Decoded the message read:

"BEAUTIFUL LADY OF ANTWERP HONG KONG DIAMOND CASE HERE EVIDENTLY JUST ARRIVED DID SHE COME THROUGH SAN FRANCISCO IS SHE STILL IN THE OLD GAME GIVE ME ALL INFORMATION POSSIBLE OF RECENT ACTIONS AND CONNECTIONS. RUSH."

Having dispatched his telegram, he devoted himself to what appeared an idle lounging while he watched for Reagan and Marvella to leave the dining room. In the meantime he stepped out to the curb and hired a taxi, instructing the driver to wait for him and to be in readiness for a quick get-away were such required.

It was a full hour before Marvella Nevil, attended by Reagan, came out. They loitered. Marvella was radiant, filled with the joy of life, and plainly enjoying the attention Reagan was paying her. Though early, the evening crowds were swelling; the lobby was filling; it would soon be time to be thinking of the theater. Steele was asking himself if Marvella and Reagan were going out together, perhaps to some Broadway show, or if Marvella were staying here and in a moment would leave her escort and disappear in one of the elevators, when he saw two men pressing forward, their eyes on Reagan. Steele lifted his brows. One of the oncomers was young Stephen Carrington, whom all New York knew by name and fame. Only ten days ago the papers had been filled with him for the simple and interesting reason that he had come into full control of his late father's money, which meant many, many millions of dollars. And Stephen, boyish-looking, was the boy he appeared, having celebrated his twenty-first birthday only ten days ago. The other man was “Colonel” Harwood, an old friend of Carrington, senior, and, as the papers had it, the boy's chief adviser.

Seeing that the two bore down on Reagan and Marvella and that there were others near by whom he might use as a screen to his own nearness, Steele came nearer. He saw Reagan start; he had the look of a man suddenly recalling something which he had forgotten. Steele saw Colonel Harwood's look also, and guessed that the colonel had an appointment with Reagan which he had fleetingly forgotten.

In another moment Colonel Harwood was shaking hands with Reagan. Reagan frowned; then swiftly his expression changed and he returned Harwood's greeting warmly. He was introduced to young Carrington, who seemed eager to meet him; both newcomers were presented to Marvella.

Then Steele heard Marvella's clear sweet voice saying in Marvella's own way of girlish delight:

“Oh, it's Mr. Carrington! How do you do?” And the rest Steele did not hear. But he saw that Marvella already knew Stephen Carrington.

Right then Billy Steele made one of the big guesses of his life. King Reagan, operating through Colonel Harwood, was just beginning a campaign for some part of young Stephen Carrington's millions. And Marvella Nevil, with the same objective, had already begun her own campaign!

They chatted there for ten minutes. Reagan looked curiously at Marvella and from her to young Carrington. Steele fancied that already there was a flicker of jealousy in Reagan's regard; he, a man of forty-five, perhaps, longed for Carrington's freshness of one and twenty. Presently the four went out together. Carrington's car was waiting; they drove off in it. Steele, in his taxi, followed. And at the end of the drive he saw the four enter the big Carrington home.

Steele hurried off to his own rooms to await impatiently the answer to his telegram. Just before midnight it came, and when Steele had read it his eyes were shining and he vowed to send his old friend Chet Andrews a big box of the best cigars in town. For Chet had the “dope,” as he felt sure he would, and sent a message which, decoded and punctuated, read:

“It would appear like the setting for an elaborate and complicated game of cross purposes,” Steele meditated. “To start with, there's young Carrington with his many millions. There's King Reagan making a campaign at him from one angle; there's Marvella attacking the same millions from another point. There's Kwang-kung after Marvella and the jewel she no doubt stole from under his fingers, and, on top of it all, there's King Reagan gone suddenly hot and heady with his first infatuation. There's Colonel Harwood; where does he fit in? He introduces Reagan and Carrington. Would he be above letting the wolf into the fold were he offered his own slice of the millions? And finally there is Billy Steele and his own skin to save. If I were you, Billy, my son, I'd keep an eye on the colonel while I sought for Kwang-kung, and first, last, and all the time, I'd watch Marvella Nevil's game.”