The Under-World/Chapter 5

My friend, now what do you think of that? Just before John came into my office I doubt if there was a happier man in Paris than I. The minute after, I don't believe there was a more miserable one, or a madder. For quick as a flash I guessed at what had happened, and I cursed myself for a fool not to have thought of it before.

As soon as I could speak I asked:

“When did you find this out?”

“This morning,” said John, in a dull voice. “Edith opened the safe to get some money and found that the pearls were gone.”

“Where were you both last night?” I asked.

“I was at the Automobile Club and didn't get in until late. Edith and Mary spent the evening in the studio and didn't go to bed until about midnight.”

“Were any of the servants about?”

“No. When she went out to the studio after dinner Edith told them they might turn in as soon as they had finished their work.”

I ripped out a savage curse. It was as plain to me as a pock-marked Hottentot. That accursed Chu-Chu had gone back the second night on his own and opened the safe. A little box like that would be a nursery puzzle to an expert like Chu-Chu. No doubt he considered this job his own private affair, but it was barely possible that he might have turned over the string to Ivan.

I thought hard for a moment, then said to John:

“This is certainly rotten. Here I have gone and got Miss Dalghren's pearls, and now you come and spring it on me that Edith's have been stolen.”

“What?” cried John, rousing up. “You've got Mary's pearls?”

“Here they are,” said I, and threw the packet on the table. “For Heaven's sake put them in the safe deposit now, and tell her to get a reconstructed string. If these confounded women wouldn't insist on wearing fortunes on their bodies the prisons wouldn't be so crowded.” I tell you, my friend, I was hot.

John sat and stared at the packet in a surly sort of way. Then he picked it up, dropped it into his pocket, and gave me a look that didn't help my temper any.

“Well,” says he, heavily, “since you've managed to get this string, no doubt you may be able to find the other.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” said I. “Well, if you'd been there to see how easy it was for me to get the first string you might not find it such a cinch to get the second.”

“How is that?” he asked. “Don't you think that they were probably both stolen by the same person?”

“Yes,” I answered; “I do. But the first was stolen more for spite and to get me back to graft than for the money value. But this second job looks more like theft for its own sake.”

“Just the same,” growled John, “it isn't the motive so much as the the fact that counts. If you were able to make 'em choke up Mary's pearls, why can't you use the same methods to get back Edith's?”

“Oh, because,” I answered, wearily, “the first was an official, what you might call syndicate, job. The second is a little private enterprise on the part of the operator. Or, at least, it looks to me like that. However, I'll do my best. You'd better go back to the house and give Miss Dalghren her pearls, and tell her for Heaven's sake to put 'em in a safe place. It's all my fault, I know. I should have cleared out, like I wanted to, and all of this wouldn't have happened.”

John leaned over and dropped his hand on my knee.

“At any rate, Frank,” says he, “you know that we all have perfect confidence in you, old chap.”

He tried to make his voice hearty, but somehow it fell flat.

“Thanks,” said I. “That's not what's worrying me just now.

“What is?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I answered.

“Look here, Frank,” says John. “Is there any actual—er, risk to you in looking for these pearls?”

“Oh, not a bit,” I answered. “It's just like picking daisies.”

John looked worried. Says he, “If there's any physical danger about it just chuck the whole thing. Edith wouldn't wish it and neither do I. Tell me the truth, old man.”

“I can't tell you what I don't know,” I answered. “If Edith's pearls are turned in at headquarters the chief will be just as much surprised as I and hand them over without a word. He's not the man to do things by halves. But if the thief has held back the pearls the chances are that that's the last we'll ever see of them. The string would be so broken up as to make it almost impossible to trace. Anyway, considering what you have done in getting me off, the police would hardly take up the case. Your friend the prefect would shrug his shoulders and ask what the deuce you expected.”

John's face cleared a little. His solicitude for my personal safety rather touched me.

“I'll leave it all to you, Frank,” he said, “but mind you, you're not to run any physical danger. It's not worth it, and Edith would be heart-broken if you were to come to any harm. So would I. Now I'll be off. Good luck to you, and don't do anything rash. You can't tell, maybe it's some entirely outside person.”

He got up, and, giving me a nod, went out. But I didn't like the way his eyes avoided mine, and I wondered if perhaps, deep down, he might not be less sure of me than he was willing to show.

When he had gone I sat for a few minutes thinking hard. Then I opened the drawer of my desk, took out an automatic pistol that I kept there, loaded it and slipped it into the side pocket of my coat.

“Look after the office while I am gone,” I said to Gustave, my little mécanicien, and went out and hopped into a taxi, giving Ivan's address.

Ivan was at home, and as I was shown into his bureau he looked up sharply. I didn't waste any time in getting to the point. As soon as the door closed I said:

“Count, I am sorry to trouble you again, but there is a fresh complication. Mr. Cuttynge has just been to the office with the pleasing news that his wife's pearls have been stolen also.”

Ivan's face was not pleasant to see.

“Indeed?” said he, “what are the particulars?”

“Before I say more,” I answered, “permit me to assure you that I have no doubt whatever but that this is the first news you have received of this latter theft.”

Ivan bowed with a sort of satirical smile on his thin lips.

“Thank you,” said he. “I would scarcely have given you the first string if I had meant to keep the other.”

I told him what I had just learned from John. Ivan's face darkened.

“What is your theory?” he asked.

“I suspect Chu-Chu,” said I. “To my mind there is no doubt of it. I think that he went back last night and collared Mrs. Cuttynge's pearls while she and Miss Dalghren were in the studio. He knew that their hands were tied. No doubt he considered his obligation to you discharged when he handed over the others.”

Ivan frowned and shook his head. “No,” said he; “Chu-Chu is one of my regular workers, and not at liberty to do anything on the outside. Or, at least, if he should attempt anything on his own account, he is bound by our agreement to turn the proceeds in to me. Only in this case his percentage is doubled. In return for this he has the protection of our circle, and when times are bad he can always draw money for personal expenses.”

I had heard of this sort of thing, although an independent man myself.

Ivan glanced at the clock. “If Chu-Chu got the pearls,” said he, “I may look for him before noon. It is now half after ten. Do you care to wait?”

“Suppose he does bring them?” I asked.

Ivan made an impatient gesture with his hand. “It is all of the same piece,” he snapped. “On your account, that house is exempt from our affairs. If Chu-Chu has stolen those pearls he has disobeyed orders, and in that case he may take his choice between handing over the pearls to you or severing all connection with me. He will probably prefer the former. My organisation is worth more to him than even so valuable a necklace of pearls. But if by any chance he should decide on the latter, then, my dear Mr. Clamart, you will have to arrange matters with Chu-Chu I am not given to half-measures, and having decided on my course of action I will carry it out. But there is a limit to my authority. If you care to wait I will show you into the library, and if Chu-Chu comes here you may talk to him yourself. He is coming this morning as I have some other matters to discuss with him.”

“Thank you,” said I; “then I'll wait.”

Ivan showed me into a small but handsomely furnished room, the walls lined with bookshelves which were filled with volumes. I selected a work on modern sculpture and sank into a big leather-covered chair.

But I did not read. What Ivan had just said left me with plenty of intellectual food. It was possible, I thought, that he might suspect me of having other ammunition in my magazine than a mere appeal to his sense of fair-dealing, and it occurred to me that if this suspicion bordered on the conviction that I might threaten to expose the gang, the odds were against my getting out of his house alive.

This danger was one that would be increased a thousand times by the arrival of Chu-Chu. Chu-Chu le Tondeur, or M. de Maxeville, as he called himself, was known to the Under-World as being the ablest thief in Europe. His speciality was bank work, usually in the provinces, and his safe opening skill was something marvellous. The most intricate combinations in his sensitive fingers were about as difficult as a game of diabolo. Personally, I detested everything about the man. He was a constitutional assassin. Chu-Chu, the odds being even, would rather kill than not. His favourite weapon was the slung-shot, but he was said to be a man of terrific strength and not long before had killed an agent by a blow on the head with a coup de poing Americain, as they call brass knuckles in France, where, as a matter of fact, they are ten times as much in use as at home. Chu-Chu left a trail of blood behind him wherever he worked. The man had the ingenuity of a Yankee, the cold courage of an Anglo-Saxon, the stealth of a Frenchman, and the remorselessness of a Spaniard. I doubt if there lived a more dangerous enemy to Society. He was a well-educated man, handsome, polished, a brilliant conversationalist, absolutely abstemious in his habits. His reputation with his pals was bad, however, and not many thieves cared to work with him.

From what Ivan had told me, I doubted that he trusted Chu-Chu. But Chu-Chu was too valuable to lose, if it could be helped, and too dangerous to quarrel with. I did not give Ivan himself the credit for a high-grade physical pluck. No doubt he was dangerous enough in his way, but it would not be his own hand that struck.

As the case stood, Ivan had played his game cleverly. Whether he suspected me of daring to lay evidence with the police or not, he had avoided bringing things to a crisis by giving me Miss Dalghren's pearls on my simple protest. But in disclaiming all knowledge of the theft of Edith's pearls and promising to restore them if possible, he had passed the affair up to Chu-Chu. I felt sure that Chu-Chu would deny all knowledge of the matter, and that Ivan would, also. But I felt equally sure that the pearls were at that very moment in Chu-Chu's possession. In this case, he had flatly disobeyed the orders of the Chief.

Now, if Ivan were to say nothing about my having charged Chu-Chu with the job, but waited for Chu-Chu to bring up the subject himself, I felt pretty sure that he would have to wait a long time. If, on the contrary, he brought up the subject at once, Chu-Chu might either deny everything or else admit having stolen the pearls and hand them over. Ivan had no wish to quarrel with Chu-Chu. He might want to break with him, but he would prefer to do this peacefully. If he were to get the pearls I thought it very possible that he would deny the fact to me just the same, rather than risk an open quarrel with Chu-Chu. Then, feeling that I might take the matter to the prefect of police, it was very possible that he would feel himself unfortunately compelled to put me out of permanent action. And I knew that in this he would find an enthusiastic ally in Chu-Chu.

Therefore, as the thing framed up, it appeared that I stood no chance of getting the pearls, whether Chu-Chu owned up or not, but I did stand a good chance of losing my life. Then why didn't I get out of the house while there was still time? For the simple reason that I had gone there after the pearls, and I meant to have them.

Now, it may not look so at first glance, but as a matter of fact the odds were a bit with me. How? It's easy enough. Ivan might know what Chu-Chu would do and Chu-Chu might know what Ivan would do, and I had a darn good idea of what both of them would do. But neither of them knew what I was going to do, and I did. It would never have occurred to their European minds. Your American crook would have thought of it first jump; not that he's keener, but because my plan was the American plan. This was merely to hold them both up before they had a chance to guess at what was coming.

Perhaps that sounds too easy to you, because you are American yourself. But let me explain. Every race has its own method of violence. The Oriental loves poison and slaves behind arras and all that sort of thing in settling misunderstandings. The Teuton likes a duel, the Latin races a knife or stiletto—all good enough in their way and plenty efficient, but all, if you observe, requiring time. Whether to gloat or to sneer or to think it over, all of these older races want a little time before killing. And that is exactly what your Anglo-Saxon hates. He is apt to kill right off the bat or let it go. A word, a blow, bang—and there you are.

The difference is that Europeans and Orientals, while they like the killing well enough, dislike the violence. They shrink from the rough word, the crudeness of the caveman. They want art, and for that reason a sudden outburst on the part of the Westerner always comes to the Easterner with a sort of shock of surprise. In that atmosphere of luxury and refinement I could feel it myself. Sitting there in Ivan's handsome library and looking at his fine old vellum and Louis XIV. chairs and Bokhara rugs it seemed like a hideously rough and impolite play on my part to walk into the next room and stick up those two cultured and refined gentlemen, the one titled and the other decorated. But I made up my mind to do it, just the same; yes, and to turn that Empire-furnished bureau de travail into an Arizona bar-room sham shambles at the first shady move, adding the maître d'hôtel to the bull-pit and any other loose jokers that saw fit to bulge in. It really was simple enough. I can shoot quick and straight and I had nothing much to fear from the result. When it came to a show down my friend the prefect would be only too glad that I'd taken the job off his hands. Chu-Chu's working name was known all over France, and his performances hadn't added a whole lot of lustre to the records of the Police Department. Besides, European thugs have a way of following up old scores owed by their deceased members, especially with the minions of the law.

So I sat there, all taut and drawing, and before long I heard the front door open and a bass voice that I recognised as M. de Maxeville's. He went straight up to Ivan's office, and for half an hour I heard the low rumble of voices.

Then, as I waited, there came the sound of Ivan's quick, nervous step in the corridor outside. I got up out of the big chair and stood, slipping my left hand into the pocket of my coat. I'm just as accurate with the left, and it leaves the right to shake hands with.

“Chu—M. de Maxeville is here,” said Ivan. “He denies all knowledge of Mrs. Cuttynge's pearls. In fact, he has managed to convince me that he is telling the truth. As it is, he is very angry because I gave back the other string to you. I have told him that you are here and he insists that you come in and make your charges yourself. Do you care to do so?”

“Yes,” said I, “if it's all the same to you.”

“Then come,” said Ivan, and led the way to the office.