Chapter VIII: Part 8

In his room again, Braden telephoned the Morses. Edgar Morse answered and made an appointment for three o'clock that afternoon. The pearls were mentioned: Tommy repeated his offer to present them to his friend. Morse was grateful, but yet found it impossible to accept so valuable a gift. He assured Braden once more that there would be no less an obligation despite the payment of a sizeable sum of money. Tommy was relieved.

The morning dragged endlessly. Braden took his driver, midiron and a dozen balls and went to the practice tee where for an hour he slashed out clean, straight shots averaging more than two hundred yards in length. Golfer though he was, he experienced no thrill from the direct, cleaving flight of the balls: he was sufficiently a golfer to know that if his mind were not elsewhere the golfing results would be less satisfactory.

His lunch was tasteless. His eye quested through the huge dining room for a glimpse of Edgar Morse and his wife. They were nowhere to be seen. He knew that they were either lunching in the grill or out driving. The hands of his watch progressed with exasperating slowness. He feared that something might go wrong at the eleventh hour ... occasionally he touched the leather case in the inside pocket of his coat....

But he did not permit his impatience to cause a tactical blunder. It was fully ten minutes past the hour of his appointment when he rapped upon the door of the Morse's suite. Edgar answered in person. The eyes of the little man were a-gleam with eagerness. One glance at Morse and Mrs. Morse convinced Tommy that all was well. They were effusive; couldn't thank him enough for his generous offer of the previous evening and they hoped that he hadn't changed his mind--and that he wouldn't later regret having sold the pearls.

A paean of triumph sang in Braden's heart. He extracted the pearls from his pocket and snapped the case open. Mrs. Morse gasped. He lifted the rope of pearls and personally fastened them about her throat. She was almost tearful with excitement.

Edgar Morse produced a pocket check book. "And now if you will permit me, Mr. Braden--I--er--believe seventy-five thousand is the amount you mentioned."

Tommy nodded. "Yes. That is exactly what they cost me."

Edgar Morse held his pen poised. Rich color flooded his cheeks. He hemmed and hawed for a moment and then--

"I hope you'll pardon me, sir--but how shall I make this check out?"

Tommy frowned. "What's that?"

"How shall I make it out--that is, er--to whose order?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Well, I mean--you know there's the idea around the hotel--that is, about Jared Mallory, and--"

Tommy's voice was crisp. "Just make the check out to Thomas M. Braden."

Morse nodded and wrote swiftly. He extended to Tommy a check for seventy-five thousand dollars payable to Thomas M. Braden and drawn upon the Loop National Bank of Chicago. "I didn't mean to give any offense, Braden. Of course you understand what I thought--that is, other folks were saying----"

"Quite all right, Morse; that's perfectly all right. I have really been exceedingly annoyed by this silly idea that Braden is not my name." He folded the check and slipped it casually in his pocket. "By the way, are we golfing in the morning? I was hitting them mighty cleanly in practice to-day."

Alone in his room again Tommy inspected the check. Veteran though he was, his heart was pounding. He had played cunningly for big stakes and had won a well-deserved victory. There remained nothing for him to do but pack up and get away; then to convert Morse's check into cash and disappear. He decided upon a European trip; Paris had not known him for several years and he longed for the sensuous pleasures of the Boulevards.... He ripped open the drawers of his dresser and the doors of his chifforobe: the task of packing promised to make up in speed what it may have lacked in neatness.

Of course he knew that he must manage his going away carefully. Morse must not know that he was hastening his departure ... he'd carry one suitcase and send back for the trunks the next day, or else eliminate them from his scheme of things. The important task was to place a maximum of distance between himself and his victims in a minimum of time. He worked feverishly at his packing, pausing occasionally to glance at the check which had recently been handed him. He was a trifle sorry for the Morses, but, he figured that they could well afford to lose the money ... nor would it prove a loss unless by some mischance the pearls should be recognized and there seemed little likelihood of that. Certainly the Morses did not move on a social plane where they were likely to meet persons familiar with the Vanduyn pearls. They might, of course, boast that they had purchased the pearls from Jared Mallory and news of this might reach that gentleman which, in all probability, would start something. But, in so far as Tommy could figure, no one was suffering through the transaction. What injury had been inflicted upon the Vanduyns had been done long ago.

It was a pleasing philosophy and Tommy Braden felt quite virtuous. He scarcely heard the light rap on the door. Only when the rapping became insistent did he open.

Jim Hanvey waddled into the room. He wore a suit which he fancied was a tweed. It hung loosely about his ungainly figure. The golden toothpick was very much in evidence. Jim blinked slowly--"Gosh! Tommy, you ain't going away, are you?"

Mr. Braden was flustered. He had a premonition of disaster. If only he could hold Jim off for a brief span of time.... "Just running up to Chicago for a few days, Jim. Coming right back. Merely carrying one bag."

"Awful swell diggings, Tommy. How much do they sting you for this soot?"

"Plenty, Jim, plenty. Say, how about trotting up to Chi with me for a day or so?"

"Naw! Can't stir, Son. I've got to stick around here another day or so if it kills me. How long you planning to be gone?"

"Oh! two or three days at the most."

"No special business or nothing like that, is there, Tommy?"

Tommy flushed. He had a disturbing presentiment that there was a menace cloaked beneath Jim's words. "Nothing wrong, if that's what you mean, Jim."

"Good boy. It wouldn't be wise for a guy that's as well fixed as you to take another flyer. Of course I know there's plenty of temptation and all that--but the game ain't worth the electric flashlight, Son--not by a durn sight."

Braden was ill-at-ease. "Wish you'd come along with me, Jim. I hate to travel alone."

"Sorry, Tommy."

"You'll be here when I get back, won't you?"

Jim shook his head ponderously. "Nope. Don't reckon I will. Got to hike back to N'Yawk and turn in a report. I've been right lucky recently, Son; right lucky."

Braden was relieved. "Landed your man?"

"No-o. Not exactly. I wasn't particularly interested in that. It was an insurance company that sent me down here and all they wanted was the stuff. Interesting case, Tommy; awful interesting."

"I'll wager it was." He crammed two suits of pajamas in the travelling bag.

"You know," Jim's voice was easily conversational, "we'd almost given up hope of ever getting them Vanduyn pearls back."

Tommy Braden sat down very suddenly. "The--the what?"

"The Vanduyn pearls. Remember the case? Mickey Donley pulled it."

Braden leaned forward. "I don't quite make you, Jim. Do you mean to tell me that you've recovered the Vanduyn pearls?"

"Surest thing you know. We knew Mickey couldn't get rid of 'em so we watched the boys he was calling on. Trailed 'em that away, see? And the poor sucker that bought 'em off Mickey found a goat and sold 'em--and I got' em that way. I'm right lucky about things like that."

Mr. Thomas Matlock Braden was dazed. He knew that Jim Hanvey was speaking the truth. And yet--He gave ear to the even monotone of the detective.

"And say, Tommy; next time we meet I'll take you on in a golf match. I'm getting my first lesson this afternoon. I run across a swell feller last night. Guy named Morse: Edgar H. Morse. Know him?"

Tommy stared. He moistened dry lips with his tongue. "Go ahead, Jim."

"Well, Eddie Morse is taking me out on the links this afternoon. He says it ain't so hard if a guy is willing to practice for fifteen or twenty years. Think of me swinging a golf club. I'll feel like a sap. But anyway I like this bird Morse. Feel like I and he was buddies even though I never met him until late last night." Jim blinked slowly as he toyed with the gold toothpick which rested against his vest. "He's interested in joolry, too, Tommy. Me and him had a long talk about pearls and things. He knew all about the Vanduyn robbery; remembered the whole thing the minute I reminded him of it. Uh-huh, me and Eddie Morse got along fine together."

Tommy Braden sought to readjust his battered scheme of things. Above everything, he was a game loser. A thin, twisted smile appeared on his lips.

"I'm a fool, Jim."

"How so, Son?"

"For thinking that you are the idiot you appear to be."

"Gosh! I couldn't be that, could I?"

"Hardly. I take it, Jim, that you knew the person to whom Mickey Donley sold the Vanduyn pearls. You located him at this place and followed him here. You discovered that there was considerable mystery about him and also that Edgar Morse was his only intimate acquaintance. You presumed, of course, that Morse was the goat--and so you went straight to that gentleman and warned him against buying any pearls which might be offered. Is that correct?"

Jim grinned in pleased surprise. "Golly! Son, you're clever. How'd you know all that?"

"Just guessing, Jim." He rose heavily. "I'd better travel along, I suppose. I'm mighty glad you're not going to nab the poor fish who tried to pull the deal. You're a white man, Jim Hanvey."

"Shuh! We don't care nothing for that feller. It was just a bit of a business deal with him. Hmm! So you're running up to Chicago, eh?"

"Yes." And then--"Why?"

"Oh! nothin' special. Except that if you should happen to be thinking of cashing a check which somebody might have given you on--well, say the Loop National Bank; I think you'd better change your mind. You see, the feller which gave you that check happens to be a friend of mine and just to avoid embarrassment I suggested to him last night that he should make out the check on a bank where he hasn't got any money. And he kind of seemed to think it was a good idea."

Tommy Braden had the grace to laugh. He clasped Jim Hanvey's hand--

"Thanks for the tip, Jim. You're surely a thoughtful chap. And one of these days we'll try some golf; what do you say?"

"We sure will, Tommy--unless it turns out that I ain't got sense enough to learn the darn game."

THE END