Part 28 (2/2)

McLear appeared somewhat puzzled. ”Her husband is one of our old subscribers,” he pursued. ”He is a lawyer on Wall Street and quite a gem collector. Last night his safe was tampered with, but this morning he reports no loss. Not half an hour ago he had us on the wire congratulating us on scaring off the burglars, if there had been any.”

”What is your opinion,” I asked. ”Is there a gang operating?”

”My belief is,” he answered, reminiscently of his days on the detective force, ”that none of the loot will be recovered until they start to 'fence' it. That would be my lay--to look for the fence. Why, think of all the big robberies that have been pulled off lately. Remember,” he went on, ”the spoils of a burglary consist generally of precious stones. They are not currency. They must be turned into currency--or what's the use of robbery?

”But merely to offer them for sale at an ordinary jeweler's would be suspicious. Even p.a.w.nbrokers are on the watch. You see what I am driving at? I think there is a man or a group of men whose business it is to pay cash for stolen property and who have ways of returning gems into the regular trade channels. In all these robberies we get a glimpse of as dark and mysterious a criminal as has ever been recorded.

He may be--anybody. About his legitimacy, I believe, no question has ever been raised. And, I tell you, his arrest is going to create a greater sensation than even the remarkable series of robberies that he has planned or made possible. The question is, to my mind, who is this fence?”

McLear's telephone rang and he handed the instrument to Craig.

”Yes, this is Professor Kennedy,” answered Craig. ”Oh, too bad you've had to try all over to get me. I've been going from one place to another gathering clues and have made good progress, considering I've hardly started. Why--what's the matter? Really?”

An interval followed, during which McLear left to answer a personal call on another wire.

As Kennedy hung up the receiver, his face wore a peculiar look. ”It was Mrs. Moulton,” he blurted out. ”She thinks that her husband has found out that the necklace is paste.”

”How?” I asked.

”The paste replica is gone from her wall safe in the Deluxe.”

I turned, startled at the information. Even Kennedy himself was perplexed at the sudden succession of events. I had nothing to say.

Evidently, however, his rule was when in doubt play a trump, for, twenty minutes later found us in the office of Lynn Moulton, the famous corporation lawyer, in Wall Street.

Moulton was a handsome man of past fifty with a youthful face against his iron gray hair and mustache, well dressed, genial, a man who seemed keenly in love with the good things of life.

”It is rumored,” began Kennedy, ”that an attempt was made on your safe here at the office last night.”

”Yes,” he admitted, taking off his gla.s.ses and polis.h.i.+ng them carefully. ”I suppose there is no need of concealment, especially as I hear that a somewhat similar attempt was made on the safe of my friend Herman Schloss in Maiden Lane.”

”You lost nothing?”

Moulton put his gla.s.ses on and looked Kennedy in the face frankly.

”Nothing, fortunately,” he said, then went on slowly. ”You see, in my later years, I have been something of a collector of precious stones myself. I don't wear them, but I have always taken the keenest pleasure in owning them and when I was married it gave me a great deal more pleasure to have them set in rings, pendants, tiaras, necklaces, and other forms for my wife.”

He had risen, with the air of a busy man who had given the subject all the consideration he could afford and whose work proceeded almost by schedule. ”This morning I found my safe tampered with, but, as I said, fortunately something must have scared off the burglars.”

He bowed us out politely. What was the explanation, I wondered. It seemed, on the face of things, that Antoinette Moulton feared her husband. Did he know something else already, and did she know he knew?

To all appearances he took it very calmly, if he did know. Perhaps that was what she feared, his very calmness.

”I must see Mrs. Moulton again,” remarked Kennedy, as we left.

The Moultons lived, we found, in one of the largest suites of a new apartment hotel, the Deluxe, and in spite of the fact that our arrival had been announced some minutes before we saw Mrs. Moulton, it was evident that she had been crying hysterically over the loss of the paste jewels and what it implied.

”I missed it this morning, after my return from seeing you,” she replied in answer to Craig's inquiry, then added, wide-eyed with alarm, ”What shall I do? He must have opened the wall safe and found the replica. I don't dare ask him point-blank.”

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