The Star of Delhi s-225

  The Star of Delhi

  ( Shadow - 225 )

  Maxwell Grant

  From out of the East came this priceless jewel, that turned men into murderous monsters and created a toll of dead men that even The Shadow was hard put to check!

  THE STAR OF DELHI

  Maxwell Grant

  CHAPTER I. THE SECRET SIX

  "The Star of Delhi!"

  The man who spoke the words pronounced them with a tone of awe, as well he might. Resting in the white plush of the opened jewel casket was a magnificent sapphire, the largest that he had ever seen.

  It wasn't surprising that he recognized the gem, for it was Raymond Walder's business, as head of Walder Co, noted New York jewelers, to identify precious stones.

  But he hadn't expected to find the Star of Delhi in the possession of Armand Lenfell. Though a financier, wealthy enough to buy the Star of Delhi many times over, Lenfell had never rated as a jewel fancier in Walder's opinion.

  Hence Walder's thin features, usually drab and expressionless, were registering amazement. He looked toward Lenfell, saw a smile on the financier's broad, heavy-jowled face. Then Walder's eyes returned to the Star of Delhi, as though drawn by a magnet.

  It was certainly a remarkable gem. Dome-shaped, its curved surface smooth, the Star of Delhi was large enough to fill the space between Walder's thumb and forefinger, had he placed them tip to tip. But color and size were not the features that gave the sapphire its fame.

  Deep within the gem, Walder saw straight lines, streaks of light that radiated like the spokes of a wheel.

  Those scintillating shafts were the marks of the true star sapphire, a much-prized type of gem.

  His breath returning, Walder began to express congratulations. Lenfell cut him short with booming tone.

  "Convince yourself, Walder!" he said. "Make sure that this is actually the Star of Delhi."

  Walder lifted the sapphire from its plush nest and calculated its weight. He produced a jeweler's glass and studied the gem through the magnifying lens. He held the Star to the light for a time, and finally returned it to the jewel case with a satisfied nod.

  Then, quite suddenly, Walder became nervous. He glanced at the windows of Lenfell's study as though wondering if the shades were fully drawn. He stared over his shoulder toward the door, which was closed. He even gave a doubtful glance at Lenfell's modern safe, which stood behind the desk.

  Lenfell inserted an indulgent laugh.

  "I know what worries you, Walder," he said. "There have been many jewel robberies lately. But that is no cause for alarm. No criminals know that I have the Star of Delhi; hence they will not come here to find it."

  Walder's eyes were still on the door. His face looked strained, for he was sure that he heard creeping footsteps in the hallway outside. He remembered his surprise when he arrived at the house a short while before, to find only one servant on the premises where usually there were many. Moreover, Walder recalled that Lenfell had promptly told the lone servant to take the evening off.

  Yet the creeps from the hall were real! They had increased too noticeably, to be the product of Walder's imagination. Hoarsely, the jeweler began:

  "Someone has entered the house, Lenfell -"

  "I know it," interrupted Lenfell. "They are friends of mine. I want you to meet them, Walder. But first, you must prepare yourself for another surprise."

  Lenfell stepped to a corner of the room. From a closet, he brought out a long dark coat, which he put on.

  Then, from a shelf, he produced a black hood that had two eye slits cut in it. Lenfell slid the hood over his head and peered through the slits.

  Instead of the broad-faced financier, he had become an ominous figure from which Walder instinctively shrank. Then, feeling Lenfell's friendly clutch upon his arm, hearing the familiar voice from within the hood, Walder regained some of his composure.

  "Come, Walder." said Lenfell, his tone reduced to mildness. "There is nothing to fear, I assure you."

  The jeweler gave a pinch-faced smile. He wasn't going to be frightened by a mere masquerade. Lenfell was his friend, and was merely taking Walder to meet others who wanted to see the Star of Delhi, for Lenfell had closed the jewel casket and was bringing it along. The friends were obviously in Lenfell's library, for the hooded financier was taking Walder in that direction.

  Then, on the very threshold of the library, Walder gasped with horror and would have sagged to the floor if Lenfell's strong hand had not stayed him. Within the dimly lighted book-lined room, Walter saw Lenfell's friends. To a man, they were hooded like their host, and there were five of them!

  With Lenfell, the group formed a secret six, as forbidding as a semicircle of inquisitors. Eyes glistening from hood slits, were fastened upon the slumping jeweler, as though accusing him, judging him, and condemning him, all on sight!

  AIDING Walder to a chair, Lenfell placed the jewel casket on a table and opened it. Walder saw the gleam of the Star of Delhi, like a great blue eye, shining up to greet the strange band of hooded men.

  Lenfell's voice, modulated to a kindly tone, gave Walder a vestige of relief, enough for him to glance upward. Then his courage returned. One man of the throng had unmasked: Lenfell. Sight of the financier's smiling face steeled Walder against the terror that his view of the rest produced.

  "Be tranquil, Walder," said Lenfell. "I tried to ease the shock, by letting you see me in full regalia before meeting the rest. These men are friends, but of the group, I am the only who can unmask. I shall explain why."

  Walder listened. He was getting used to the eyes about him. No longer did he imagine that they glared.

  They were becoming milder each time he studied them. All the while Lenfell's voice, easy but emphatic, was disclosing facts that Walder could comprehend.

  "We are a syndicate of six," Lenfell explained, "who have contributed our wealth to buy gems from foreign refugees. Our purpose is to convert those jewels into cash, through private sales, giving unfortunate persons a fair return on the possessions that they are forced to sell.

  "Of the six, I alone am known to the other five. Since they meet here in my house, I can unmask when occasion demands."

  Walder was nodding, actually smiling at the members of Lenfell's secret six.

  "We have met with an obstacle," proceeded Lenfell. "There have been so many jewel robberies of late, that wealthy customers are doubtful of our bona fide gems when approached, confidentially, by my associates. Buyers fear that the refugee story is false; that we are trying to unload stolen gems.

  "Since we must do something to prove our status, we have decided to cut the Star of Delhi, one of our most important purchases, into six parts. Each of us will wear a ring containing a star sapphire from the famous Star of Delhi. That fact, alone, will mark us men of integrity. However, we do not care to take such a step without proper advice. We are asking yours, Walder."

  Drawing himself together, Walder looked about the group; then stared at the Star of Delhi. He shuddered, not through a return of terror, but at the thought of cutting such a rare gem into smaller ones.

  Then, slowly, a canny look spread over Walder's features. His business sense outmatched his love of gems.

  "The Star of Delhi is unique," conceded Walder. "It might be worth half a million dollars, to the proper buyer. But I doubt that you could find anyone nowadays who would pay more than a mere fraction of that sum.

  "Cut into smaller stones" - he eyed the great gem appraisingly - "each a perfect star sapphire in its own right, the Star of Delhi would be more salable. Each of the six rings would be worth at least fifty thousand dollars to its owner. There is merit in your plan, Lenfell."

  Buzzes came from five hooded men; all those buz
zes were approving. Lenfell heard them and took the murmurs as a vote in the affirmative. He simply said:

  "We shall have the stone cut."

  Still staring at the great Star, Walder was thinking of another factor. Quite accustomed to the hooded men by this time, he expressed his theme.

  "You must find some way," he said, "to let people know that the Star of Delhi is in America, and that it has actually been cut into smaller gems -"

  Lenfell was interrupting with a smile that Walder noted.

  "We are counting upon you to help us," said Lenfell. "You have seen the Star of Delhi, Walder. Your word is beyond reproach. We have hoped that you would see fit to exhibit the six ring's, stating their origin, without naming the man who placed them in your custody: that is, myself."

  THE idea startled Walder for the moment. As he looked about, he fancied again that eyes were glaring at him from the hoods. But Walder's business acumen came to the fore. He visualized the publicity that such an exhibit would bring to Walder Co. Gradually, he nodded his willingness.

  There was a wave of Lenfell's hand. One by one, the members of the hooded group departed, until all were gone save Lenfell. Walder could hear their creeping progress down the stairs - some by the front, others by the back, one by a side stairway that was little used. Then, back in Lenfell's study, Walder gave a smile of real relief to find himself alone again with Lenfell, the Star of Delhi lying on the desk between them.

  While Lenfell was putting away his coat and hood, Walder made a suggestion.

  "You may entrust the cutting of the stone to the proper man," he said. "I would say that there is only one such man in New York."

  Lenfell paused while opening the safe, where he intended to replace the Star of Delhi.

  "You mean Roger Sherbrock?"

  "I mean Sherbrock," replied Walder. "Of course, there are foreign experts here - better men, perhaps, than Sherbrock. But they are men who have lost fortunes and might prove bitter. They would be dangerous. You can rely on Sherbrock. I repeat, he is the only man."

  "I shall see Sherbrock" decided Lenfell. The safe was open; he put the jewel casket in it. "You will hear from me later, Walder. Meanwhile, accept my thanks for your kind co-operation. It is hardly necessary"

  - he was extending his hand - "for me to add that I sent the servants out tonight so they would not happen to see any of my hooded visitors."

  Lenfell personally conducted Walder to the front door. Outside, the jeweler looked back at the large old-fashioned mansion and gave another shudder at sight of its gloom and bulk. Into that shiver, Walder put memories of the creeping sounds that he had heard, those weird indications of the advent of Lenfell's hooded friends.

  Then, briskly, Walder walked to the next corner to find a cab.

  There were creeping sounds again in the old mansion. Armand Lenfell was making them himself as he returned to his study. He didn't mind them; indeed, he rather enjoyed the weird sound, for Lenfell was smiling, more noticeably than before. His smile had become a leer of an insidious sort, as he stooped at the safe to reopen it.

  Then, with the Star of Delhi again on his desk, Armand Lenfell sat back and waited, his leer taking on a satanic touch as he gazed at the blue gleam from the great Star of Delhi. His head was tilted, for Armand Lenfell was listening for new creeps in the hallway.

  Creeps that would announce another visitor, less fearsome in appearance than the members of the secret six, but one who would understand Lenfell better. Lenfell had spoken truly, in stating that his hooded associates were banded together in a cause of good. His one lie had been his inclusion of himself in such a worthy purpose.

  Alone, unobserved by either Walder or the secret throng, Armand Lenfell could relax and reveal himself for what he really was - a man with crime at heart. He was waiting for another of that same ilk, that together they might plot an underhanded scheme involving the much-valued Star of Delhi!

  CHAPTER II. BAIT FOR CRIME

  THE exhibit of the six star sapphires, when announced a week later, was promptly heralded as the event of the New York jewelry season. Raymond Walder, true to his word, surrounded it with integrity and mystery.

  Walder's statement that he had seen the Star of Delhi, was something unimpeachable. His declaration that he could not name its owner, provided the mystery. He added, of course, the news that the Star of Delhi had been cut into six parts, and other jewelers agreed that the process would render the gem, or segments of it, more salable.

  But Walder did not state who had cut the sapphire. He simply invited the public to view the sextuple result.

  Few persons in New York were more interested in Walder's coming display than was Lamont Cranston.

  A millionaire collector of rarities, including jewels, Cranston seemed disappointed only because the Star of Delhi had been reduced to a sectional form. He tried to treat the matter lightly, but he did not deceive Margo Lane.

  She could tell Lamont's mood, when they lunched together on the day of Walder's exhibit, and from remarks he dropped, she was quite sure that he would have prized the Star of Delhi for his own collection. It was too bad, Margo thought, that Cranston had not learned that the great Star was for sale before it was hacked to chunks. Calm-mannered, his hawkish face often masklike, Lamont Cranston seldom revealed his inner thoughts, even to an attractive and sympathetic brunette like Margo Lane. But it was plain, on this occasion, that Cranston should normally have stayed away from the exhibit at Walder's.

  Mere sight of six lovely star sapphires, in place of one unblemished marvel, would certainly pain him.

  Margo knew that Cranston was going to the exhibit purely from sense of duty.

  That was because Margo also knew that this man who posed as Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow, master fighter who battled crime. As The Shadow, he couldn't afford to miss the Walder exhibit, because it was the greatest bait for men of crime that had been offered in months.

  The newspapers were full of jewel robberies. A few had occurred in New York, despite the vigilance of The Shadow, but the rest had happened in other cities. Though the mob, like the master mind who handled the game, was probably in New York, no leads were yet available. Stolen stuff, if peddled, had been artfully fenced without being traced; all the more reason why The Shadow should be on the job.

  Therefore, Margo was quite sure that Cranston wanted to visit Walder's to look over the customers as much as the sapphires. He knew that crooks couldn't resist the lure that the exhibit offered.

  It was fairly late in the afternoon when Cranston and Margo finally arrived at Walder's. The exclusive jewelry store was under heavy guard. Armed guards stood outside, and others were posted at strategic spots inside the store itself.

  All other jewelry, the usual Walder stock, had been put away for safekeeping, except for cheaper items that would interest the general public. Emphasis was upon the six sapphires.

  The stones that represented the famous Star of Delhi were in a special burglarproof case in the exact center of the store. The box, bolted into a stone pedestal, had a top surface of bulletproof glass, protected by photoelectric devices connected with burglar alarms.

  Sometimes, such cases had lights inside them. This one did not. The sapphires scintillated under the beam of a spotlight focused from a ceiling dome.

  Even in sixes, the sapphires were marvelous to view. They were the size of large peas, and quite as much alike. Each had its identifying touch - the star formation - and all were set in rings of the same type: heavy, plain gold.

  People, passed along the rail that fronted the display and gave gasps of appreciation, so that the vaulted space of Walder's jewelry store echoed constantly with one repeated simper.

  MARGO was pleased to observe a flicker of passing interest on Cranston's immobile features. The perfect match of the six sapphires intrigued him, as did the provisions taken for their custody.

  But when he had finished looking at the gems and drawn away to the outskirts of the throng, his mind went
back to the persons present. Close beside him, Margo caught Cranston's undertone.

  "Look for others who are staying around. People who seem too sure of themselves."

  Margo looked. If her opinion had counted, The Shadow would have had about fifty suspects. Knowing there couldn't be that many, Margo gave it up.

  "I'm no good, Lamont," she confessed. "If you can pick any goats from these sheep -"

  "I see one goat," interposed Cranston. "Look over by that notion counter, Margo. You'll recognize him."

  Margo's eyes almost popped as she studied a young man whose face, though somewhat hardened, looked to be the result of dissipation, rather than crime. She caught herself just in time to keep from exclaiming his name too loud:

  "Dwig Brencott!"

  Handsome in his way, black-haired, with a complexion that would be defined as dark, rather than sallow, Dwig was the pride of the night clubs. A member of cafe society, he never appeared in public until afternoon, and from then on, could be seen in what some columnists considered the "best places" in town.

  Dwig was in and out, from one spot to another, until the closing hour, which was usually five in the morning. It hadn't occurred to Margo, until Cranston mentioned it, that such a practice might be Dwig's alibi. Dwig had a way of being somewhere else, very often. There were many times when he might even have been out of town.

  It could be that Dwig was the mainspring of the jewel mob, so far as actual robberies were concerned. If so, he was falling for the blue bait. Whether or not he intended to go after the six sapphires, Dwig hadn't been able to resist the temptation of looking over the situation. The Shadow's theory was right; not only that, it was proven.

  Of all people, Dwig Brencott wouldn't be hanging around the cheap jewelry counter, striking up an acquaintance with a melancholy-looking clerk, unless he had some purpose in mind. He would be more likely to chat with Raymond Walder, who was standing behind the sapphire exhibit, except that Walder was getting attention from socially prominent visitors, who might remember Dwig if he made himself too noticeable.