Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 239 - Death Diamonds

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DEATH DIAMONDS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. CANDID CRIME
? CHAPTER II. A FRIEND IN NEED
? CHAPTER III. DEAD MAN'S CROSSING
? CHAPTER IV. TRAIL TO CRIME
? CHAPTER V. CROOKS PREFER DIAMONDS
? CHAPTER VI. THE CHASE REVERSED
? CHAPTER VII. DEATH FOR TWO
? CHAPTER VIII. FIGHT BRINGS FLIGHT
? CHAPTER IX. FRIENDS MEET AGAIN
? CHAPTER X. CREDIT TO RUY LOPEZ
? CHAPTER XI. FOUR CASTLES
? CHAPTER XII. ROUTES REVERSED
? CHAPTER XIII. THE TRAIL AHEAD
? CHAPTER XIV. CRIME TO COME
? CHAPTER XV. VANISHED PEARLS
? CHAPTER XVI. CRIME'S CONSEQUENCE
? CHAPTER XVII. EVERYBODY HAPPY
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE FASHION SHOW
? CHAPTER XIX. CROOKS MAKE CLAIM
? CHAPTER XX. THE FINAL BLAST
CHAPTER I. CANDID CRIME
IT was a strange setting for crime. From the second-floor veranda of his Spanish stucco home, Glenn
Belmar could survey the entire scene, thanks to the hillock upon which his house stood. He had studied
that vista often, at this hour when day was fading into dusk, but never before had thoughts of an
impending menace loomed heavily upon his mind.
The panorama was one of palm-lined driveways and lazy lanes, broken by the blue stretches of half a
dozen lakes, which seemed like one larger body of water exhibiting its sheen from many angles.
In a sense, the lakes could be regarded as one, for they were connected by canals, traceable because
they were lined with a wilder growth than the cultivated palms that adorned the roadways.
There were other spaces among the trees, and from them reared many mansions, with traces of green
lawns surmounted by great oak trees draped with Spanish moss.
Those houses were the real pride of Palm Park, which, in its turn, was the pride of Lakedale. Famed as a
resort city of inland Florida, Lakedale needed a showplace, and had it in Palm Park, where dwelt the
wealthiest of winter visitors, including Glenn Belmar.
It was around those fancy residences that crime's menace clung. A real threat, for it had already struck,
and could be expected soon again. The menace was robbery, of a specific sort. Clever thieves were
steadily rifling Palm Park residents of their chief commodity, jewels.
Three such robberies in a week, yet no whisper had reached the public. Palm Park residents preferred to
keep such doings to themselves and the police, who, in turn, were unwilling to let it loose until they had a
clue.
Since a clue, in the estimate of the local constabulary, meant lodging the perpetrators in jail, with their
signed confessions lying on the police chief's desk, the solution of these crimes seemed very unlikely.
So far, no one had walked into the city hall to give himself up. Instead, the crooks were still walking into
houses and out again, with jewels as their trophies. Yet all the residents of Palm Park were keeping very
mum, on the theory that they mustn't let the perpetrators even know that their crimes had been suspected.
Such was the way in Palm Park, exclusive suburb of thriving Lakedale.
Glenn Belmar had decided that he must do something about it. That, in itself, proved how pressing the
situation was, because Belmar seldom did anything that required unusual exertion, with the exception of
playing polo.
This evening, however, he was forgoing his usual trip to the dog track, to hunt crime instead. His long
wait for darkness was at last fulfilled.
With a determined air, Belmar stepped from the sun porch into his upstairs living room and called for
Brock, who promptly appeared.
Master and servant formed a distinct contrast. Both were of average height, but Belmar was inclined to
the portly side, whereas Brock was underweight. Belmar's face was broad; Brock's quite thin. The
master was brusque at times; the servant always diffident. One had made it a habit of giving orders; the
other, of accepting them.
"My camera, Brock," ordered Belmar. "I am ready to call on the Wilkinhams."
"It is here, sir." Brock supplied the camera. "The flash bulbs, also. Two dozen—a dozen in each box."
Belmar gave a cross between a chuckle and a snort.
"Candid-camera nights are a thing of the past," he said reprovingly. "Why I indulged in such a silly
pastime, I haven't yet understood, Brock. Tonight, I shall be lucky to get a few good shots, let alone two
dozen."
Brock gave an understanding nod and placed a box of flash bulbs on the table, carefully setting the other
box on the mantel. From the box on the table, Belmar took three bulbs and placed them in his pockets.
"I only ordered one dozen, sir," said Brock, "but they sent two. I shall return the other box tomorrow.
You use them so seldom -"
"Never mind the details, Brock," inserted Belmar. "You know how I hate details. Go get me the evening
newspaper. I must look at it before we leave."
BROCK hurried downstairs, and Belmar was following slowly, when he paused with a worried air and
tapped the pockets of his tuxedo jacket. It annoyed him, having two flash bulbs in one pocket, a single
bulb in the other.
Turning back, he stopped at the mantel, because it was nearer, and took another bulb from the box that
lay there. Hardly had he dropped the bulb into a pocket, when he remembered that Brock was sending
the extra box back.
So Belmar dug a hand into a pocket again, brought out a bulb and put it in the mantel box. Going over to
the table, he supplied himself with the required bulb from the original box.
It took Belmar a mere three minutes to scan through the flimsy Lakedale newspaper. Not a word in it
about jewel robberies. The reception that the Wilkinhams were giving rated half a page—quite justifiably,
too, since the Countess del Rondo was to be a guest.
A smile played upon Belmar's lips, as he tossed the newspaper aside. The Countess del Rondo meant
jewels. She was, to use a term which Belmar thought very descriptive, "lousy with them." Naturally, no
one would have told the countess that jewel thieves were prevalent in Palm Park; otherwise, she would
have flown to Miami and the Wilkinham reception would be off. So the countess would certainly appear
in all her jeweled splendor.
Glenn Belmar intended to watch the Countess del Rondo.
It was a three-mile drive to the Wilkinham mansion, though a duck could have swum or flown it in a third
the distance, for it was straight across the nearest lake.
Belmar let Brock do the driving, so that he could expend his own exertions upon the camera. When they
drove into the grounds, other cars had already arrived, but Belmar was quite sure that the countess
would not be among the early guests.
"Park in a convenient place," he told Brock. "We shall await developments."
During the wait, Belmar observed a few important facts. Guests, as they arrived, passed through a portal
flanked by two local detectives. It didn't perturb the guests in the least, for none of the Lakedale
detectives looked the part. They reminded Belmar more of the Wilkinham servants, who were present in
abundance both inside and outside the mansion.
The servants were like the members of an ant hill, engaged in tasks that had no seeming rhyme or reason.
They came out to see that cars were properly parked, though there was plenty of available space. They
inspected the hibiscus bushes and the hedges with flashlights, the latter very unnecessary, because the
glow from the house was more than sufficient.
Of course, the servants were cooperating with the police, which was very nice. But it didn't help Belmar,
because he wanted to stow himself in a vantage spot from which he could better witness the arrival of the
countess.
Knowing his master's problem, Block put a suggestion.
"If you want, sir," said the servant, "I can pace along the line of cars and choose a suitable space between
them. Time is quite short. Mr. Haudlin will be here soon."
Belmar gave a nod. Brock had reference to Richard Haudlin, founder of Palm Park and its most
important resident. Haudlin would be bringing the countess, of course, unless Wayne Medrith had
usurped the privilege.
As Brock alighted from the car, Belmar stroked his chin and thought over the probabilities. Richard
Haudlin was getting older, though he didn't show it. Sooner or later, he would have to relinquish his
control of affairs in Palm Park, perhaps to Wayne Medrith.
Haudlin, a retired manufacturer, represented the staid days when the exclusive colony was formed.
Medrith, a comparatively youthful adventurer, was in keeping with the modern trend. A change from the
old to the new might shake Palm Park to its foundations; a serious problem for everyone, including Glenn
Belmar.
CARS were coming into the driveway. By the glare from their headlights, Belmar saw Brock beckoning.
Climbing from the car, Belmar performed his idea of a furtive sneak over to the space where Brock
awaited, and summarily ordered the servant back to the car.
By then, the lights were close, so Brock had to take a roundabout way behind the parked cars. Nicely
situated, Belmar made ready with his camera.
The first car stopped. From it stepped Richard Haudlin, tall but heavy-built, to extend his hand to another
passenger, who was probably the countess. There wasn't any question, when the resplendent glitter of
gems came into the light of the car that stood behind Haudlin's. Belmar was close enough to see how
heavily the middle-aged countess was loaded with the precious freight.
Her fingers were massed with rubies and sapphires. She had "headlights" of her own, in the diamond
bracelet on her left wrist. From her neck dangled the famous Del Rondo emerald, its huge green brilliance
sufficient to start traffic coming her direction.
In fact, the emerald proved to be a "go" signal.
From somewhere in the shrubbery, two men appeared with a leap. One shoved Haudlin back against his
limousine; the other grabbed the countess. They were robbers, these, for both wore handkerchiefs as
masks.
Gleefully, Belmar took a camera shot of the attack. Then, while he was discarding one bulb and putting in
another, Belmar saw a man jump out of the second car. He recognized Wayne Medrith, lithe and limber,
coming top speed to join the fray.
Medrith grabbed the masked man who clutched the countess, but the fellow who had settled Haudlin
came upon Medrith from behind and sent him sprawling.
By then, a third masked entry was in it. He was stripping the countess' rings from her fingers, like
huckleberries from a high bush. The countess gave a horrified scream; as soon as her hands were loose,
she clapped her right upon her left wrist to save the diamond bracelet.
The robber who was holding the countess gripped the famed emerald pendant with one hand and gave
the lady a shove with the other. He kept the pendant, and the countess landed upon Medrith, who was
getting up. Belmar popped out from between the cars to get an excellent flashlight picture of that scene.
Then, since the masked men were dashing across the driveway, Belmar went the same direction, putting
a third flash bulb in its socket. He heard shouts from all about him, voiced by the Wilkinham servants.
But the men who grabbed Belmar didn't shout. They were the Lakedale detectives. They'd seen the flare
of the flash bulbs, accompanying the screams from the countess.
As Belmar landed on the turf beside the driveway, he warded off the blows of the two detectives. Belmar
was intact, and so was his camera; he'd taken enough polo spills to choose his landings properly.
Up ahead, one man had met the surge of two of the masked robbers, and was doing quite nobly. The
lone man was Brock.
A big bulk heaved into the struggle. Haudlin had recovered and was coming to Brock's aid. He arrived
too late; by then, Brock was spilled and Haudlin received the return drive of the bandits. He should have
been helped by Medrith, but the younger man had taken another spill while starting to the chase.
Punched back by the masked robbers, Haudlin saw the detectives turned toward Belmar. Angrily,
Haudlin yelled:
"You fools! He isn't one of the robbers! There go your men!" The detectives dropped Belmar and started
after the pair who were disappearing in the shrubs. His elbows perched in a bougainvillea bush, Belmar
took a candid flash of the scene. He had a glimpse of Brock as the detective shoved the man aside.
Then, on his feet Belmar was inserting his last flash bulb. All about was chaos. Servants galore had
rushed from the mansion to join the detectives. People were getting into cars, to skirt the grounds and
round up the three daring robbers. Two had gone together; the third had managed a lone escape.
Belmar thought a picture of the excitement would be excellent, until Brock reached him and gave a
perfect suggestion:
"If you can only find the masked men, sir -"
Belmar nodded. Brock took the wheel, and Belmar joined him in the car. They sped out from the
grounds, along with the other pursuers, Belmar holding his camera tightly and guarding the last bulb as
though it were as priceless as the stolen gems.
His mind reverting to the candid-camera nights which he had once so greatly relished, he was highly
pleased. He felt that this was one night when he had taken the full show for his own.
But Belmar was wrong. He and his one-man camera act were not the main attraction.
Crooks had stolen the show with candid crime!
CHAPTER II. A FRIEND IN NEED
FOR nearly an hour, cars roved the byways of Palm Park, meeting each other so often that it became
both troublesome and monotonous. Men in tuxedos were constantly jumping out of cars to question
other drivers who wore the same attire. At times, there were near-accidents, particularly at the narrow
bridges that crossed the winding canals.
One close mishap worried Glenn Belmar.
"We'd better go home," Belmar told Brock. "I'm thinking of the camera, not myself. I have important
evidence recorded on this film."
Brock drove back to Belmar's house. The servant dropped his master by the front door and put the car
into the garage. Standing on the lower porch, Belmar listened to the hue and cry.
Occasional shouts came through the darkness, when hunters thought they'd found some traces of the
hunted. The spurting sounds of automobiles were drowned by the louder roars of speedboats, starting
out to scour the lakes.
A light came from Belmar's sun porch. Brock had put away the car and was in the house. Belmar
decided to go inside. He thought that it was time he had refreshments, having missed them at the
short-lived reception. The thing that halted him at the front door was the approach of cars that came right
into his drive.
Thinking that the chase had reached his front yard, Belmar tried another flash picture, but it didn't work.
Evidently, he hadn't screwed the flash bulb tight enough.
Before Belmar could adjust the matter, men approached him. They included Haudlin, Medrith, and other
important Palm Park residents. The Lakedale detectives were with them, and they pointed toward
Belmar quite accusingly. It suddenly struck him that the camera was the reason.
It was Medrith who explained the situation, while Haudlin was motioning the detectives back.
"Hello, Belmar," greeted Medrith in an easy way, "These chaps want to ask you a few questions."
"Very well," returned Belmar, with a sober nod. "Suppose we go upstairs."
They reached the second-floor living room, and the two detectives included Brock in their suspicious
stares. Then, one said to Haudlin:
"We want to search both these men."
Haudlin didn't consider it necessary; nor did Medrith. Belmar, himself, supplied the solution. Realizing
that he and Brock were under suspicion, he favored the search. So it began.
As a preliminary, the detectives wanted to examine the camera. Belmar stopped them, until he could
remove the film.
"These pictures may be evidence," he declared. "Keep the film and have it developed yourselves."
The detectives complied. They searched Belmar and Brock; then proceeded to scour the house, omitting
nothing. Meanwhile, Belmar silenced the protests of Haudlin, Medrith and the rest, by inviting them to
have a drink.
He learned, during the period following the accepted invitation, that the masked robbers had completely
disappeared, which was why the detectives had insisted upon treating Belmar as a suspect.
FINISHED with a thorough search of the house, the detectives reappeared long enough to state that they
were going to scour the garage, and Belmar's car, as well. When they had gone, Belmar poured another
round of drinks.
"Silly of them," he said indulgently. "If Brock and I had taken those jewels, we could have disposed of
them by this time."
"Of course!" agreed Haudlin in his booming style. "You two were searching with the rest of us."
"And I didn't see Brock throw anything from the car," declared Belmar. "Nor did Brock see me perform
such an action. Did you, Brock?"
"You threw out the dead flash bulbs, sir," reminded Brock. "But they were all."
Medrith gave a laugh.
"So those were the shots some people thought they heard," he said to Haudlin. "No wonder the
wild-goose chase continued!"
"No wonder!"
Haudlin stared hard as he spoke, and his gaze was toward Medrith, who returned it steadily, lifting his
glass as he did. Swinging to Belmar, Haudlin gave him the same straight look.
"Adhere to fact, Belmar," advised Haudlin, "and advance no theories. We know that you are above
suspicion, and your servant, likewise, since you can vouch for him. But these Lakedale detectives are
anxious to arrest someone. Neither Medrith nor I would care to have you put to such inconvenience."
The detectives reappeared, both sullen. They'd found nothing in the garage or in the car. Haudlin and
Medrith said good night, and the detectives went with them.
Brock began to grumble about having to tidy up the place, whereupon Belmar gave a headshake.
"I hope those pictures develop," said Belmar. "If they don't, we may both be accused of duplicity, Brock.
This matter is getting beyond me; very much beyond me."
"What can you do about it, sir?"
"I can send a telegram," replied Belmar, "to my friend Lamont Cranston. You remember him, of course?"
Brock shook his head.
"I forgot," said Belmar. "I didn't hire you until I came here. Cranston is an old friend of mine; we belong
to the same club in New York City. And Cranston"—Belmar gave a wise nod—"is very well acquainted
with the New York police commissioner."
Brock stared, rather puzzled.
"Don't you understand?" queried Belmar. "Cranston has a first-hand acquaintance with the methods of
police investigation. If I invite him here, telling him his presence is imperative, he will certainly come. So
call the telegraph office, Brock."
When Brock made the call, Belmar worded the telegram, stating that he would need Cranston's advice
tomorrow night; not later. That done, Belmar declared in satisfied tone:
"Actually, Brock, I believe that I shall value Cranston's advice more than that of the commissioner's,
himself!"
Belmar was speaking more wisely than he knew. He was sending an urgent call to someone who could
prove more than a friend with advice. To Palm Park, where crime was as serious as it was unheralded,
Belmar was summoning the master crime-hunter of all time: The Shadow!
Never could Belmar have guessed that the man who called himself Lamont Cranston was actually the
famed champion of justice who fared forth, cloaked in black, to conquer every branch of evil that he
could uncover.
Not only did The Shadow conceal his identity with such garb, but his very presence, as well, which made
him a double terror to all who dealt in crime.
WITH morning, Glenn Belmar awoke feeling that he had never slept better in his life. Perhaps he had
received some impressions of Cranston that his waking self could not recognize.
Reading the morning newspaper, Belmar smiled at the society news, which mentioned the very successful
reception held in honor of the Countess del Rondo. The newspaper didn't add that the countess was in
the local hospital, battling a nervous breakdown caused by the loss of jewels valued at a quarter million
dollars.
At least, the countess still had her diamond bracelet; otherwise, the nervous breakdown might have
ended in heart failure. Belmar learned those details from Haudlin, by telephone. He also learned that
Haudlin and Medrith would be stopping by some time that afternoon, along with the police and the
developed photographs.
There was a telegram from Cranston, later. It stated that he would arrive by plane late that afternoon.
Belmar showed the telegram to Brock, so that the servant would remember to drive over to the airport at
the right time.
The airport was on the other side of Lakedale, but it could be reached in half an hour by avoiding the city
traffic. An old highway that skirted the town was the route that Palm Park residents preferred.
Meanwhile, Belmar busied himself by voicing theories on crime, with Brock as a patient listener. Seated
in his favorite armchair, Belmar scanned the landscape visible from his sun porch, and tried to reconstruct
last night's crime. Though his talk lasted for hours, it summed into a single statement.
"Plague take it, Brock!" expressed Belmar. "The thing happened like clockwork! Those masked men
vanished from the midst of us, and the Del Rondo jewels with them. We were all tearing about like the
wind of a hurricane, and the culprits floated balmily away in the storm center."
"But the storm came our way, sir," reminded Brock. "Though it was late getting here."
"Late because they questioned the Wilkinham servants first," explained Belmar. "Haudlin told me about it
when he phoned today. They even searched the servants, and ransacked the house, to make sure that
none was working with the criminals. All proved innocent. Well, we shall see what Cranston has to think
of it."
Brock reminded Belmar that there were some errands to be done before his guest arrived. So Belmar
told the servant to drive into town and attend to them. Brock left, and Belmar continued his reflections for
another hour, until the sound of arriving cars disturbed him.
One car contained Richard Haudlin and the local police chief; the other held Wayne Medrith and a very
dazzling young lady, whose reddish hair caught a startling burnish from the setting sun.
Belmar recognized her, from the sun porch. She was Arlene Hamil, daughter of a wealthy Palm Park
resident, Augustus Hamil.
Belmar met the visitors and brought them to the sun porch, where the police chief displayed prints of the
developed photographs. All three pictures had come out well, which pleased Belmar, particularly when
the police chief said:
"These clear you, Mr. Belmar. You couldn't have been shooting pictures and helping those robbers at the
same time. The only trouble is, none of these photos gives us a good enough view of the crooks."
The chief was right; they didn't. The first two pictures showed Haudlin and the countess, plainly. The
second included Medrith, sitting on the gravel, a very surprised look on his face. Viewing it, the chief
turned to Medrith with a snort:
"Seems to me you were slow getting into it, Mr. Medrith, and mighty fast getting out. If you hadn't been
the last person to arrive at the reception, the crooks wouldn't have spotted the countess like they did.
Your car lights helped them."
"Sorry, chief," said Medrith blandly. "I was late because I drove over to get Miss Hamil, only to learn
that she was not coming to the reception... Right, Arlene?"
Belmar was already looking toward Arlene when Medrith and the others turned her way. Thus Belmar
caught a preview of her face, quite like a candid-camera flash.
For the moment, her expression was defiant, her lips firmly closed, unready to speak. Then, before eyes
met hers, Arlene relaxed. She compromised with a nod; then, slowly, steadily, she said:
"Yes. It was my fault that Mr. Medrith was late."
PERHAPS the dimming daylight prevented others from noting the traces of restrained emotion that
Arlene displayed. Another interruption helped. Brock was returning with the car, and men turned to look
from the window as he drove into the garage.
Brock came upstairs, loaded with packages, and Belmar showed him the photographs. Brock was
naturally interested in the third picture, which showed him being shoved aside by the detectives.
"Now, Mr. Belmar," declared the police chief, "I want your entire story, to go with these pictures. Or,
perhaps, your servant can give a better running account, since you were busy taking the photographs."
Belmar turned to his servant and smilingly said:
"Your privilege, Brock."
"Perhaps you should give your statement first, sir," said Brock. "You wanted me to meet Mr. Cranston at
the airport. It is about time I started."
"Quite right," agreed Belmar. "I can give my account while you are gone, and be free to entertain
Cranston when he arrives."
"Suppose we go over to my house," suggested Haudlin. "Brock can bring your friend there, Belmar."
Brock left, and the others started out, calling to Medrith to come along. He was over in a corner of the
sun porch, staring reflectively at Belmar's side lawn, when he heard them.
Downstairs, Haudlin swung his car about and picked up Belmar and the police chief. Medrith promptly
followed with Arlene.
Looking back as they left the grounds, Belmar observed that Brock hadn't brought the car from the
garage. Probably he was taking the new coupe instead of the old sedan. Trouble, possibly, finding the
right keys, or maybe he was waiting for the other cars to leave the driveway.
It didn't matter. Brock would get started soon enough. If he had trouble with the coupe, he could use the
sedan.
Brock wasn't having car trouble. His problem was more serious, though very brief. In the garage, he was
standing between the cars, his arms shaking as he held them half lifted.
Three men, their faces obscured in the semidarkness, were prodding Brock with guns. Belmar's servant
was trying to splutter words, but couldn't.
The fading sounds of departing motors proved the signal. One gun left Brock's back, was lifted behind
his head, and came down with a skull-cracking force that crumpled him upon the concrete floor. The man
who had been facing Brock spoke approvingly to the fellow who had delivered the blow.
"Good work!" he declared. Then, to the other thug: "See, Raiford? That's the way Reidsville handles
them. Get him in the car, you two. I'll do the rest."
As the pair complied, the thug called Raiford questioned:
"What about us, Tony? Want us to come along?"
"Not a chance!" declared the leader. "You might have to show your mugs, and that wouldn't do around
here. You duck back where you belong. I've got two other guys waiting for me."
Belmar's coupe nosed itself from the garage with Tony at the wheel, the motionless form of Brock beside
him. Brock wasn't merely stunned; the hard blow, smashed behind his ear, had killed him. To all
appearances, crime's murderous job was done.
Such was not the case. Crime's job, in this instance of Brock, had just begun—as events were soon to
prove!
CHAPTER III. DEAD MAN'S CROSSING
THE inbound plane had reached the airport early. Hence, Lamont Cranston was not surprised when he
found no one waiting for him.
In very leisurely fashion, he produced a cigarette case, opened it, and extended it to his companion,
Margo Lane, who shook her head. Margo wasn't in any mood for a quiet smoke.
"Why don't you call your friend Belmar?" she queried. "Perhaps he hasn't started here, yet."
Cranston's calm face showed slight traces of a smile.
"Anxious to get on to Miami, aren't you, Margo?"
"Why not?" queried Margo.
"You knew I'd been planning a Miami trip, Lamont. I was glad enough to come by way of Lakedale in
order to have your company on the trip, though why, I don't know, for you were half asleep all the way."
"You'll enjoy Lakedale, Margo -"
"Maybe you will, Lamont, if it's as dead as I've heard it is. One evening will be enough for me. So the
sooner we reach Belmar's, the better, since I'll have to get back here and catch the late plane for Miami."
"Very well. I'll phone Belmar."
The phone call brought no results. Lack of a reply indicated that Belmar might have started, but when
Cranston returned to state the case, Margo had already scouted up a taxicab. The driver spoke about a
short route to Palm Park, and said he would flag Belmar's car if they met it on the way. So Cranston
obligingly agreed to go by cab; wearing his slight smile all the while.
Actually, Cranston was quite as eager as Margo to reach Belmar's early. He had caught deep inferences
in Belmar's telegram. Margo hadn't—yet.
"What's bothering Belmar?" she questioned as they rode along. "Has he slipped a few goals in his polo
rating? Or is he getting bored, with no one to talk to after nine o'clock at night?"
摘要：

DEATHDIAMONDSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.CANDIDCRIME?CHAPTERII.AFRIENDINNEED?CHAPTERIII.DEADMAN'SCROSSING?CHAPTERIV.TRAILTOCRIME?CHAPTERV.CROOKSPREFERDIAMONDS?CHAPTERVI.THECHASEREVERSED?CHAPTERVII.DEATHFORTWO?CHAPTERVIII.FIGHTBRINGSFLIGHT?CHAPT...

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