"No! No! Certainly not. That is, I didn't go to pull a bone, and--"
Mrs. Morse leaned across the table. "Yes, Mr. Braden, he does mean your
pearls. He's embarrassed because we both realize that it is utterly out
of the question to even suggest that you part with them, and----"
Tommy lay back in his chair. He had an infectious laugh and he now
injected the full radiance of a pleasing personality in the laughter
and good-humored glance he bestowed upon them. "So that's it, eh? Well,
well, well! You folks certainly are funny. What in the world should
cause you embarrassment about wanting to buy my pearls? Of course you
want to own them. I'd be rather hurt if they didn't impress you with a
desire for ownership. Why man! man! I'm complimented."
Morse was beaming. "Dog-gone if you're not the finest fellow I ever
met. You see, pearls like those are something that can't be bought from
a jeweler ... and we both love 'em. We're not strong for diamonds and
platinum and stuff like that. Pearls--they're classy and rich--and all
such as that. And of course from the first minute we saw them we got to
thinking how swell it would be if Ella could own them ... that is, some
just like 'em."
"There aren't any just like them."
"Sure! We know that. Gosh! as if we didn't! Now if you were broke or
something I'd have offered to buy them--but money doesn't mean anything
to you, and--"
Tommy's face had grown serious. He spoke with a rich tremolo effect.
"You really want them that much?"
"Want them! Holy smokes! man, you don't know!"
"Very well. I hope you'll permit me to present them to Mrs. Morse."
For a moment there was silence. Morse and his wife stared aghast at
this man who offered as a gift a priceless rope of matched pearls.
"Give 'em----"
"Mr. Braden! I couldn't!"
"Certainly you could, Mrs. Morse. You and your husband have afforded
me an extremely delightful vacation. It would be a pleasure to present
those pearls to you. After all, their intrinsic worth is not to be
measured against friendship."
They were dumbfounded. And at length Edgar Morse started to argue. He
was overwhelmed by his friend's generosity, but of course it was out
of the question for him to accept such a gift. On the other hand if
his friend was willing to part with them at all, he would do both an
inestimable favor by permitting him to pay for them--any price which
Mr. Braden chose to ask; any price at all.
"I'd rather give them to you, Mr. Morse."
"Can't be done--impossible. Entirely impossible. But if you'd only let
me pay you...."
"You positively will not accept them as a gift?"
"Positively."
"I'm sorry. Very sorry. But if you put it that way, I agree to sell
them to you. You may have them for just what they cost me--seventy-five
thousand dollars."
Morse's voice trembled with emotion. "That's wonderful of you, Mr.
Braden--wonderful. And I realize that we shall remain indebted to
you beyond words. The trouble you've taken ... the love you have for
them...."
"Let's don't talk about them any more, Morse. I shall get the pearls
from the safe to-morrow and give them to you." He smiled slightly.
"And if you should change your mind during the night and be willing to
accept them as a gift, I hope you will let me know."
But they did not change their minds. Instead they talked until far into
the morning hours of this Genie ... this gentleman who, for reasons
quite his own, masqueraded under the name of Thomas Matlock Braden.
Nor did Tommy Braden immediately drop off into slumber. He donned
dressing gown and slippers and sat by an open window staring out into
the night. Tommy was exceedingly well pleased with himself. He had
operated adroitly ... certainly there was no hint of suspicion in the
minds of his victims. There was a profit of seventy thousand dollars in
the transaction, no mean addition to his bank account.
The presence of Jim Hanvey in the hotel was less disturbing now. Tommy
smiled at the prospect of some day telling Jim of the deal which had
been consummated under his very nose ... he knew Jim intimately and
realized that he would see the humor of the situation. There was
something irresistibly funny in the thought that this profit should
have been turned within a hundred feet of the one detective in the
world for whom Braden held a wholesome respect.
Tommy was up early the next morning. The nearness of his triumph begot
a shakiness of nerves which was not unnatural. Matters had moved along
like well-oiled machinery from the outset. There had been no single
hitch to beget doubt or worriment.
"Hey! Tommy!"
Braden stopped short to gaze into the expressionless countenance of Jim
Hanvey. The elephantine detective was smiling vacuously.
"'Lo Jim. Taking a beauty stroll?"
"Uh-huh. Pretty country around here, ain't it?"
"Beautiful."
"Walkin' my way, Tommy?"
Braden's eyes narrowed. He wasn't, but--"Yes," he said and they moved
off together; Braden tall and slender and handsome, Hanvey short and
thickset and shapeless; a human pudding in a serge sack. It was the
detective who spoke first and his tone was mildly reproving.
"Thought you told me you wasn't up to nothing around here, Tommy."
"I'm not." With simulated indignation.
"Then how does it happen that everybody in the hotel thinks you are
Jared Mallory?"
Braden threw back his head and gave an excellent imitation of carefree
laughter. "That's the funniest thing that's ever happened to me, Jim.
You know I don't look unlike Mallory----"
"No-o, you don't. But on the other hand you and him ain't no twins."
"Exactly. But the first or second day I was here somebody started the
rumor that I was Mallory and there wasn't any stopping the thing."
"You ain't been trying very hard to, have you?"
"No. Frankly. It amused me to be mistaken for him."
"No--er--reason?"
"Certainly not, Jim. No one has told you that I ever admitted being
Mallory, have they?"
"No-o. They haven't--that's right, Tommy."
"Well, then----" virtuously. "What more could you ask? I'm registered
as Thomas Matlock Braden and you know that is my true name. To folks
who have quizzed me on this Mallory stuff I've insisted that Braden is
my name. My baggage is marked with the initials T. M. B. which couldn't
possibly be twisted to stand for Jared Mallory. It certainly isn't my
fault, Jim, if a lot of fool people choose to believe I'm someone I'm
not, is it?"
"No. I reckon it ain't, Tommy. Of course you can't blame me for
thinking it funny--when I heard folks saying that you was Mallory. It
looked kind of queer."
Tommy dropped an affectionate hand on Jim's shoulder. "You can't help
being suspicious of everybody, can you, Jim? Why, dog-gone your time,
I've been running straight for so long it's a habit. That's why I
didn't even use an alias down here. Goodness knows a fellow can't come
any cleaner than to drop a dozen other names and use his own, can he?"
Jim nodded heavily and blinked with interminable slowness. "I feel
a heap relieved, Tommy. I sure would hate to see you try to pull
something--and I'm glad we had this little talky-talk. Hope you ain't
sore at me for thinking maybe there was something queer."
"Not at all, Jim; not in the least. Wouldn't have been natural if you
hadn't."
Braden moved away, his last impression of Jim Hanvey was of an
abnormally heavy man staring at him through glassy eyes. Against the
background of rusty serge he saw a set of fat fingers toying idly with
a gleaming gold toothpick.... "Poor Jim. He's a hound once they give
him the scent but he is so anxious to believe that every crook is
honest...."
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."