Blood on the Stars

Chapter Twelve

Earl Randolph lived in a modern, four-story apartment building in Miami’s northeast section. There was a small foyer with brass mailboxes indicating the names and apartment numbers of the occupants. Randolph’s name was over 3-D. Shayne pushed the 4-A button and waited. When the electric latch on the inside door clicked, he entered, went down a narrow hallway to the self-service elevator, and went up to the third floor.

He found apartment 3-D and pressed the button. Randolph opened the door. He wore a white shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He blinked at Shayne, and an expression of complete surprise came over his round face.

“Mike-I didn’t expect you.”

“I’ve been visiting a couple here in the building,” he lied. “Thought I’d drop in to talk over the Dustin case. Mind if I come in?”

“Of course not.” Randolph quickly regained his poise and stepped back. The detective removed his hat and hung it on a hatrack beside Randolph’s wide-brimmed Panama.

The living-room was filled with smoke, and a card table drawn up in front of the day-bed was littered with papers and newspaper clippings from two cardboard files. The ash tray was piled high with cigarette butts, and an almost empty tall glass stood beside it.

Randolph said apologetically, “I’m afraid it’s rather close in here. Got to working and forgot to open a window.” He went across to open one, then asked, “Have a drink?”

“Not now. I had too much earlier this evening.” He ruefully indicated the bruise on his jaw. “Cracked up my car and got this clip on the jaw.” He moved to a deep chair and sank into it. “What have you been doing all evening?”

“Working.” Randolph sat down behind the littered table. “I came straight home from the Sunlux and began going through my old files. I-” He paused, rubbing a blunt forefinger thoughtfully across his mustache. “I think I may have turned up something interesting, Mike.”

Shayne said carelessly, “Tim Rourke said he’d been trying to get you all evening, but you didn’t answer the phone.”

“My phone has been acting up. Just a little while ago it rang and no one answered when I took up the receiver.”

Shayne nodded and said, “Maybe that’s the reason Tim couldn’t get you. Do you mean you’ve turned up something on the ruby bracelet?”

“I don’t know. There could be some connection. At least, there are some interesting angles.” The insurance agent leaned back and carefully placed the tips of thick fingers together. “About star rubies in general-and Walter Voorland’s connection with them in particular,” he ended quietly.

“I’d like to hear the angles.”

“Are you working on it, Mike?”

“Not officially. But Painter accused me of planning the snatch. You heard what Dustin said in the hotel. I’ve a hunch I may be called in by him. I had another talk with him about half an hour ago.”

Sweat glistened on Randolph’s round face. He separated his finger tips and took out a handkerchief to wipe it away. “How is he feeling? Any serious complications?”

“They fixed him up at the hospital.” Shayne lit a cigarette and broke the matchstick between his fingers and frowned at it. “Mrs. Dustin is a mighty pretty woman. Do you think either of them has a tie-in with the heist?”

“What makes you say that?” Randolph sounded surprised, almost startled.

Shayne dropped the broken matchstick into the ash tray and spread out his hands. “Painter and you agreed that the job must have been carefully planned. Someone must have tipped off the gang.”

“I don’t think I said that-” Randolph protested. “I said it had all the earmarks of a professional job. But it could easily have been as you suggested. If they had a lookout in the Sunlux lobby and he spotted Mrs. Dustin going out wearing the bracelet-” Again he let his words trail off speculatively.

“What angles have you dug up?”

Earl Randolph seemed eager to drop the other subject. He leaned forward and rustled the papers on the table. “A couple of other cases involving expensive star rubies, Mike. Both of them sold by Voorland and insured for large sums. Both stolen in hold-ups somewhat similar to the one tonight, and never recovered. The policies were paid in full in both cases.”

“I thought you and Voorland both stated tonight that the star ruby cannot be cut up and resold-and because of that fact we would almost surely have an offer from the gang.”

“Theoretically that’s true, Mike. That’s why I began to check my old records as soon as I came back from the hotel. I discovered a couple of damned queer coincidences. Listen to this:

“October twelfth, nineteen forty-three,” he continued, reading from a typewritten sheet. “Policy issued to James T. King at the Tropical Towers Apartment, Miami, Florida, for eighty thousand dollars on a perfect eight-and-one-half carat star ruby ring. Purchased from Voorland for one hundred grand. It was stolen less than a week after the policy was issued. Never recovered. We paid the policy in full in December.”

“Wasn’t that a lot of money for one ruby that size?”

“Not in nineteen forty-three. I appraised the stone myself and recommended the policy.”

“Anything fishy about the loss?”

Randolph frowned and picked up another typed sheet. “No-and yes. It happened right inside the apartment building. King was in the habit of leaving the ring in the hotel safe at night. He called down at eight o’clock this particular evening and asked to have it sent to his room. He and his wife were going out unexpectedly to a swanky party. The fact that the party was gotten up on the spur of the moment was later established.

“The clerk got the box out and gave it to a bellboy to take up. He got out of the elevator and started down the corridor to the King suite. As he passed an alcove he was sapped on the back of the head and knocked out cold. When they found him ten minutes later the ring had vanished. It hasn’t turned up since.”

Shayne was tugging at his earlobe and listening intently. “King?” he suggested.

Randolph shrugged. “Naturally, we made a very thorough investigation before allowing the claim. There wasn’t a particle of evidence. He lost twenty thousand on the deal.”

“If the ruby could be fenced for fifty percent he’d have made thirty grand,” Shayne pointed out.

“If,” Randolph agreed. “But that’s the big if, Mike. Look-you might cut it down to say six carats. A six-carat ruby might bring fifty thousand in the open market. But those things are distinctive. There aren’t many six-carat stones like that around. We have records of every unique stone like that. If it had turned up later, we’d know it. It hasn’t.”

Shayne crushed out his cigarette and nodded thoughtfully. “But you have to admit it looks like an inside job. Who else but King could have known the bellboy was going to bring the ring up just then?”

“Only the clerk, but he actually had no time to notify a confederate to get up there in time to waylay the boy. If we’d had anything else to hang suspicion on, we might have tried to make a case out of it. But we went through King’s background with a fine-tooth comb. He was absolutely legitimate. From a small town in Ohio where he and his wife had lived all their lives. He was an engineer, graduate of Purdue, who’d worked on a small salary all his life until he fell into a fortune a couple of months previously.

“He inherited the estate of a wealthy uncle in California, estimated at between two and three hundred thousand. He and his wife sold their home and went west to collect the money, then started out to have some fun for the first time in their lives. They hit Miami the first of October, spent money lavishly, and ended up by splurging on the ring. I remember King and his wife,” Randolph went on reflectively, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“They were nice people, a little bewildered by sudden wealth. He was about forty. Thin and stooped, as though he’d worked too hard all his life without quite enough to eat. His wife always managed to look dowdy, even when she was wearing a Paris original. There wasn’t one single thing to hang anything on, Mike. We sent a man to Ohio to check their background, and they were exactly what they claimed to be.”

Shayne said, “That doesn’t sound like very much,” his eyes bleak and staring into space.

“By itself, it isn’t,” said Randolph. He shuffled the papers until he found the one he wanted. “The next case is another star ruby sold by Walter Voorland. I was in New York at the time and the policy on this one was issued by Provident Casualty. To Roland Kendrick of Westchester County, New York, a wealthy sportsman and playboy. That was in October of forty-five. He bought an eleven-carat star ruby pendant for his wife. Stanley Ellsworth made the appraisal at one hundred and ten thousand. Purchase price was one twenty-five. It lasted longer than the first one. Almost a month. The Kendricks went from here to New Orleans and were held up by two armed men late at night when they were returning home from a night club. Kendrick was knocked cold as he stepped out of his car to open his garage door, and when he came to, his wife was dead. Shot through the head. The ruby pendant was gone. It has never turned up, either. That claim was paid promptly, after the New Orleans police reported it absolutely straight.”

“I was in New Orleans at the time,” Shayne broke in. He lit another cigarette and continued: “I wasn’t in on that one, but I don’t recall a whisper of suspicion attaching to the widowed husband. The couple were apparently happy together, and she had been flashing the pendant around at night clubs. I don’t see much in any of this,” he ended soberly.

“Except that both were star rubies- both were sold by Voorland-and both have disappeared as completely as though they had disintegrated. Now it happens again. There’s a pattern, Mike. A definite pattern, but a completely illogical one. Who could profit if the stolen stones aren’t resold?”

“I suppose you didn’t meet this second victim, Kendrick.”

“No. As I said, my company didn’t handle that one. But Kendrick’s background was just as thoroughly checked as King’s had been. He was rather a well-known sportsman around New York, and a heavy gambler. Had a piece of two or three fighters and was reputedly very wealthy.”

Shayne said slowly, “The one thing that sticks in my craw about all these cases is the way Voorland always has these big star rubies for sale. You and he both say the value of them lies in the scarcity of such stones. Yet one dealer seems to have got hold of a lot of them in the last few years.”

“I know.” Randolph’s round and slightly distended eyes looked troubled. “It is a remarkable coincidence, but I can’t believe it’s more than that. Voorland has an unimpeachable reputation throughout the world. And it isn’t quite so remarkable when you realize that star rubies are his personal passion. They have been for the last forty years. He is known throughout the gem markets to pay well for every good one that turns up. That Dustin bracelet, for instance. I’ve known for years that he has been searching for the perfect stones to match up in it.”

Shayne asked moodily, “Couldn’t those two stones-the eight-and-a-half-and eleven-carat stones-have been cut down to make two of the rubies in the Dustin bracelet?”

Randolph pursed his lips and looked doubtful. “It’s possible, but certainly not probable. Remember, Voorland sold the stones originally. It would be mighty hard to cut them so he wouldn’t still recognize them in reduced size.”

“Is there any way to check the sources from which he acquired the stones in the bracelet?”

“I’m afraid not. That sort of information is regarded as a trade secret. In some cases a particular stone can be traced to its original source, but most dealers don’t keep a record of such transactions.”

“Why not?”

“For various reasons.” Randolph again pressed the finger tips of his hands together, and continued thoughtfully: “Customs duties are high. Suppose Voorland announced in Burma that he had acquired a perfect star ruby for a large price. He would then have to declare it to get it into this country where it could be sold.”

“Do you mean to say Voorland smuggles such stuff in?”

“Not necessarily. Someone else may smuggle them in. Let’s say, rather, that Voorland is a business man. His store is one of the most successful in the world, I imagine. He does what every business man does these days-meets competition.”

Shayne grinned suddenly and said, “I guess a private dick doesn’t have so much to complain about, after all.”

“Right,” said Randolph with an answering smile. “But what Voorland does is considered no less ethical than for a stock market manipulator to beat down the price of a stock so he can buy low. Voorland is responsible to a board of directors who look only at the profit sheet each year. No matter what his personal ethics may be, to remain manager of that store he has to play the game according to the rules made by others. It’s a competitive and cut throat business.”

“But you still don’t think he’s capable of engineering a hold-up like that one tonight?”

“Walter Voorland?” Randolph’s voice was frankly incredulous. “Certainly not. Besides, what would it profit him? He, more than anyone else, knows how impossible it would be to realize a tenth of their value from the stolen rubies. He wouldn’t abet any finagling like that. Not with a star ruby. He takes personal pride in them. He would no more have a hand in anything like that than a father would arrange to have his own child kidnaped.”

“That has been done,” Shayne argued.

“For a profit, maybe. If a man were dead broke. Voorland is a rich man and there would be no profit in it for him. I don’t think you understand fully the way he feels about a star ruby. He hates to sell one.”

Shayne nodded and there was a wry grin on his gaunt face. “I noticed that he wasn’t putting any pressure on Dustin to buy last Monday when I happened to be in the store. In fact, he kept trying to slip the bracelet back into the vault and sell him something else.”

“That’s the way he is. He picks his buyers for a piece like that bracelet. I happen to know he refused to even show the piece to another prospective buyer less than a month ago.”

“Why?”

Randolph chuckled. “Because he has certain theories about the way gems should be regarded and treated. He wants them to be respected and enjoyed, worn and admired. He turned an Indian Rajah down cold when the poor devil had made a trip all the way from India just to bid on the bracelet. Voorland could have gotten a cool two hundred thousand if he’d been willing to let it go.”

“What did he have against the Rajah?” Shayne straightened in his chair and leaned forward, his eyes keen with interest.

“This one is reputed to be a jewel miser,” Randolph explained. “He has a huge collection in his palace which has never been seen by anyone. Voorland was actually rude to him and refused to show the bracelet to him because he didn’t want it buried in a private collection. The Rajah was naturally furious about the whole affair, but Voorland was adamant.”

“That,” said Shayne suddenly, “could explain where the other star rubies went-why they never turned up in legitimate channels again.”

“The Rajah?” Randolph asked dubiously. “I don’t see the connection.”

“This one, or any other private collector who hoards gems for his private pleasure,” said Shayne impatiently, “would be in the market for a star ruby whether it was stolen or not. He wouldn’t have to cut it up. He’d keep it whole and gloat over it.”

“That’s true. But there aren’t many collectors like that. Not many with a bankroll big enough and a conscience elastic enough to finance wholesale robberies-and murders.”

Shayne got up and paced excitedly up and down the room. “It’s an angle,” he argued. “Take this Rajah, for instance. No wonder he was sore that Voorland refused to sell to him. If he had kept track of the bracelet, knew when it was sold and to whom-”

“I wonder,” Randolph interrupted, as though he was beginning to get Shayne’s idea. “I wonder if he’s still in town.”

“He wouldn’t have to be,” Shayne pointed out. “All he would need to do is pass the word around that he was in the market for the bracelet when or if it went out of the store and became available. That would explain the planning and the swiftness of the snatch tonight.”

“How would they know who bought it?”

“Easy enough. How much do you think those store clerks earn in a year? A bribe could be easily managed.”

“By God, I believe you’ve got something, Mike.” Randolph was sitting erect, staring at Shayne as he paced the floor. “If we don’t hear from the thieves in a few days-”

“You won’t,” Shayne said strongly. “They’re not out for any lousy insurance reward of a few grand.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can take a hint,” Shayne said grimly, fingering the bruise on his jaw where it contacted Blackie’s knucks. “What’s this Rajah’s name?”

“The Rajah of Hindupoor. He was at the Miami Waldorf a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know-”

“Why don’t you check up those other two thefts of star rubies and find out if the Rajah was hanging around when they were committed?”

Shayne was on his way to the door. He took his hat from the rack and Randolph asked, “Where are you going, Mike?”

“To the Miami Waldorf.” He jammed his hat on his head and pulled the brim low on his forehead. His eyes glinted hotly when he turned back to say, “I’ll let you know what I find out,” then went out the door.