Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 21, No. 115, June 1953

Emerald Bait by Val Duncan

One look from her and storm signals began flying from Hatteras to the top button of my tuxedo vest. This girl meant trouble — beautiful trouble, but that was okay by me. Women like her and trouble are easy mixers, but you can wash ’em both out with a Martini.

But the Martini situation wasn’t too good right now. There was one left on the tray and we both wanted it. She reached for it the same time I did. Our hands touched, our eyes met. Suddenly I needed a drink like never before.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“So am I.” Her voice was throaty and cool, and I knew she wasn’t a bit sorry. Neither was I.

She moved with the grace of a panther — a panther in a shimmering gown that clung to her with loving care. She smiled and the most kissable mouth in my memory parted to show a row of white, even teeth. I could almost feel them nibbling at my ears. She lifted the glass.

“We both want it, so let’s share it,” she said. It was a fair proposition, I thought. Anything involving this baby would be a fair proposition.

She took my arm and we picked our way across the floor, all the time shoulder-deep in the Social Register. Most of the old dowagers had retired to the sidelines and more than one deb had passed out. Mrs. J. Chauncey Hadley was marrying off her last and homeliest daughter — no small achievement! — and it was a moment of rejoicing among the clan. Lots of Hadley cash was being spilled to spread this one.

We found a spot in a shadowy corner, not too far away from the center of things, and sipped the glass dry by turns.

“Having fun?” she wanted to know.

“Once in a while,” I said. Despite the pleasant business at hand I was keeping my eye on Mrs. Hadley. For perhaps the hundredth time my gaze fastened on the big emerald that swung by a thin chain over her overstuffed frontispiece.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

“The party?”

The beautiful eyes gleamed. “That little number Mrs. Hadley is wearing, I mean.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s worth at least $100,000,” she breathed.

I hoped she didn’t see the way my eyebrows lifted. Maybe my little chum wasn’t here for a purely social evening, either.

“Dance?” I said. She squeezed my hand for reply and we stepped out to the floor. The music was low and sweet.

Maybe she liked to dance like that all the time or maybe it was just me, but she certainly loved close-quarter work. Somehow, I couldn’t get around to telling her that all this was happening five years too late. She was my type, all right, but I wasn’t toying around these days. My ever-loving wife saw to that. She’s much too good a detective, almost psychic, and I know when I’m licked. So I just danced on, piloting my little chum through the crowd so I never lost sight of Mrs. Hadley’s emerald.

Finally, we stopped dancing and stood in the shadow of some potted palms, just watching. The party was beginning to slow down. Most of those noble old backs were probably creaking by now and even the eyes without monocles were getting glassy. But not my eyes. They weren’t missing a trick.

At the other end of the ballroom was a table freighted with silverware and other wedding presents, guarded by several bored but watchful guys who looked like they trained on rare beef. They were dicks from the Gloria Crawford Security Agency — boys to look out for. The silver was their job. But the emerald was my job.

Warm, scented breath curled around the back of my neck. She loved to be near me, that girl. I reached for her hand, then dropped it quickly when I heard Mrs. Hadley scream. She was fumbling at her neck — her suddenly bare neck.

There was a clatter as the big stone, chain and all, fell to the parquet floor.

“My emerald,” she gasped. I took a step forward involuntarily, and then stood still, cursing inwardly for making myself conspicuous.

But some old johnny came to her rescue — and mine. Scooping up the stone from the floor, he handed it back to her with a bow. The thing danced in green fire at the end of the chain. The old lady practically snatched it from his hands, muttered some few words of thanks, and turned toward the stairs.

I watched her go, wondering what my next move was. Fingers fondled my arm. My little friend inched closer. We were alone in the palm shadow.

“I’ve been thinking...” Her husky whisper trailed off.

“Yes?” I was scarcely thinking of her. My mind was on the emerald.

As she smiled, her eyes were half-closed, like those of a sleepy cat. “With a man like you,” she said softly, “a girl sort of expects things to happen.” It was right on the line. She was asking for it. Emerald or not, I couldn’t resist.

The white softness of her skin and the invitation in her eyes were all I could see. Handling her shoulders, I put my lips to hers so hard that I drew blood in my mouth. She wilted, twisted away, and broke free.

“Oh.” It was as close to a genuine gasp as this girl would ever get in her life. Then she smiled. “Fix your mouth,” she said.

She carried a funny little fur muff in her hand. She fished out a mirror. Then: “Wait for me,” she whispered. “This won’t take long. If you want, you can drop me home.”

She disappeared toward the stairs and I was left dabbling lipstick off my mouth. Then I swore. The stone! What a chump I was to let it go like that. Playing lover boy when all the time that emerald was vanishing up that stairway!

Stuffing my handkerchief back in my pocket, I reached the stairs in a cautious, broken-field run through a crowd of footmen, drunks, and dames.

I took the stairs fast, heading for the third floor. The sight of Mrs. Hadley coming down delayed me at the second landing. Fortunately, she was staring straight ahead and I was able to hide behind a convenient statue. I watched her puff by on her way back to the party. Then I resumed my trek up to the third floor, my mind reviewing the floor plan that I had committed to memory.

Reaching the third floor, I went down a short hallway to the left, then a long one to the right. Sure enough, the glow from a night lamp showed over the transom of the end room. I tiptoed down to it and swung the door ajar noiselessly. By the lamp’s yellow light I saw a figure with the grace of a panther.

The wall safe was open and the emerald dangled from her hand. The picture became clear then. That kiss had been a plant, giving her an excuse to break away from me and follow Mrs. Hadley upstairs. After seeing Mrs. Hadley stash the stone away, she waited until the coast was clear and then sneaked in and fingered the safe.

I moved into the doorway. “Pretty,” I said. “Very pretty.”

She turned, and her eyes flattened. Her mouth was a scarlet line. “I asked you to wait,” she said coolly. “Mrs. Hadley’s a little upset, and she asked me to see that this gets tucked away safely. Wait downstairs, will you, like a nice lad?”

Her gesture of dismissal was worthy of Mrs. Hadley herself, but I shook my head and smiled. “Oh, no, beautiful. This nice lad wouldn’t think of leaving you at a time like this.”

She balled the emerald up in her hand and put her fist into the little muff. I moved toward her. “You’ll change your mind if you know what’s good for you,” she said. I was close enough now to see the green lights flickering in her eyes.

“Fast worker,” I said admiringly. “You even got your lipstick fixed.”

“Quit being cute.” Her voice cut like a January wind. “The police don’t appreciate it.”

“The police?” I felt myself go tense.

The corner of her mouth twisted. “Listen, my hard-kissing friend, I’ve had your number all evening,” she said. “You couldn’t let this stone out of your sight, could you?” She paused, then let me have it hard. “It may be of interest for you to know that there are several of my operatives here tonight. Not one of them rates less than heavyweight honors. Like most big-money social affairs, this party is under the protection of the Gloria Crawford Agency—”

I let that sink in. “Oh,” I said, “and you—”

“I am Gloria Crawford.”

That was Surprise Number One. Surprise Number Two was the dainty little automatic that she flicked out of the muff. Surprise Number Three — and this was for her — was the fact that I moved in time.

A slug whistled over me, and then I had her wrists, forcing the gun and the emerald to the floor. She struggled furiously, with her clenched teeth showing, but it was no use. The noise of the shot had broken up the party. I could hear the sound of voices and footsteps hurrying down the half to ward us.

“Baby,” I said regretfully. “You and your Martini and your lovin’ — they were fun, but they didn’t fool me, not for a minute. And when it comes to your being Gloria Crawford — well, Gloria couldn’t make it tonight. She’s home having a baby. It’s our first.”