Flynn’s Weekly. Vol. 22, No. 3, March 5, 1927

Right in the bedroom of his own apartment Jimmy Van Beuren stumbled into a certain opportunity he couldn’t overlook.

I

Yawning mightily, Jimmy Van Beuren unlocked the door of bachelor apartment and stepped inside. His jaws suddenly came together with a click as the door slid noiselessly shut, leaving him in inky darkness. Instinctively he had sensed that he was not alone in the apartment.

Standing stock-still in the velvety darkness, Jimmy debated with himself whether or not to open the door, dash into the corridor of the apartment hotel and call for help. That would be safest.

But, he reasoned, he would be the laughing stock of the place if it turned out to be a false alarm and no one was found in the apartment.

Besides, Jimmy was by no means sure there was some one there. No sound reached his ears as he stood motionless. It might be sheer nervousness, he decided; perhaps a recurrence of the shell-shock he suffered in the war.

The more he thought of it, the more ridiculous it seemed to Jimmy for him to go tearing into the corridor, screaming for help, at two o’clock in the morning.

With a quick, decisive motion, Jimmy reached for the switch and pressed the pearl button. Instantly the apartment was flooded with light, which revealed nothing extraordinary. Jimmy laughed and threw his stick, hat and gloves on the table.

“What the deuce!” he muttered, sinking into a deep, leather-covered chair. “Guess I’m turning out to be a regular ninny.”

He picked up an unfinished novel and started to read. But try as he did, Jimmy could not rid himself of a queer feeling that he was not alone. The type became blurred and the words unintelligible. Presently, disgusted, he threw the book down and got up.

“I suppose I’ll have to look around to make myself feel perfectly safe,” he growled, annoyed by his own seemingly groundless fears.

He walked around the living room, looked under the table, passed into the dining room and then threw open the door of his bedroom.

He glanced aimlessly about and then, suddenly, he caught his breath as his eyes rested on the closet door. That door, Jimmy recalled, he had opened it to get out his tuxedo a few hours before. And he had been in such, haste to reach Mrs. Grandon-Smythe’s ball that he had neglected to close it. Now it was shut!

Again Jimmy fought down an inclination to call for help. Perhaps a chambermaid had closed the door, he thought.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do,” he decided. A few long strides carried him across the floor. With unnecessary violence he jerked the door open.

Jimmy’s jaw dropped in amazement at the sight that met his eyes. Inside the closet, half concealed by hanging clothes, was a girl — a pale, beautiful girl who looked at him with supplicating blue eyes.

Jimmy recovered his breath.

“Well, well,” he murmured, half to himself. “A girl crook, eh?”

“No! No!” A blush stained the girl’s soft cheeks, as she stepped out of the closet. “You mustn’t think that. Oh!”

She placed a white, smooth hand appealingly on Jimmy’s sleeve, only to have it promptly shaken off.

“See here,” said Jimmy brusquely. “Don’t expect me to fall for that. Stand there a minute while I see if you’ve taken anything.”

Watching the girl through the corner of his eye, Jimmy walked to the bed. He removed a picture from the wall, revealing a small wall safe.

He spun the dial expertly, and in a moment the little door swung open. Inside there was a small brown case. Jimmy raised the cover and the Van Beuren jewels, a glittering mass of diamonds, emeralds and pearls, sparkled radiantly.

Satisfied, Jimmy shut the door and spun the dial again. Replacing the picture he turned back to his visitor. She had dropped into an armchair, buried her face in her hands and was sobbing softly.

Nonplused, Jimmy hurried to her side.

“Here, here,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I made a mistake. What’s wrong?”

The girl raised a tear-stained face to his.

“Everything,” she choked. “Chiefly that I’m taken for a jewel thief.”

“Well—” Jimmy stammered, and then recalled conditions. “But what in the world are you doing here at two o’clock in the morning?”

The girl blushed again.

“I can explain that,” she said softly.

Her voice was well modulated, indicating good breeding, and Jimmy noted for the first time that she was attractively clad in a businesslike beige suit, dainty patent leather pumps, above which showed a modest length of trim ankle, enhanced by sheer, gunmetal silk stockings.

Jimmy dropped into a chair and waited for her to explain. She dabbed at her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief before she began to speak.

“My name,” she said, “is Patricia Hanley. I am Mrs. Franklin Maxwell’s private secretary.”

Jimmy nodded. He knew Mrs. Maxwell, a social leader, who lived in the West Nineties.

“Mrs. Maxwell,” the girl continued, “is now at her country place near Huntington and I was in charge of her town house on Ninety-Fifth Street.

“At nearly one o’clock this morning, Mrs. Maxwell telephoned me to bring her jewels, which she had left in the safe in the town house, to her at Huntington.”

“Yes?” prompted Jimmy when the girl hesitated for a moment.

“Before hanging up, Mrs. Maxwell told me that several attempts had been made to steal the gems, and warned me to be very careful. That naturally made me nervous, so I ordered Harry, the Maxwell chauffeur, to take me to the station.

“I planned to catch the one thirty train out of Pennsylvania Station, and Harry was waiting for me with the car in front of the house at one fifteen o’clock. As I got into the machine I noticed another car, a black roadster, with two men in it, parked across the street.

“I paid no attention to the roadster and its passengers until we started off down Riverside Drive. Then I happened to glance through the rear window and discovered the roadster was trailing a hundred yards in the rear.

“That frightened me a bit, and I leaned forward and ordered Harry to make more speed. He did — for a few blocks. Then a tire blew out! We stopped, and so did the roadster.

“By this time I was in a frenzy of fear. Riverside Drive was altogether deserted, save for a few cars. Not a policeman in sight.

“I kept looking back, while Harry got out and started to jack up the car, preparing to change tires.

“While he was doing this, I saw the two men get out of the speedster and saunter slowly toward us. Their hands were in their pockets and I divined why.

“There was nothing for me to do except to place the jewel case inside my coat, open the door of the car and run.

“After taking a few strides, I looked over my shoulder and saw that the two men also had broken into a run and were headed for me.

“I was too horrified to scream. All I could think of was to run. I dashed into Eighty-Third Street and headed east. Frequent glances backward told me the men were gaining. I was breathless; my lungs seemed about to burst, and the lights of Broadway, where I could expect help, seemed a mile away.

“Then, beside this house, I saw a little alley. By some chance the fire ladder was down. That seemed my one way to possible safety and I took it.

“I ran into the alley and started up the ladder. The men turned in after me and, in the alley, they stopped in amazement. Apparently they hadn’t foreseen any such move on my part, and they were puzzled.

“But they didn’t go away. They stood there, talking excitedly. I continued upward, not knowing just where I was going to end. At the fourth floor, I found your bedroom window open and jumped in.

“I... I couldn’t find the light, so I stumbled around until I came upon the closet. That seemed to be the best place to hide, and I stayed in there until you found me.”

Jimmy was silent for a moment, digesting this astounding tale.

“Didn’t you hear me come in?” he asked presently. Receiving an affirmative nod, he snapped: “Then why did you stay in the closet?”

“Because,” the girl explained, “I thought you were one of the bandits. It is quite possible that one of them could come up here through the hall, you know.”

Somewhat crestfallen. Jimmy agreed. But he was still a bit skeptical.

“Are the Maxwell jewels safe?” he queried.

The girl hesitated for a moment. Then she slipped her hand under her coat and drew out a flat morocco case. She pressed a hidden spring and the top flew open, revealing a mass of gems that rivaled Jimmy’s own.

The last vestige of Jimmy’s doubt vanished. For, on top of the scintillating mass of jewels, he saw a magnificent diamond necklace. Many times, at social functions, he had seen that magnificent bauble encircling the withered neck of old Mrs. Maxwell.

II

“Well, let’s see,” said Jimmy, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “It’s too late to catch that train now, of course. About all I can do is to take you to the station and see that you get safely aboard the next train. There ought to be a milk train about four o’clock.”

“I’m awfully grateful to you,” the girl said impulsively. She seemed about to say more, but changed her mind and remained silent.

Jimmy started for the living room to don his coat.

A sudden frightened cry from the girl brought him back to her side.

She was standing at the window, gazing fascinated into the dimly lighted street.

“Look!” she whispered tensely.

Jimmy peered downward. The reason for Patricia’s shock was apparent.

Across the street was a dark roadster, and below, on the sidewalk, were two men! Their heads were together, and occasionally one turned slightly and glanced upward. Startled, Jimmy realized they were looking at his window!

Jimmy became aware that the girl at his side was sobbing with fright.

“It’s them,” she managed between sobs. “And they know I’m here!”

Jimmy touched her hand encouragingly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured.

“But what will I do?” The girl wrung her hands in despair.

“I’ll telephone for the police,” Jimmy declared, and started for the telephone.

“Wait, look!” Patricia pointed through the window. “They’re coming up!”

Jimmy’s eyes followed her finger. It was true. The two men were walking toward the entrance of the house, glancing upward now and then and striving to appear nonchalant.

“It’s too late to telephone for help now,” Jimmy whispered. “But I can take care of them.”

Jimmy thrilled as the girl’s wide eyes met his.

“But you shouldn’t,” she murmured, veiling her eyes. “Let me out of the apartment and I’ll take my chances again. If you interfere you may be hurt. They’re desperate, you know.”

Jimmy paid no attention to her warning. He was deep in thought, planning a mode of defense.

“You stay in this room, Pat — Miss Hanley,” he said. “I’m going to receive ’em in the living room.”

He walked into the outer room, carefully shut the door and locked it, grimly deciding that if the thugs should overpower him the door would prove at least a slight obstacle between them and their helpless quarry.

Then he pressed the switch, plunging the living room into blackness. Moving confidently about in the darkness, he found his desk, opened a drawer and took out a .45 caliber army revolver, the same weapon that had stood by him so well in Belleau Wood.

Holding this formidable weapon in his right hand, he stationed himself beside the door and waited.

The seconds dragged interminably, each bringing a pleasurable thrill to Jimmy’s spine. This was the first excitement he had had since his return from France, and he enjoyed it to the fullest.

Presently he found his mind straying from his self-appointed task of dealing with two dangerous bandits and wandering to a certain fair-haired girl whose name suggested boyishness and good-fellowship.

Those pleasant dreams vanished with stealthy footsteps in the hall. They ceased in front of his door and a faint whisper reached Jimmy’s straining ears.

“This is the place, Sam,” were the words the listener heard.

There was a fumbling and then a jangling of keys. One was inserted in the lock, withdrawn and another tried. This performance was repeated a dozen times or more. Presently one key fitted and the door was swung cautiously open.

Jimmy pressed himself against the wall, behind the door. He was altogether concealed from the two pairs of sharp eyes that peered suspiciously about the dark room.

With a catlike tread, the strangers entered, pushing the door shut behind them. As the lock snapped. Jimmy reached over and pressed the switch. Instantly the gloom was dissipated with a brilliance that dazzled the eyes of the intruders.

When, with angry exclamations, they recovered the use of their eyes they found themselves looking into the muzzle of an ominous revolver, held by a smiling, muscular young man in evening clothes.

“Please be seated,” invited Jimmy with mock hospitality. “Sorry I didn’t expect this call or I’d have had my man here to take your hats. Or would you prefer to keep them on? Whoa — there! Keep your hands away from your pockets! Put ’em up. Now, that’s better.”

One of the pair had started to reach for his hip pocket, but Jimmy’s sharp order induced him to change his mind. His hands and those of his companion rose ceiling-ward.

“Just sit on that bench there and make yourselves at home,” directed Jimmy.

“See here,” blustered the taller of his prisoners, a thick-set individual whose freshly shaven jowels and chin were blue with beard that showed through the skin. “You can’t—”

Jimmy waved for silence. “Pardon me, for a moment while I telephone,” he interrupted.

Jimmy placed the receiver to his ear.

“Spring 3-1-0-0, please,” he ordered.

The two prisoners half rose from their seats.

“Careful!” barked Jimmy. “This isn’t a glass pistol, you know.”

The pair sank back, their faces distorted with rage.

“Say, Buddy—” one began, with an apparent attempt at friendliness.

“Hello, police headquarters?” Jimmy interrupted. “This is Mr. Van Beuren, of No. — West Eighty-Third Street. I’ve just caught two burglars in my apartment. You’ll send some one over from the West Sixty-Eighth Street station? Fine!”

Jimmy hung up the receiver and turned back to his prisoners. They were almost strangling with pent-up emotions.

“It’s all right, Miss Hanley,” Jimmy called, ensconcing himself in an easy-chair from where he could keep his gun trained on the prisoners. “You can come out now.”

Nearly a full minute passed before the girl answered in a faint voice, which indicated she was on the verge of collapse as a result of her experiences.

“Have you any smelling salts?” she queried through the door.

“Yes,” Jimmy replied. “You’ll find them in the medicine chest in the bathroom off the bedroom.”

He heard Patricia walking away from the door toward the bathroom. “Can’t blame her for being upset after all this,” he thought, and scowled at the girl’s persecutors.

The two were plainly fuming, but the gun in Jimmy’s hands deterred them from action. They remained in their strange postures — seated and with uplifted hands — for five — ten — twelve minutes, when Jimmy became worried about Patricia. Perhaps she had fallen in a faint.

A vigorous knock at the door broke up his thought in that direction.

III

“Come in,” called Jimmy, and two burly bluecoats entered.

Both policemen blinked with amazement at the sight that met their eyes.

“Casey — Bronson — what’s up?” demanded one, the first to recover from his amazement.

The gun in Jimmy’s hand wavered uncertainly.

“Aren’t they burglars?” he asked, dum-founded.

“Burglars!” snorted the blue-chinned prisoner, who answered to the name of Casey. “Tell this fool” — indicating jimmy — “who we are, Perkins.”

The uniformed man grinned.

“I wouldn’t call ’em burglars,” he said to Jimmy. “They’re Casey and Bronson of Inspector McIntyre’s staff.”

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Casey snapped. “The girl’s in there.”

Without waiting for Jimmy to produce the key for which he was fumbling, the four policemen dashed for the door and burst it inward. The light was on — and the room was empty!

Jimmy followed the men into the room.

“How’d she get out?” Casey queried of no one in particular, after satisfying himself that she was neither under the bed or in the closet.

Jimmy answered by pointing to a window concealed by draperies. Casey thrust the covering aside and discovered the open window led onto the fire escape — the same one by which the girl had entered Jimmy’s apartment.

“Not a sight of her,” Casey reported, in a disgruntled tone.

Jimmy found his voice.

“Tell me what it’s all about,” he pleaded.

Casey sent a withering glance in his direction, but deigned to answer.

“That was Pat the Piper. She got that name because she could ‘pipe’ up a story every time she got into a pinch, and the story was so good she usually got out.

“Anyway, she’s one of the cleverest jewel thieves in New York. We’d been on her trail for a week, and to-night we almost got her as she was leaving the home of Mrs. Franklin Maxwell.”

“Mrs. Franklin Maxwell!” This information stunned Jimmy. “Why she told me she was Mrs. Maxwell’s secretary and was taking her jewels to her.”

“She was taking the jewels all right,” Casey said grimly. “But not to Mrs. Maxwell. Not her!”

“We saw her running down the steps with a package under her arm,” the detective continued, “and we started for her. She had a car waiting, and off she went in it down the Drive. We followed.

“Nearly got her, too, but just as we got within twenty-five yards of her she jumped out of the car, which was driven by a man, ran into the alley beside this house, and went up the fire escape. I guess you know the rest.

“But, say,” he concluded, “what tale did she give you?”

Jimmy shrugged, ashamed of his gullibility.

“She said two jewel thieves, supposed to be you, were pursuing her, and she ran up my fire escape. I fell for it, too.”

“Huh,” snorted Casey. “Well, after talking to her, you’d better make sure the fillings are still in your teeth.”

Jimmy grinned mirthlessly.

“The fillings are all right, but the Van Beuren jewels aren’t.”

“What do you mean?” Casey asked.

Jimmy pointed to the open door of his little wall safe, which the policemen had failed to notice. The jewel case, which had reposed inside, was gone!

The policemen exclaimed sympathetically.

“Well, the little cuss!” Casey ejaculated. “While you were saving her from us, she went and took you over, did she?”

Jimmy nodded.

“What were they worth?” Casey asked.

“A hundred thousand or thereabouts. I had just taken ’em from the safe deposit vault for a day or two, intending to have them appraised.”

“Whew! That’s tough,” Casey sympathized. “Make us up a list and description of the pieces and we’ll do our best to get ’em back for you, but I can’t promise much.”

“Thank you,” said Jimmy, and bowed his visitors out.

Closing the door behind them, a bitter smile came to his lips. So that was her gratitude. And all his fond dreams of a friendship that might follow the rescue. Well, he’d know better the next time.

So thinking, he walked to the safe and was about to close the door when a slip of paper lying on the floor of the strong box caught his eye. He picked it up and read:

In a daze Jimmy walked to his bed and flipped back the pillow. The Van Beuren gems sparkled brilliantly at him.