The Amazing Adventures of Lester Leith

The Hand Is Quicker Than the Eye

Lester Leith, sprawled in a chaise longue on the screened balcony of his apartment, read the newspaper account of the theft with considerable interest.

A few paces behind him, Edward H. Beaver, the police undercover man who had insinuated his way into Leith’s service as a valet, made a great show of dusting; but his beady eyes were riveted on the slender, well-knit figure of the man whom police considered the most brilliant crime technician of the decade.

The newspaper account was somewhat vague. The theft had taken place at the residence of Charles Sansone, the well-known authority on Asiatic history, who had recently returned from an extended trip in the Orient. The victim of the theft had been one Katiska Shogiro, a Japanese gentleman who owned a pearl necklace of immense value. The clasp of the necklace was of that peculiar bright yellow gold which characterizes Chinese workmanship, and while undoubtedly the necklace bore a resemblance to a priceless museum piece which had vanished from the storeroom of the Forbidden City, Shogiro smilingly explained that the resemblance was purely superficial.

Sansone, it seemed, was interested in the necklace. It had even been intimated that he contemplated its purchase. In any event, Katiska Shogiro had been invited to the highly cosmopolitan dinner party at which Frank Thoms, the big game hunter, Peter Grier, the explorer, and Silman Shore, the expert trapshooter, were also present. Because Charles Sansone’s secretary, Mah Foy, was Chinese, Sansone had tactfully given her a day and night off, although she usually supervised the details of his dinner parties, and was generally present in the capacity of hostess...

Beaver, the pseudo-valet, becoming more and more absorbed in watching the man upon whom he spied, slowed down his dusting operations until his hands barely moved.

Leith, looking up, said, “Something wrong, Scuttle?”

The valet resumed his duties with alacrity, replying, “No, sir.”

It had long been a matter of great irritation to him that Leith refused to address him by the name of Beaver, but habitually referred to him as “Scuttle,” a nickname bestowed because of a fancied resemblance in Leith’s mind to a reincarnated pirate. Now the valet concealed his irritation by seizing the opportunity to discuss the theft of the necklace. He knew from experience that if he could turn Leith’s razor-sharp mind to the problem of the theft, it was quite possible that Leith, with no more information than was given by the newspaper accounts, would spot the thief. Once that had been done, the spy knew that a series of baffling and seemingly unrelated incidents would then occur which would culminate in Leith urbanely walking off with the loot under such circumstances that the police would be just one jump behind. Later, one of Leith’s charities would be enhanced by the exact amount which Leith had received for the sale of the loot, less 20 per cent which the police shrewdly suspected was retained by Leith as the costs of collection.

Beaver lived in anticipation of the moment when Leith’s smooth-working mind would overlook a bet, and the police would not be that one jump behind. So far that had not happened. At times the police had been almost on Leith’s heels, but they had never quite caught up.

“A most baffling crime, sir,” the spy said.

“Baffling?” Leith asked.

“Yes, sir. The pearl necklace.”

“Oh, that,” Leith said. “I fail to see anything baffling about it, Scuttle. It’s a run-of-the-mill crime. I suppose it would seem baffling to the untrained mind because of the mystery which seems to surround the manner in which Shogiro acquired the necklace in the first place. However, that’s only background. The crime itself is quite simple.”

“Simple, sir!” the valet exclaimed.

“Exactly,” Leith said.

“Perhaps then,” the spy said, in his best wheedling technique, “you can tell me who committed it.”

Leith selected a cigarette and said quite calmly, “That’s true, Scuttle.”

“What’s true, sir?”

“Perhaps I could tell you the identity of the thief.”

“Yes, sir?” the spy asked eagerly.

Leith struck a match.

“I’m waiting, sir,” the valet said.

“A most commendable habit,” Leith said, “that of patience, Scuttle. I recommend it most highly. At times, I’ve noticed a tendency on your part to be impatient.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you said you were going to tell me the identity of the culprit.”

Leith said, “Oh, no, Scuttle. There you go, misunderstanding me again. You merely mentioned that perhaps I could tell you the identity of the thief, and I admitted that perhaps I could.”

The spy flushed, but he kept his voice under control. “Yes, sir. I appreciate the distinction. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leith said.

The spy tried another approach. “Of course, sir,” he said, with a cunning gleam in his eye, “any man of ordinary intelligence could point out the probable criminal in live cases out of ten. The police, however, have a different problem. They have to prove that a man is guilty.”

Leith said, almost musingly, “After all, Scuttle, why not? The crime has everything to challenge the imagination of the investigator: Oriental background, fabulous pearls, a mysterious disappearance, and— Yes, Scuttle, I will commission you to do it.”

“To do what, sir?”

“To go through the newspapers and note every single fact about the crime.”

The spy’s eyes lit up. “Yes, sir. When shall I start?”

“Right now,” Leith said. “And by the way, Scuttle...”

“Yes, sir.”

“I notice that Mr. Sansone has a Chinese secretary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out about her. Get a full description of the pearls. I think Mr. Shogiro stated they were the duplicate of a string which has been illustrated in some publication on the museum pieces of China. Find out whether Peter Grier speaks Chinese, and whether Frank Thoms, the big game hunter, intends to go to Alaska this fall for Kodiac grizzly. And, oh, yes, find out if Shogiro has given up his proposed trip to Europe. As I remember it, he intended to sail the middle of the month.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And get me the address of every manufacturer in the city who handles equipment for amateur magicians.”

The spy blinked.

“And,” Leith said, “I think that is all — for the moment.”

Lester Leith strolled into the newspaper office with a want ad.

“Help Wanted — Female,” he said to the young woman behind the counter. “Run this ad in a box so that it will attract considerable attention.”

She read it through, then glanced quickly at Leith. “It will cost a lot,” she explained.

“Quite all right,” he assured her.

She counted the words, made a note of the total, and then looked at the hundred-dollar bill which Leith took from his pocket and slipped across the counter. She opened the cash drawer, made change, and handed him a receipt.

“I want the earliest possible publication,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

She followed him with her eyes as he left the office, then hastily beckoned to the girl on her left. “Gosh, Mamie,” she said, “don’t you wish you were Chinese?”

“Shucks, no,” the girl said, patting her hair. “Who was the swell, Gert?”

“Read it,” Gertrude said, handing Leith’s copy over to Mamie. “He wants a Chinese secretary who is young and free to travel. He wants someone who knows Chinese history and who has a college education. He offers to pay six hundred dollars a month and all traveling expenses... Think of working for a guy like him and getting six hundred bucks a month for it!”

Meanwhile, Leith took a taxi to one of the largest bookstores. “I want some of your best books,” he said, “on legerdemain.”

And while this was happening, Beaver sat closeted with Sergeant Ackley at police headquarters. Ackley worried the stump of a cold cigar as he listened, his forehead puckered into a prodigious frown.

When the undercover man had finished, Ackley said, “Listen, Beaver, if we could put this thing across, we could make a clean-up. Shogiro has offered a reward of five thousand bucks and no questions asked.”

The undercover man whistled.

Sergeant Ackley said, “I’ll get you the file, and you can go over it. Don’t let him get away on this, Beaver. This is the biggest thing we’ve ever tackled. If we could nail him, and at the same time get that necklace, we could kill two birds with one stone. Think of what you could do with twenty-five hundred bucks in cold, hard cash.”

The undercover man sighed.

“Don’t overlook Charles Sansone in this thing,” Sergeant Ackley said. “The facts point to him as the slicker, although he’s fired his Chinese secretary — a nice way of diverting suspicion from himself.”

“Why?” Beaver asked. “That is, what reason does he give for firing her?”

“Seems she’d violated instructions. Sansone told her to clear out and not come back until after the dinner. He had his eye on that necklace — wanted to buy it from Shogiro. Shogiro wanted to sell it. They were doing a little trading on the price. Apparently, the necklace is a pip, in addition to which it was worn by the Empress Dowager of China and has a lot of history attached to it... By the way, what’s all this stuff about the amateur magic?”

“Hanged if I know,” Beaver said. “You know what he does when he starts working on a case. He gets a lot of goofy stuff together. Some of it’s important, some of it isn’t — but it all fits in some way.”

“Well,” Sergeant Ackley chuckled, “this is once he’ll come a cropper. He hasn’t any head start on us this time. We’re in on the ground floor.”

Lester Leith eyed the Chinese girl thoughtfully. Her skin was smooth as old ivory. The eyes were slightly slanted. She was in her late twenties, and her voice had that delicacy of expression which is indicative of a race which must have vocal cords so finely trained, and an ear so delicately receptive, as to distinguish any one of the eight tones in which a syllable of the Chinese language may be spoken.

She said, very casually, “There are not a great number of Chinese girls in this country who know both the Chinese written and spoken language, have first-hand experience with their native land, and possess a degree from a Western university.”

“I daresay that is right.”

Her eyes glittered in a swift survey of his face, but her face remained blank. “One might almost have thought,” she said, “that the advertisement was intended to single me out.”

Leith said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but anyone who did possess the rather unusual combination of qualifications could be pardoned for thinking so.”

“Then you pardon me?”

“Yes.”

There was the ghost of a twinkle in her eyes as she said, “Then I think so.”

Leith laughed. “All right,” he said. “Miss Foy, I acknowledge the guilt. To be perfectly frank with you, I read in the newspaper account of the theft of that necklace that you had been dismissed because of a violation of instructions.”

“My dismissal,” she said, “was unjust.”

“What happened?”

“My employer suggested that because he was desirous of purchasing the necklace, and because Mr. Shogiro would be suspicious if one of my race was a guest at the dinner, that it would be well to absent myself, not only from the dinner, but from the house.”

“You failed to do so?”

“I did exactly as he requested. Unfortunately, however, I discovered that I had lost some very valuable jade which my mother had given me. It was a pendant, and evidently the supporting ring had almost worn through. The pendant had caught on something, and all that was left was the chain.”

“So you returned to the house?” Lester Leith asked.

“I did. I tried to return in such a way that no one would notice. But I failed.”

“Did you find the jade?”

“Yes. It had caught on one of the drapes in my bedroom and had dropped to the floor.”

“What sort of chap is Sansone?” Leith asked.

She said, very calmly, “I’m afraid I do not understand. Is it not the purpose to ask the former employer concerning the character of the employee, rather than to to ask the employee about the character of her former employer?”

Leith said, “Doubtless that is the custom, but I asked the question for a very particular purpose.”

“He is a gentleman,” Mah Foy said.

Leith drummed with the tips of his fingers on the table. “If perhaps he had thought that a theft would occur while Shogiro was at his house, and wished to protect you, he might have been been shrewd and considerate enough to suggest that you arrange a perfect alibi for yourself.”

He saw quick flashing interest in her eyes.

“But how could he have anticipated that a theft would occur while Shogiro was under his roof?”

Lester Leith brushed the question aside. “That, of course, is something for the police to consider. It is just a thought.”

“Are you then a detective?”

“Heaven forbid!”

“And do you actually have need for a secretary, Mr. Leith, or did you wish to interrogate me?”

“Both,” Leith said. “If you would like the job, you’re hired. The salary is six hundred a month. You will have your traveling expenses taken care of, and, if necessary, we can consider a reasonable wardrobe a part of your traveling expenses.”

“You intend to travel?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask where?”

“To the Hawaiian Islands.”

She raised her eyebrows. “To Honolulu?”

“Yes.”

“That will be delightful,” she said. “I am considered an expert typist. I can take rapid dictation in shorthand, and I feel certain that I could do your work. When do you wish me to start?”

“At once.”

“You mean now — this instant?”

“Yes.”

She said, “Very well. May I see the typewriter please?”

Leith said, “There won’t be any typing for the present, Miss Foy.”

“What is it you wish me to do?”

“Wait here for my return.”

“So I may make appointments?”

“Yes,” Leith said, getting to his feet. “I have a valet who should be back at any moment. His name is Beaver. I call him Scuttle. He has been with me for some time, and I have the greatest confidence in his loyalty and integrity.”

“But one should expect that of all employees.”

“Exactly,” Leith said, “but I can double it in the case of Scuttle. I have absolutely no secrets from him.”

“That is very nice.”

Leith said, “He will probably ask you questions about what you are doing here and what was said in this interview.”

She said, “My race considers that it is the province of the servant to work, of the master to ask questions.”

“Well, Scuttle has his own ideas,” Leith said, with something of a twinkle in his eyes, “and I would be particularly happy if you would answer all his questions quite truthfully, because, you see, if you didn’t, he might think I had cautioned you not to, and I wouldn’t want to hurt him for the world.”

“Very well,” she said.

“And,” Leith said, “I really feel, Miss Foy, that you shouldn’t hold any grudge against Mr. Sansone. It may well have been that he asked you to leave for your own protection. As I get the story from the newspapers, Mr. Shogiro called on him the day before the dinner at which the necklace was stolen. At that time, Sansone inspected the necklace. The next evening Shogiro came to dinner and brought the necklace with him. It was in a carved ivory jewel case which Shogiro carried in the inside pocket of his coat. After dinner, at the request of Mr. Sansone, he produced the necklace so that Mr. Sansone’s guests could see it. At that time, the necklace was found to be an imitation. The assumption, of course, is that a substitution had been made sometime during the evening. But isn’t it quite possible that Mr. Sansone had perhaps recognized the necklace as an imitation when he first saw it?”

“In that case, why did he not tell Mr. Shogiro?”

“Because,” Leith said, “he wasn’t certain. You’ll note that the dinner was for men only — men who knew something about pearls and about China. In fact, I believe it was one of the guests who observed that the pearls were imitation.”

“So I understand,” she said.

Leith abruptly got to his feet. “That,” he said, “is all, Miss Foy. You are hired. Your salary starts at once. If anyone should appear and ask for me, I have gone out and will return in an hour.”

Leith opened the door of his apartment and stood to one side. A taxi driver, loaded with parcels, staggered into the room.

“Where do you want these put, boss?”

“Any place,” Leith said. “My man will put them away. Here, Scuttle, give a hand.”

The undercover man, who had been engaged in low-voiced conversation with Mah Foy, jumped forward to help the cab driver.

Leith said, “There’s more in the cab, Scuttle. If you will go back with the driver, you can bring the other parcels up.”

When the valet and the cab driver had gone, Mah Foy said, in her musical voice, “May I assist you in opening the packages and putting them away, Mr. Leith?”

“Not yet,” Leith said. “We’ll await Scuttle’s return. Scuttle will be interested to know what’s in the packages. He’s very curious, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Mah Foy said, “I have noticed.”

“Questions?” Leith asked.

“Many questions.”

Leith said, “I trust that you remembered to answer them fully.”

“Quite fully,” she said.

Leith grinned. “We’ll stack these bundles to one side,” he said.

Together they moved the packages so that the doorway was cleared.

Even the Chinese girl showed curiosity as the undercover man and the cab driver returned with another load of packages.

“That all?” Leith asked.

“That’s all, sir,” the cab driver said.

When the cab driver had left, Leith closed the door and surveyed the array of packages. “Very well, Scuttle,” he said, “you may open them.”

Eagerly the undercover man produced a knife and started cutting cords.

Leith said, “Be careful, Scuttle. Many of those things are fragile.”

“Yes, sir,” the undercover man said.

He pulled back the heavy, brown wrapping paper, lifted the lid off a box, and brought out a glass bowl. “What’s this?” he asked.

“A goldfish bowl,” Leith said. “Not an ordinary goldfish bowl, of course, but one that has valuable properties.”

“I don’t see anything special, sir.”

Leith said, “You’ll observe, Scuttle, that there’s a circular partition in that bowl. When it is filled with water, this circular partition acts as a huge magnifying glass. Place that in front of an audience, and a small section of the bowl directly in back of it is magnified so that it looks as though the whole bowl is filled with water in which goldfish are swimming. As a matter of fact, only a small portion of the bowl contains water or goldfish.”

The undercover man straightened. “The audience?”

“Exactly,” Lester Leith said calmly.

Scuttle appeared slightly bewildered.

“But I don’t see what an audience has to do with it, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir?”

Leith said, “We are going in for prestidigitation, legerdemain, sleight of hand, optical illusions, parlor magic, and general hocus-pocus, Scuttle.”

“You mean you’re going to take that up as an occupation, sir?”

“Tut, tut,” Leith said. “You should know me better. I prefer to retain my amateur standing. Well, open the others, Scuttle.”

The undercover man opened a flat, heavy package. “What’s this? It looks like an ordinary double slate like those used in school.”

“You shouldn’t say that, Scuttle,” Leith said. “It dates you. However, you are quite right. Observe, Scuttle, how easy it is to communicate with the unseen forces which guard our lives. Ah, there it is — the sponge.”

“Yes, sir,” the spy said, producing the sponge from a corner of the box.

“Now, Scuttle, if you will just step into the kitchen and dampen this sponge, you can wipe off both sides of the slate. There should be some slate pencils — ah, here they are.”

Leith took out a package of slate pencils.

The undercover man, holding the sponge in his hand, stepped into the kitchenette. Leith glanced across at Mah Foy, the Chinese girl, and winked at her.

She watched him with an impassive countenance on which there was not the slightest flicker of expression, but just as the valet returned with the moistened sponge, she lowered her own right lid, although her face remained as calmly placid as though it were carved from old ivory.

“Now then,” Leith said, “if you’ll just take this slate, Scuttle, and clean it with the wet sponge. Make absolutely certain that there is no writing on it.”

“Yes, sir,” the valet said, wiping off the surfaces of the slate.

“Now take it into the bathroom, get a towel, and dry it carefully.”

Beaver produced a towel and carefully dried the slate.

“Now,” Leith said, “I don’t want you to let that slate out of your sight, Scuttle. First, we’ll put a piece of pencil between the leaves of the slate. Hold it open, Scuttle, just so. That’s right. Now we’ll close it, and you might take it over and place it on that table in the far corner of the room, being careful not to take your eyes from it for even a moment.”

The valet did as he was instructed.

“Now, Scuttle, watch closely. See if you can see the spirits.”

“The spirits, sir?”

“Yes, Scuttle, the... There they are!”

A faint squeaking noise became distinctly audible.

“Good heavens, sir!” the valet exclaimed. “Is that noise coming from — from the slate?”

“From the slate, Scuttle.”

Beaver’s eyes widened.

“And now, Scuttle,” Leith said, as the noise ceased, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a message from the unseen world.”

“But surely, sir, you’re fooling.”

“Not at all, Scuttle. Just pick up the slate and bring it to me. Ah, that’s right.”

Leith took the slate from the valet. Only the Chinese girl noticed the manner in which he fumbled with the catch as he opened the double slate.

A message, written in a distinctly feminine hand, appeared across the inner surface of the slate. It read: First warning. Be very careful, Beaver, not to tell any falsehoods after you have started for Honolulu. Ruth.

The spy was visibly shaken. “Good heavens!” he said.

Leith frowned. “What the devil are they talking about, Scuttle?”

“Who?” the spy asked.

“The spirits. And what is all this about a trip to Honolulu?”

“I assure you, sir, I don’t know.”

“And who is Ruth? Someone perhaps who has gone to the other shore, Scuttle?”

“The other shore, sir?”

“Yes, Scuttle. I—”

“Good grief!” the valet suddenly exclaimed, staring at Leith with eyes which seemed about to bulge from their sockets.

“What is it, Scuttle?”

“Ruth!” Beaver exclaimed. “My wife!”

“Your wife, Scuttle? I didn’t know you were married.”

“It was some time ago, sir. I was married for two years. But she was — she was killed in an auto accident.”

Leith said, closing the slate as though that disposed of the matter, “Undoubtedly, Scuttle, the message is from your departed wife who wishes to warn you against the result of any falsehood should you take a trip to Honolulu.”

Beaver turned pale. “It’s uncanny.”

“Oh, quite,” Leith said airily, dismissing the subject. “But we can’t neglect these other boxes, Scuttle.”

The spy took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. “If it’s all the same to you, sir,” he said, “I’d like to postpone the rest of it for a while. I’m feeling shaky, sir. I—”

Leith said, “That’s all right, Scuttle. You’d better have a drink. Perhaps Miss Foy will join us.”

The Chinese girl shook her head.

“Well,” Leith said, “a couple of Scotch and sodas, Scuttle — or perhaps you’d prefer to make yours a double brandy?”

“Yes, sir, I would.”

When the valet had filled the glasses, Leith sat on the arm of a chair, casually sipping his Scotch and soda. “Do you know, Scuttle,” he said, “there’s one other thing I didn’t get.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“A stooge.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“Did you ever see a magician on the stage?”

“Yes, sir, a couple of times.”

“Then you’ve noticed that a magician is invariably accompanied by a young stage assistant, a very beautiful young woman who is easy on the eye and whose skirts are always very short?”

“Yes, sir, I do remember that.”

Scuttle was puzzled.

“Exactly, Scuttle,” Leith said. “That’s the first principle of stage magic — divided attention. The idea is that the hand is quicker than the eye, but the eye can’t watch the hand when it’s stealing glances at a pair of beautiful legs. So what we need, Scuttle, is a girl with beautiful legs.”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish me to get you one, sir?”

“No, Scuttle, I will select my own stooge.”

And Lester Leith abruptly left the apartment.

The man who ran the theatrical employment agency was frankly skeptical.

“Do I understand,” he said, “that you wish to hire a young woman who has been thrown out of employment by the recent drive against burlesque shows?”

“That’s exactly it,” Leith said. “I want a young woman who is beautiful, who is accustomed to the public admiration of her curves, and who has just about given up hope.”

The agent said, “You might try Ora Sanders. That poor kid certainly has had a tough time. Last Friday her roommate tried to commit suicide. Ora hocked everything she had except the clothes she stood in, and kicked through with every last cent to help the kid out.”

“Where,” Leith asked, “can I find Miss Sanders?”

“I’ll reach her for you. What’s the nature of the employment?”

Leith coughed deprecatingly. “I’m an amateur magician,” he said. “I want a young woman who can assist me.”

“You can’t go wrong on Ora,” the agent said. “Let me give her a ring.”

“If possible,” Leith said, “I’d prefer to see her in her room rather than here in the office, and I’d like to see her right away.”

The agent dialed a number, said, “Miss Sanders, please,” and then, after a moment, “I’m sending a Mr. Leith to discuss employment at fifty dollars a week. Is that satisfactory?... Fine... Yes, almost at once.”

He hung up, and said to Leith, “She’ll be glad to see you. Here’s her address.”

Leith found Ora Sanders to be a blonde with light blue eyes that were waging a losing battle with the fine wrinkles of worry, a determined chin, and smiling lips. Her small, poorly lighted room was well covered with autographed theatrical pictures.

Leith introduced himself.

“Manna from heaven!” she exclaimed. “Come on in.”

“I am in somewhat of a hurry,” Leith explained.

“In that event, you can dispense with telling me that times are hard, that there aren’t many jobs available, and I’ll be fortunate to get work with you; and I’ll dispense with telling you that times aren’t hard for me, that I’ve had two offers lately, but that neither is just what I want, so that I might consider something good.”

Leith smiled. “The salary is fifty dollars a week.”

“My agent told me that.”

“Your duties,” Lester said, “will be highly personal.”

“Oh-oh!” she remarked.

“I’m an amateur magician,” Leith went on. “I have noticed that professional magicians usually have a young woman with beautiful legs appear on the stage to hand them their props.”

She stepped back, placed her ankles together, and raised her skirt. “How are my legs?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Leith said. “I can’t imagine anyone in the audience keeping his mind on the disappearing watch with scenery like that to look at.”

She dropped her skirts and with them her manner of easy banter. “Listen,” she said, “I simply have to get a job. This isn’t the sort of work I’ve been doing. I’m not certain that it’s the kind I’d like to do, but if you’re willing to take a chance on me, I’m willing to take a chance on you.”

Leith opened his wallet and took out one hundred dollars. “Two weeks’ salary,” he explained. “And here’s an extra hundred.”

“An extra hundred,” she echoed.

He nodded. “I want you to get some new clothes for your act. Brevity is the soul of wit, and I think you understand what is required.”

He reached once more into his wallet and took out three hundred-dollar bills. “Here is some expense money. Get a wardrobe.”

“Now, wait a minute,” she said. “I’m not going to pinch myself because I don’t want to wake up, but let’s not go overboard.”

Leith said, “It’s quite all right. You’re going to take a trip on a boat. You’ll need a couple of dinner gowns, a sports outfit, and accessories.”

She said again, “Now, wait a minute. What do you want in return for all this?” And her eyes stared at Lester Leith with disconcerting frankness.

“Loyalty,” Leith said. “A willingness to follow instructions.”

She said, “Listen, I’m no tin angel, but—”

Leith smiled, put his wallet away, and said, “I think we understand each other, Miss Sanders. If you’ll get out and do your shopping, I’ll telephone instructions later.”

The undercover man sat across the table from Sergeant Ackley and said, “Well, Sergeant, it’s all off.”

“What is?” Ackley asked.

“The whole thing,” Beaver said. “It’s just a runaround. He’s either gone nuts, or else he’s become suspicious and is taking us for a ride.”

“Nonsense,” Sergeant Ackley said, “not with a priceless string of matched pearls with a historical value which makes it a collector’s item.”

“All right, then,” Beaver said, “suppose you figure it out.”

Sergeant Ackley said, “That’s what I’m here for, Beaver. You do the leg work. I furnish the brain that directs your energies. You’re the contractor. I’m the architect.”

“All right, then,” the undercover man said, “figure this out. He hires Charles Sansone’s Chinese secretary. He hires a girl with the prettiest figure you’ve ever seen. He gets a thousand dollars’ worth of parlor magic stuff, and announces he’s taking the whole kit and kaboodle to Honolulu.”

“To Honolulu?” Sergeant Ackley exclaimed. Then a look of smug satisfaction came over Ackley’s countenance. “The trouble with you, Beaver, is that you haven’t a deductive mind. You’re observant and conscientious, but you’re dealing with a man who has a chain-lightning brain, and you can’t think fast enough to put two and two together.”

“Meaning,” Beaver said, “that you have a highly trained mind.”

“Naturally,” Sergeant Ackley said modestly, “or I wouldn’t be here.”

“All right,” Beaver said, “you tell me then. What’s the answer?”

Sergeant Ackley picked up the morning paper, opened it to an inside page, and said, “Get a load of this. ‘The international competition of skeet shooters is scheduled to take place in Honolulu two weeks from today. Silman Shore, a noted trap-shooter who has already broken several records, expects to compete. Shore’s photo is shown above.’ ”

Beaver’s face showed amazed comprehension. “By gosh,” he said, “it may make sense at that!”

“Of course it makes sense,” Sergeant Ackley said. “Now, tell me exactly what’s been going on.”

Beaver said, “He wanted to know all about how the crime was committed. I told him. Most of it he could get from the newspapers anyway, and he’s a shark at deducing things from what he reads in the papers.”

“Exactly what did you tell him?” Sergeant Ackley asked.

“I told him about Shogiro passing the necklace around for examination. Sansone pretended it was a social party. As a matter of fact, every one of the men there knows something about gems — or about Chinese history. Grier had seen the necklace when he was in the Forbidden City five years ago, and remembered it.”

“Go on.”

“Well, he was interested in finding out how the theft took place. I told him all we knew, that the necklace was shown around, that Grier was the last to look at it. He passed it to Sansone who had already looked at it. Sansone passed it back to Shogiro. Then, after a while, Sansone announced that he was intending to buy the neck lace and asked Shore if he had noticed the workmanship of the catch. Shore said he’d paid more attention to the pearls than to the catch, and Shogiro obligingly took the ivory jewel case out of his pocket and handed it to Shore. Shore opened it, picked up the necklace, turned toward the light, and then said, ‘By George, this thing is counterfeit!’ And then, of course, all hell broke loose.

“Well, Leith asked me to look up all the people who were there. I found out that Grier knows a lot about China. I found out that Charles Sansone is a well-known amateur magician. I found out that Thoms, the big game hunter, is going to Alaska—”

“Is he?” Sergeant Ackley asked.

“He is,” Beaver said.

“Well,” Sergeant Ackley said, “as I see the situation, we have three suspects. Grier could very well have substituted necklaces when he handed the necklace to Sansone. Grier had already seen the necklace, knew exactly what it looked like, and could have had an imitation prepared.

“Sansone could have done it. He’d seen the necklace a couple of days before and he could have had an imitation ready. He’s pretty good at sleight of hand. We can’t leave Silman Shore out — he was the one to discover that it was an imitation.”

“And don’t overlook the fact that this Shogiro may be pulling a fast one,” Beaver said.

“I don’t think so,” Sergeant Ackley observed. “He had nothing to gain.”

“Well,” Beaver said, “Leith was very much interested in finding out where Shogiro was going.”

“And you found out?”

“Yes. Shogiro’s canceling the trip he planned to Europe and is returning to Japan.”

Sergeant Ackley’s brows furrowed. “By way of Honolulu?” he asked.

“What do you think?” the undercover man replied.

The giant liner Monterey sent the long blast of a booming whistle echoing over the Los Angeles harbor. On the pier below, thousands of hysterical, waving people shouted farewells to the passengers who lined the decks. Streamers of colored paper, stretching from ship to shore, fluttered in the vagrant night breeze. The air was filled with shouts and laughter.

Then a dark strip of water appeared between the pier and the white sides of the big ship. A surge of white water churned up from the stern. The big liner, graceful as a yacht, throbbed into motion, and the sleek white sides began to glide along the pier.

Lester Leith said to Ora Sanders, “Well, here we are, on our way — the start of adventure.”

She looked up at him with bright eyes. “To think that I would ever have an experience like this,” she breathed. “Oh, it’s wonderful, simply wonderful!”

Leith moved over to rest his elbows on the teakwood rail. He glanced at Mah Foy standing motionless, the breeze swirling her skirts into gentle motion, her face utterly without expression.

Leith caught sight of the huge figure of Beaver towering above the other passengers. He motioned to him, and the valet joined him.

“You’ve looked over the passenger list, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s aboard of those at the dinner party when the necklace disappeared?”

“Shogiro,” the undercover man said, “Mah Foy, Charles Sansone, and Silman Shore.”

“Sansone?” Lester Leith exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s he doing aboard?”

“Apparently just taking a trip to the Islands.”

Leith frowned. “Seen anyone else you know, Scuttle?”

“No, sir.”

“Who’s your cabin mate?”

The undercover man frowned.

“An old gentleman inclined to seasickness, I understand, and something of an invalid, sir. He’ll probably be a nuisance. He asked me particularly to entertain my friends outside the cabin. He expects to spend most of the time in bed.”

“Most annoying,” Leith said. “Too bad you didn’t get a more agreeable companion.”

“Yes, sir,” the valet said, “but I’m quite certain the trip will be very enjoyable. Is there anything you wish, sir? I’ve laid your clothes out and—”

“No, Scuttle. That will be all for tonight. Take life easy and enjoy yourself. I’m dog tired and am going to turn in.”

Leith waved to Ora Sanders. Her face showed disappointment. She moved swiftly to his side and said, “Aren’t you going to watch the Mainland out of sight? Have you no romance?”

He whispered, “I’m setting a trap. Meet me on the boat deck in fifteen minutes.”

Leith said good night to Mah Foy and started in the direction of his cabin, but detoured to the boat deck where Ora Sanders found him a quarter of an hour later.

Leith said, “I want to be where I can see without being seen. Would you consider the duties of your employment too onerous if you sat over here in the shadow of the lifeboat and went into what is technically known as a huddle?”

She laughed. “I’d have been disappointed to think that I was starting on a trip to the Hawaiian Islands unhuddled,” she said.

They sat close together in the shadow, talking in low tones. The couples who promenaded past them grew fewer in number as the ship swung out into the Pacific and the bow began to sway gently to the surge of the incoming swell.

Suddenly Leith exerted pressure on her arm. Ora Sanders followed the direction of his glance.

Beaver, accompanied by a stocky, bull-necked, broad-shouldered man, was promenading past. They heard him say, “It’s okay now, Sarge, I told him you were an old invalid and to keep out of our cabin.”

They walked past.

“Who was that?” Ora Sanders asked.

Leith smiled. “That,” he said, “was Sergeant Arthur Ackley of the Metropolitan Police Force. I don’t wish him any bad luck, but I hope he is highly susceptible to seasickness.”

On the second day out, Mah Foy said to Lester Leith, “I haven’t any definite idea of what you had in mind when you employed me. Certainly it wasn’t to work.”

Leith, sprawled in a deck chair and watching the intense blue waters of a semitropic ocean, smiled and said, “I am a man of extremes. When I work, I work long hours. When I loaf, I loaf long hours.”

“So it would seem. Did you know that Mr. Sansone was going to be on this boat?”

“Frankly,” Leith said, “I did not. I’m sorry if his presence causes you any embarrassment.”

“It doesn’t,” she said, “only he was surprised at seeing me here.”

“I can understand that.”

“Did you know that Katiska Shogiro was going to be a passenger?”

“I suspected that he might go as far as Honolulu.”

“On this ship?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that Mr. Shore was going to be a passenger?”

“Yes,” Leith said. “I knew that in advance.”

She remained silent for several minutes, then she said, “If you have any work for me, please call.”

“Wait a minute,” Leith said as she arose from the deck chair. “I have one thing to ask of you.”

“What is that, Mr. Leith?”

“Don’t do anything rash. Promise me that you won’t — at least until we are in Honolulu.”

“Why?” she asked. “What made you think I contemplated doing anything you might describe as rash?”

“I have my reasons,” Leith said.

She laughed. “My race has a proverb. ‘Stirring the water does not help it to boil.’ ”

“A very good proverb,” Leith said, “although I don’t subscribe to it.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” he said. “Stirring the water may not help it to boil, but it has other advantages.”

“What are they?”

“Oh, for one thing,” Leith said, “it scrambles the contents of the pot, and makes it difficult for an observer to know that the primary purpose of putting the pot on the stove was to get the water to boil.”

“Are you, by any chance, referring to the mysterious cabin mate who takes surreptitious midnight strolls with your valet?”

“Oh,” Leith said, “you know about that?”

She said, “In my position, I try to know everything.”

“And thought that you should tell me about it?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks,” Leith said, “for your loyalty.”

She met his eyes. “There is one other thing. I was commissioned by my government to recover that necklace, sell it, and bring the proceeds back to China.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Leith said. “I surmised it.”

Leith was reading a book when Ora Sanders, wearing a short-skirted sports outfit, shook off a group of admirers to drop into the empty deck chair beside him.

“When,” she asked, “do we do sleight of hand?”

“Tonight,” Leith said. “An impromptu entertainment by passengers. I have agreed to do a turn.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“You will, of course, wear your stage costume.”

“I was hoping for that.”

“Hoping?” he asked.

“Yes,” she laughed. “So many of the male passengers have expressed a desire to see more of me.”

“There is always the swimming tank,” Leith suggested.

“I thought it might be better not to give them a preview.”

“Very wise,” he said. “By the way, have you met the captain?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Think you could turn loose the battery of your eyes on him and make a suggestion?”

She nodded.

“At two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” Leith said, “I notice a skeet shoot is scheduled. I think it would be an excellent idea to advise the captain that we have aboard, in the person of Mr. Silman Shore, a trapshooter of nationwide reputation. It would be very appropriate if Mr. Shore should give a little exhibition for the benefit of the passengers. He—” He broke off at the expression on her face. “What is it?”

“How many people do you have making suggestions?” she asked. “Why?”

“That suggestion,” she said, “was communicated to the captain this morning, shortly after the skeet shoot was noticed on the bulletin board.”

“Who suggested it to him?”

“A Japanese by the name of Shogiro, a very interesting gentleman who has spent much of his time trying to cultivate my acquaintance.”

Leith considered the statement in thoughtful silence. At length, he said, “Proof that great minds run in the same channels.”

“Tell me,” she said, “did my announcement distress you?”

“Not distress me,” Leith said, “but it does give me food for thought — food which must be carefully chewed lest it give me mental indigestion.”

She slid out of the chair with her sports skirt sliding up the well-shaped legs. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll run along before you get a mental tummyache.”

“Don’t do that again,” Leith said.

“What?”

“Distract my attention,” he said. “Remember that your province is to distract the attention of the audience.”

“And I can’t practice on you a little bit?”

“Well,” Leith said judicially, “just a little — a very little bit.”

Half an hour later, Katiska Shogiro dropped casually into the deck chair next to Lester Leith’s. After a moment, he said in his very polite manner, “Excussse pleassse, but would it be interrupting your honorable meditations unduly if I humbly ask for match?”

“Not in the least,” Leith said, and handed over a packet of matches.

Shogiro lit his cigarette. “Passengers,” he said conversationally, “have explain that very skillful magician is aboard contained in person of honorable you. Is possible perhaps that attentive student may look forward to exhibition tonight?”

Leith said, “I would hardly commend my amateurish attempts to the observation of an interested student. You know something of sleight of hand?”

Shogiro laughed. “Only very small ability,” he said, “but large interest.”

Leith said, “The idea of magic is to furnish entertainment. To a student of the art, the tricks will prove very transparent. I trust that you will remember that explanation destroys the mystery.”

“Oh, quite,” Shogiro said.

“I trust that I can count upon your silent cooperation?”

“Even clam,” Shogiro explained, “is like parrot compared with Japanese contemplation of magic performed by good friend who gives matches to humble and unworthy student.”

Lester Leith’s face showed relief.

“You are perhaps of long-time proficiency?” Shogiro asked.

“No,” Leith said. “My performance makes up in equipment that which it lacks in skill.”

“Equipment?” Shogiro asked.

“Equipment for misdirecting attention,” Leith said. “As a student, you will realize that the success of all magic lies in misdirecting the attention of the observer.”

“Oh, quite,” Shogiro said.

“Therefore,” Leith said, “I have sought to avail myself of the greatest attention distracter known to science.”

“Referring to which?”

“The pulchritude of feminine curves,” Leith said. “Miss Sanders has consented to act as my accomplice.”

“Very estimable distraction,” Shogiro said.

“I trust it will prove quite sufficient.”

“Confidence indeed is not misplaced,” Shogiro remarked, arising abruptly from the chair. “And now humble student begs permission to retire and leave honorable master in contemplation of mystifying trickery to be performed in evening. Thanking you very much.”

“Not at all,” Leith said, and Shogiro walked rapidly down the deck, his manner that of a man who is embarking upon a very definite mission.

Entertainment that night was in the hands of the passengers who contributed various forms of diversion. A dance team headed for Australia put on a tap dance, an artistic waltz, and a variation of the rumba. A poetess whose work had been published in some of the national magazines recited her favorite poem. A pianist played a selection from the classics, followed by some comedy jazz and a ragtime interpretation of one of the more familiar tunes of the Gay Nineties.

Beaver slipped through a rear door and took a seat in the back of the social hall. A moment later he signaled, and Sergeant Ackley, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, slipped into the adjoining chair and slumped down so as to make himself less noticeable. “Watch him, Beaver,” he whispered. “He’s going to pull something with this sleight-of-hand business.”

Up in the front row, Mah Foy was separated only by two chairs from Katiska Shogiro, who sat perfectly still, a smile of fixed politeness frozen on his face.

A couple of stewards started bringing in various pieces of equipment. The purser, who acted as master of ceremonies, said, “We have with us tonight a man who can do tricks that would make masters envious. These are no ordinary sleight-of-hand tricks. These optical illusions represent the latest achievements of science. It gives me great pleasure to introduce Mr. Lester Leith.”

Leith came forward and bowed. There was polite applause.

He said, “May I have your indulgence for a moment, please?” and walked down to where Mah Foy was seated.

“Shortly after the performance starts,” he whispered in the ear of the Chinese girl, “a man who was at that dinner is going to get up and leave the room. I want you to follow him and later tell me where he goes and what he does.”

Mah Foy nodded.

Leith stepped back to the lighted circle and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me present my assistant, Miss Ora Sanders.”

Ora, attired in a robe which covered her from neck to ankles, came forward and bowed. There was polite applause. She slipped off the robe and stood before the audience, garbed in black and white; a low-cut black blouse with white trimmings, a very short black skirt, a small white lace apron, and high black stockings.

The applause hesitated for a moment, then burst out anew. When the applause had subsided, Lester Leith said, “I’m going to ask your indulgence, ladies and gentlemen. Despite the comments of the purser, I feel that my performance may fall far short of his glowing description. However, I will do my best.”

The purser said, “What’s the idea of the apology? You told me this afternoon you were the best in the west.”

There was a roar of laughter.

Leith said, “A man always exaggerates his qualifications to get the job. No hard feelings.”

He advanced and shook hands with the purser. Suddenly he said, “Wait a minute. You don’t want this,” and took an egg from the purser’s side coat pocket. “And what’s this? Tut, tut. You shouldn’t be carrying a black widow spider around on your sleeve!”

With a startled exclamation the purser jumped back and brushed at his arm. The spider dropped to the floor and lay with its rubber legs quivering.

Leith said, “Tut, tut. Having killed my pet, you should at least give him a decent burial. Here, take this little casket. Put him in that.”

He handed the purser a small box. The purser bent forward, and Leith signaled to Ora Sanders, who handed him a loaded slapstick.

Just as the purser picked up the spider, the slapstick connected with that portion of his trousers which stretched tight in the stooping process. The impact set off the blank cartridge which had been imbedded in the slapstick, and the purser’s reactions were all that the gleeful audience could have anticipated.

When the discomfited purser had retired, Leith nodded to Ora Sanders. She brought forward a table, and, opening a box, took out a goldfish bowl, in which the audience could plainly see goldfish swimming around.

Leith looked around the audience, then singled out Silman Shore. “Mr. Shore,” he called.

“What is it?”

“You’re an expert hunter, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe to the audience what you see in this bowl?”

“Goldfish,” Shore said.

Leith said, “Tut, tut. You need to have your eyes examined.” He reached in the goldfish bowl and pulled out a live, kicking rabbit, and, thereafter, while the audience applauded, he took out object after object from the bowl which apparently contained only live goldfish swimming about in water.

“Thank you, Mr. Shore,” Leith said, “for your cooperation. After all, you know, it adds to our amusement when we see our fellow travelers taking part. Mr. Shogiro, might I ask you to step forward please.”

“It is pleasure,” Shogiro said.

Leith said, “I noticed that you seemed rather hungry in the dining room tonight. Apparently, you’re a man with a large appetite... Ah, yes, I thought so. Turn around please.”

Shogiro turned around, and Lester Leith reached down the back of his coat to pull out a bunch of celery which he held up to the audience, then tossed to Ora Sanders.

“Now wait a minute,” he said as Shogiro, smiling politely, started back toward his seat. “What’s that you have in your pocket?”

Shogiro followed the direction of Leith’s eyes, and said, “Excusse pleasse. That is handkerchief for wiping eyes which have tears of laughter caused by amusement at honorable act.”

There was just a trace of sarcasm in what he said, although his manner was that of smiling politeness. The audience applauded, and waited for Leith’s comeback.

Leith reached out to take the corner of the silk handkerchief in his thumb and forefinger. He started pulling it out an inch or two at a time. “Very nice handkerchief,” he said, “but what is this?”

Shogiro, smiling broadly, watched Lester Leith pull out yards and yards of silk ribbon and handkerchiefs. When he had finished he tossed the ball of silk to Ora Sanders.

Shogiro, standing very still, said, “Honorable gentleman have removed everything from pocket?”

“I certainly hope so,” Leith said.

“Are sure is not more?” Shogiro asked.

The audience, sensing that the Japanese was trying to turn the tables on Leith, leaned forward in their seats.

“Well,” Leith said, “if there’s anything left in that pocket, Mr. Shogiro, you may keep it.”

The audience laughed at the sally, but the laughter changed into roars as Shogiro, reaching into the pocket, pulled out what apparently was a human finger. He held it up and bent it double, showing that it was made of colored rubber. He inserted it between the fingers of his own hand, moved his hand rapidly, and the finger had vanished.

“Excusse pleasse,” Shogiro said, “but in my country when honorable gentleman perform trick with false finger, unwinding yards of silk ribbon stored therein, is always customary to remove empty finger after trick is completed.”

Shogiro turned and started toward the front row once more, but Leith again called him back. This time there was an ominous glitter in the eyes of the Japanese, although his lips continued to frame a polite smile.

“Anyone who turns the tables on me that well,” Leith said, “is entitled to a reward. Now let me see. What can I give you?... I guess food would be the best. How about it, Miss Sanders? Can we cook up a little food for Mr. Shogiro?”

“Oh, I think so,” she said.

Leith said, “Well, we might at least fry him an egg.”

“We haven’t any more eggs,” Miss Sanders said.

“That’s too bad,” Leith said, “but... what’s this?... Oh, yes, our friend, Shogiro, seems to have something else up his sleeve.”

Leith picked up Shogiro’s forearm, held his coat by the cuff, and shook it gently. Two eggs rolled out.

Leith, juggling the eggs in his hand, said, “That’s fine. Now if we had a frying pan. Has anyone in the audience a frying pan?”

In the silence which followed, one of the stewards, who had been coached in the part, called out, “Why don’t you look in the fishbowl?”

“An excellent idea,” Leith said.

He walked over to the fishbowl, still holding the eggs, reached down, apparently plunging his hand into the water, and brought out a frying pan without in any way disturbing the fish.

“Now,” he said, “we’re ready. If you’ll hold a match for us, Miss Sanders...”

He broke both eggs into the frying pan, tossed the shells to one side, held the frying pan over a match which Ora Sanders lighted, shook the pan, and then approached the Japanese. “Here you are,” he said.

Sergeant Ackley, in the back row, said to Beaver, “Watch him like a hawk, Beaver. He’s getting ready to pull something. He’s worked the buildup. Now, he’s after blood.”

Lester Leith, with the frying pan held rather high so that the Japanese could not see its interior, said, “A plate, please, Miss Sanders.”

Ora Sanders picked up a plate from a table, started toward Leith, and stumbled. The plate slipped from her hands, fell to the floor, and broke into two pieces.

For a moment there was a gasp from the audience, but it was quickly apparent that Ora Sanders’s fall had been far too gracefully done to be accidental. She got to her feet, smiled, then stared ruefully at a run in her stocking.

With the quick instinct which is the natural reaction of a woman, she lifted her abbreviated skirt to see how far up the run had gone, then suddenly, as though realizing her position, laughed and dropped the skirt back into place.

Lester Leith said, “That’s too bad. Just pick up the fragments of the plate, Miss Sanders, and I’ll see what I can do with them.”

She picked up the two segments of the plate and handed them to Leith, who took them in his left hand, still holding the frying pan in his right hand.

“Oh,” he said, “this isn’t bad.”

Ora Sanders stepped forward, swiftly passing between Leith and the audience. A half second later, Leith gave his left hand a deft twist, and there was the plate unbroken and apparently none the worse for having been dropped.

“Now,” Lester Leith said, “we’ll put the egg into the plate.”

He tilted the frying pan and shook it.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “What’s this?”

What came out of the frying pan was not a cooked egg, but a very fine pearl necklace which dangled for a moment on the lip of the frying pan, then dropped with a clatter to the plate which Leith was holding.

Leith dropped the frying pan, picked up the pearl necklace, and said, “What an egg!”

The audience applauded. Leith, as though the trick had been completed, turned back toward the table on which Ora Sanders was rearranging his stage properties.

For a long moment Shogiro stood rigid, the smile frozen on his face. Then he took a quick step toward Leith and said, “Begging honorable pardon, but that is my necklace!”

Leith turned to face him, urbanely smiling, holding the necklace in his hand. “Certainly it’s your necklace,” he said, and handed it to the Japanese.

Shogiro took the necklace, stared at it for a moment, then said ominously, “Begging honorable pardon, but this is not same necklace which came from frying pan.”

Leith looked at it and said, “By George, I don’t believe it is! It does seem different.”

“It is different,” Shogiro said. “Begging pardon, this necklace very cheap. Other necklace my property.”

Leith said, “Well, there’s only one thing for us to do then, and that’s put the necklace in the frying pan, and see if we can change it back into the original necklace.”

He dropped the necklace into the frying pan, shook it for a moment, then snatched up the plate which Miss Sanders had placed on the table. He tilted the frying pan over the plate — and what came out was not a necklace, but apparently an omelette.

“Tut, tut,” Lester Leith said, “I’m afraid we dropped the necklace into those eggs, and we now have a pearl omelette. Here. I’ll wrap it up in a handkerchief, and you can take it with you.”

He picked up a silk handkerchief, placed it over the plate, apparently wrapped up the omelette, and handed it to Shogiro.

Shogiro took the handkerchief. He shook it out. It was empty. The plate was empty. With quick, purposeful strides, Shogiro walked over to the table and snatched up the frying pan. It too was empty.

The audience roared.

Leith, smiling broadly, bowed to the right and left, marking the termination of the act.

Shogiro, standing ominously tense, watched him for several seconds, then without a word turned and walked back to his seat.

Leith looked over the audience. Mah Foy was no longer in the front row, and Silman Shore seemed to have vanished as completely as had the omelette in the handkerchief.

Sergeant Ackley and Beaver sat in their stateroom staring moodily at each other.

“Well,” Beaver said, “there it is.”

Sergeant Ackley said, “It’s plain as the nose on your face. Shogiro had the necklace all the time. Leith knew it. He wanted an opportunity to pick his pockets. If he’d tried to do it surreptitiously, there’d have been hell to pay.

“Beaver, do you realize what it means? It means that everyone figures that necklace was as much a part of Leith’s magic show as the frying pan and the fake goldfish bowl. Here we’ve traveled thousands of miles and organized an elaborate spy system to find out when he was going to steal that necklace, and damned if he doesn’t do it right in front of an audience.”

Beaver said, “Well, he can’t get away from us. We know who has the necklace now.”

Sergeant Ackley nodded..

There was a moment of silence, then Beaver said, “What pocket did he get the necklace out of, Sergeant? It was done so quick I couldn’t see.”

“You didn’t see?” Ackley asked.

“No.”

Sergeant Ackley frowned at the undercover man. “I thought so,” he said. “The whole thing was staged to happen according to schedule. The girl pretended to fall and dropped the plate. That distracted the attention of the women in the audience. A broken plate is a domestic tragedy to a woman. The men just don’t give a damn about a broken plate, so the girl had her stockings fixed so that when she stumbled, she could pull a run in one of them. She ran her hands up along her leg and that grabbed the men’s attention. At any rate, it accounted for yours.”

“I only glanced there for half a second,” Beaver said. “As soon as I did, I knew I mustn’t take my eyes off Leith, so I looked right back.”

“That half second was all he needed,” Sergeant Ackley said.

“Well,” Beaver insisted, “what pocket did he take it out of?”

“Well,” Sergeant Ackley said, “it was—”

“I thought so,” said Beaver. “You were looking at her leg too.”

There was a period of uncomfortable silence, then Sergeant Ackley said, “Okay, Beaver, we won’t try to do anything here. There are too many places on the ship where he can hide it. He’s far too clever to keep it in his stateroom, but he won’t dare to leave it on the ship. When he gets ashore in Honolulu, he’ll have it in his baggage, or on him. Now then, Beaver, it’s up to you to go through that baggage the minute he hits shore. I’ll see to it that he’s detained, and you’ll have an opportunity.”

“Suppose he has it on him?”

Sergeant Ackley laughed grimly and said, “There’s lots of ways of playing that little game. Beaver, send a wireless to the chief of police at Honolulu. Make it read like this: MAN WHO WILL DISEMBARK FROM MONTEREY WITH WHITE RIBBON PINNED TO CROWN OF HAT WILL HAVE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS IN DOPE CONCEALED SOMEWHERE IN HIS CLOTHES.”

Sergeant Ackley beamed.

“That means they’ll search his baggage, and find the necklace,” Beaver said.

“No, it won’t,” Sergeant Ackley observed. “You see, they won’t know who it is until they see the white ribbon on the hat. As his valet, you can take his hat and brush it just before he starts ashore. Then is when you’ll pin on the white ribbon. They’ll search him first. You’ll get the baggage through before they find out anything about the setup. When they do, I’ll explain to them that it was just a joke on the part of Shogiro who was sore because Leith had made a monkey out of him in front of an audience.”

Beaver blinked thoughtfully. “It sounds like a good scheme,” he said, “only...”

“Only what?” Sergeant Ackley snapped.

“Only I have an idea it won’t work,” the undercover man blurted.

Leith, lying in a deck chair, enjoyed the tropical ocean breeze. He seemed relaxed, completely at his ease.

Mah Foy slipped into the adjoining deck chair, leaned forward, and spoke in a low voice. “It was Silman Shore who left the social ball,” she said.

“Yes, I know,” Leith said. “Where did he go, to his stateroom or somewhere else?”

“He went to his stateroom.”

“And what did he do? Do you know?”

“Yes,” she said. “I could watch him through the window. He made no attempt to conceal what he was doing. He went to his gun case, picked up his gun, took it out on deck, and started practicing. I strolled by and asked him why he wasn’t at the entertainment, and he said that amateurish stuff annoyed him, that he had to put on an exhibition the next day, and he wanted to limber up his muscles.”

Leith said, “Most interesting. I think I’ll take up skeet shooting... And by the way, tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock when Silman Shore is putting on his exhibition, I think it would be an excellent idea for you to be with the purser, and you’ll kindly tell Ora Sanders to hunt up the first mate who has been so attentive to her and spend about an hour with him.”

Mah Foy thought for a moment. “How about Scuttle?”

Leith grinned and said, “Let Scuttle be wherever he pleases.”

“And you?” she asked.

Leith smiled. “I think,” he said, “that I’ll have some business with the captain.”

Mah Foy said very gently, “That first necklace — as I glimpsed it hanging on the edge of the frying pan — seemed to be the Empress Dowager’s necklace.”

“Did it indeed?” Leith said smiling. “An excellent example of optical illusion.”

She said, “My first loyalty is to my country. I warn you.”

Leith smiled at her. “I wouldn’t want it to be otherwise,” he said.

It was a calm day with no wind. The sharp prow of the Monterey hissed through the water. Passengers, promenading the spotless decks or sprawled lazily in deck chairs, relaxed to the joys of ocean travel.

Katiska Shogiro paced the deck alone. His short, stubby legs propelled his torso with short, vigorous steps. His lips were no longer smiling. When Silman Shore stepped out of the smoking room to lounge against the rail, Shogiro saw him and stopped beside him.

“Excussse pleassse,” he said. “You are recollecting last night?”

“What about it?” Shore asked.

“Pardon intrusion upon your honorable thoughts, but did you notice necklace which came from frying pan?”

Shore snapped his fingers. “Bosh!”

“Not bosh,” Shogiro insisted. “I am particularly calling attention to necklace which you saw on night of Sansone dinner. Is not look the same?”

“I didn’t even look at it,” Shore said impatiently. “I hate all that kindergarten stuff. The minute he started pulling that old hokum, I got up and walked out.”

“Thanking you very much,” Shogiro said, and resumed pacing the deck, but this time his forehead was creased in a definite frown.

Charles Sansone sought out Leith.

“You’ll pardon me,” he said, “for intruding. I haven’t met you. My name’s Sansone. I was a very interested spectator at your performance last night.”

Leith shook hands and said, “I’m very glad to know you. I’m afraid my performance was rather crude, but then, when persons are traveling on shipboard, any form of spontaneous entertainment is interesting.”

“I was particularly interested in one phase of your performance,” Sansone said.

“Indeed. What was that?”

“When you made the necklace come out of the frying pan.”

Leith laughed deprecatingly. “I’m afraid,” he said, “I can’t explain how that was done.”

“I don’t want to know how it was done,” Sansone said. “I want to know where you got that necklace.”

Leith said, laughing, “You didn’t think it was composed of genuine pearls, did you?”

“I didn’t know,” Sansone said. “It looked very much like a necklace I saw at one time. I don’t know whether you’ve read about it or not.”

“Read about it?” Leith asked.

“Yes. A necklace which was stolen from Mr. Shogiro — unfortunately at a dinner where I was the host.”

“Oh!” Leith exclaimed.

“I’m rather surprised at your surprise,” Sansone told him dryly, “inasmuch as you have engaged the young woman who was formerly my secretary, and have apparently cultivated at least a speaking acquaintance with Shogiro.”

“Just what are you getting at?” Leith asked. “As far as the necklace is concerned, it was a part of the stage properties which I use in my act.”

“Doesn’t it impress you as being a remarkable coincidence,” Sansone asked, “that a stage property which you acquired at a house dealing in parlor magic would be almost an exact duplicate of a pearl necklace which was worn by the Empress Dowager of China?”

“What the devil are you insinuating?”

Sansone got to his feet. “Nothing,” he said, and then added significantly, “as yet. I’m something of a magician myself.”

He bowed and walked away.

A deck steward made the rounds of the deck, tapping on the ship’s xylophone, and calling out, “Trapshooting on the afterdeck, please. An exhibition of trapshooting by a national champion.”

Passengers started getting up from chairs, stretching, yawning, and drifting toward the stern. After a while, the popping of a gun could be heard as blue rocks sailed out over the water, only to vanish into puffs of powder as a charge of well-directed shot struck them.

Silman Shore seemed rather bored by what he was doing. His manner was that it was kindergarten stuff.

Bang! Bang!

There wasn’t a single miss.

At length, Shore finished, acknowledged the applause, placed his gun under his arm, and turned back toward his stateroom.

Charles Sansone, walking along the deck, said, “Just a word with you, Shore, if you don’t mind.”

The two men talked together in low tones for about fifteen minutes. Together they strolled back to the cabin occupied by the trap-shooter. Shore’s eyes were narrowed in thoughtful consideration.

“By George,” he said, with his hand on the knob of the door, “it doesn’t seem possible. Of course, I know some of these gem thieves are pretty slick, but—”

He opened the door and stood on the threshold in dismay. His cabin was a complete mess. Trunks had been opened and the contents of the drawers dumped on the floor. Clothes had been jerked from hangers in the closet and thrown to the far end of the stateroom. Some of the leather bags had actually been cut in an attempt to expose false bottoms.

Sansone said, “What’s this?”

Shore said, “I’ve evidently been robbed.”

He entered the stateroom, walked rapidly across to one of the open drawers, took out a roll of currency and a book of travelers’ checks. He faced Sansone significantly. “The one who did it,” he said, “wasn’t looking for money.”

Sansone said, “Come on. We’re going to see the captain.”

The captain received them in his stateroom, said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I wonder if you’re acquainted with Mr. Leith, our amateur magician.”

Leith was sitting in one of the leather-cushioned chairs.

“You’re damn right we’re acquainted with him,” Sansone said. “He broke into Shore’s cabin and — well, he stole—”

“Just a minute,” the captain interrupted. “Who did you say stole what?”

“Mr. Leith — that is—”

“When was this done?” the captain asked.

Shore said, “Sometime in the last half hour. It is now 2:35. I left my cabin at two o’clock. It was all right then.”

The captain looked at his watch and said, “Mr. Leith has been with me for the last forty-five minutes. We chatted until two o’clock when the skeet shooting started. We walked back along the boat deck, saw some of the blue rocks being broken, then came back here, and sat down. Now then, if you gentlemen have anything to report, report it, but I’ll thank you to refrain from making any unfounded accusations.”

The men exchanged glances. Shore, somewhat crestfallen, said, “Well, someone broke into my cabin and wrecked it looking for something.”

“I’ll go with you,” the captain said, “at once. You’ll pardon me, Mr. Leith?”

“Certainly,” Leith said.

The three men walked off. A few moments later Leith strolled down to his own cabin. He opened the door, glanced inside, and then walked back down to where the captain was appraising the damage in Shore’s stateroom. “Pardon me,” he said. “I don’t like to interrupt, but if you gentlemen think this cabin is a mess, come take a look at mine...”

The island of Oahu showed as a jagged outline against the sky. The ship, passing Koko Head, swung past Diamond Head and the beach at Waikiki.

A short time later the gangplank had been stretched and the passengers, many of them wearing garlands of fragrant leis made of vividly colored tropical flowers, surged down. Beaver said, “Just a minute, your hat, sir.”

He took Leith’s hat and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust. Surreptitiously pinning a small bow of white ribbon to the crown, he replaced the hat on Leith’s head.

A moment later, Leith was swept down the gangplank. As he paused at the foot, a hand touched his shoulder and an official voice said, “One moment, please.”

It was an hour later that Sergeant Ackley, accompanied by a jubilant Beaver, walked into a jewelry store in Honolulu.

“We want this necklace of pearls appraised,” Sergeant Ackley said. “In fact, you’d better appraise both of them.”

The jeweler examined the necklaces, then he looked up at the two men.

“Well?” Sergeant Ackley asked.

“Worth about five dollars,” the jeweler said.

“For which one?” Beaver demanded.

“For both,” the jeweler said.

Stunned, the two conspirators looked at each other, then silently took their spoils to another jewelry store. The jeweler studied the pearls under a magnifying glass, and was even less flattering in his appraisal. “About two dollars apiece,” he said.

Leith lolled in the reclining chair on the lanai of his suite in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and glanced out over Waikiki Beach where tourists and beach boys were hissing their way into shore on surfboards.

“This,” he said, “is the life.”

“Yes, sir,” the undercover man observed.

Leith said, “By the way, Scuttle, I ordered a gun today.”

“A gun, sir?”

“Yes,” Leith said, “a shotgun. I think I may run over to one of the other islands and get in a little shooting. It’s rather an expensive gun. I think prices went up because of this international trapshooting contest which is being staged tomorrow. By the way, Scuttle, you’ll never guess whom I met this afternoon.”

“Who?” the undercover man asked.

“Sergeant Ackley.”

“What’s he doing over here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Leith said, “but seeing him has made the Islands suddenly distasteful to me. I’ve booked passage on the Clipper tomorrow. I’ll fly back to the Mainland. Ah, there’s a ring at the door. It must be the shotgun.”

“You’ll hardly be using the shotgun if you’re flying back to the Mainland,” the undercover man said. “Shall I tell them to take it back?”

“No, no,” Leith said. “I told them I’d buy it, and I’ll buy it. I’m a man of my word, Scuttle.”

The undercover man signed a delivery slip and took it to Leith.

“Quite a beauty, isn’t it?” Leith said.

“Indeed it is,” the undercover man said worriedly. “Did Sergeant Ackley know you had seen him?”

“Oh, yes,” Leith said. “I shook hands with him — although he seemed to want to avoid me. He said he’d been over here for two or three weeks, conferring with the local police department on a forgery case.”

The valet started to speak, then checked himself...

The Clipper took off for the Mainland with roaring motors, the hull dripping globules of water which scintillated like diamonds in the sun.

Lester Leith waved goodbye to his valet.

That afternoon Silman Shore met an embarrassing defeat in the international skeet shoot, following which he was seen to inspect the gun he had found in his gun case; but he made no comment.

Katiska Shogiro, watching him with glittering eyes, was heard to break into a sudden string of Japanese expletives.

At 5 o’clock that night, Mah Foy sailed for China. In her purse was a certified check signed by Lester Leith. It bore the words, “Donation to the Chinese cause — less 20 per cent for costs of collection.”

It was a week after Beaver’s return by passenger ship that Lester Leith, seated in his apartment, heard the sound of authoritative knuckles.

The door opened even before Leith could signal his valet. Sergeant Ackley, accompanied by a uniformed officer, Charles Sansone, and Silman Shore, entered the apartment.

“Well, well,” Leith said. “Good evening, gentlemen, we seem to be renewing a pleasant shipboard acquaintance. Did you come for—”

Sergeant Ackley said, “We came to make an investigation.”

“Of what?” Leith asked.

“You purchased a shotgun while you were in Honolulu?”

“That’s right,” Leith said.

“Mr. Shore’s shotgun was stolen while he was in the hotel in Honolulu. He feels that perhaps, in some unaccountable manner, the thief might have switched shotguns. He wants to see the shotgun which you took away with you on the Clipper.”

“Indeed,” Leith said, his eyes narrowing. “I think I’ve had all of.Mr. Shore’s veiled accusations I care for. If he wishes to make a charge, he can make it in the regular way — and he’d better be prepared to substantiate it.”

“I’m not doing this,” Shore said sullenly. “It’s the sergeant who’s responsible.”

“Indeed,” Leith said, arching his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, Sergeant.”

“You needn’t be,” Sergeant x\ckley said. “Just bring out that shotgun.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“We can get a search warrant,” Sergeant Ackley said threateningly.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t do you any good,” Leith said.

“Don’t stall,” Sergeant Ackley accused. “You laid yourself wide open, Leith. The idea of a man carrying a shotgun with him on the Clipper!”

Leith smiled. “It was rather a foolish thing to do,” he said. “Do you know, Sergeant, I became ashamed of myself. I found myself getting enthused when I saw Mr. Shore’s performance on the Monterey, but after I had a chance to see the wonderful panorama of the Islands unfolded beneath the Clipper, as we flew over Oahu, I realized that I didn’t want to indulge in any sport which would mean the taking of life... I waited until the ship was about halfway across, and then pitched that shotgun overboard.”

“You threw it overboard!” Shore exclaimed.

“Exactly,” Leith said, “and that’s why a search warrant would do you no good, Sergeant.”

The men exchanged glances. Shore said, “I guess that’s all you want of me, Sergeant.”

He turned and left the apartment.

A moment later, Charles Sansone silently followed.

Sergeant Ackley stood staring down at Leith. “Damn you,” he said, “you had it all figured out. When you flashed that necklace in your exhibition of magic and Shogiro identified it, Shore got up and dashed to his stateroom. It’s significant that he picked up his gun and inspected it. Later on, his stateroom was thoroughly searched by Shogiro, who had tumbled to what happened after he’d searched your stateroom and found nothing. That necklace wasn’t concealed in either place!

“There was only one other place it could be, one thing which wasn’t in the room when Shogiro searched it — and that was Shore’s shotgun. By removing the plate in the end of the butt, there was a hollow where a necklace could easily have been concealed.”

Leith blinked. “By George, Sergeant,” he said, “a man could conceal a necklace there.”

“Could and did,” Sergeant Ackley said.

Leith lit a cigarette, then looked up at Sergeant Ackley with a disarming smile.

“Clever of you, Sergeant,” he said. “Isn’t it a shame you didn’t think of it before?”

Leith said musingly, “And to think I pitched that gun overboard. Do you really think there was any chance the guns could have been substituted, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Ackley fumed.

“Tut, tut,” Leith said. “You mustn’t be that way, Sergeant. In your profession, it’s easy to make mistakes. You must figure things on a give-and-take basis.”

Sergeant Ackley’s face was twisted with emotion. “Yes,” he said, “and you do all the taking.”

Following which, he left, slamming the door behind him with great violence.