The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

Ray(mond) (King) Cummings (1887–1957) was born in what is now Times Square and, in later years, made it a habit to eat at a restaurant built near the place of his birth, specifically asking for the table nearest the actual spot. His family was wealthy and he attended Princeton at a precocious sixteen years of age, but was removed after only a month to go to Puerto Rico, where his father and brothers had started a large orange plantation. He got a private tutor, but neither he nor the tutor was particularly interested in studying, instead enjoying the nightlife of the island. After brief stints working at oil wells in Wyoming and mines in British Columbia and Alaska, Cummings went to work for Thomas Alva Edison, mostly writing for and editing house organs and record album covers, before becoming a full-time fiction writer. His first story, “The Girl in the Golden Atom” (1919), became an instant classic of science fiction, helping to earn him the title “the founding father of pulp science fiction.” He went on to produce more than seven hundred short stories, mostly science fiction and mystery, for the pulps, as well as numerous SF novels. In later years, the quality of his writing declined, so he collaborated with both his wife and his daughter. His imagination remained intact, and with them he wrote a series of “impossible crime” stories; a collection titled Tales of the Scientific Crime Club was published in 1979.

“T. McGuirk Steals a Diamond,” the first of fourteen McGuirk tales written for Black Mask, was published in the December 1922 issue.

“I deman’ to be let go!” said T. McGuirk, the quaintest character in the underworld, when the pawnbroker’s strong-arm man had searched him in vain for the missing diamond. You’ll enjoy the doings of T. McGuirk because he has a system all his own.

T. McGuirk leaned forward.

“What I’m sayin’ is — I gotta steal a diamond!”

He half whispered the information, gazing about him apprehensively.

Lefty Lannigan’s amusement was wholly undisguised.

“You got to — what?”

T. McGuirk’s injured feelings showed in the flush that spread under his four-day stubble of beard. A hurt look came into his pale, watery eyes.

“What you laffin’ at? I said I gotta steal a diamond. I need a diamond, wery bad.”

The gunman surveyed his friend ironically.

“Oh you do? A real diamond? What for?”

T. McGuirk shook his head.

“That’s my business,” he stated with dignity. “I gotta girl an’ I need a diamond. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ more.”

“You don’t need to,” commented Mr. Lannigan.

“An’ so I come to you,” T. McGuirk added gravely, “to steer me into somebody where I can steal a diamond.”

Mr. Lannigan pondered.

“You’re not kiddin’? You’re serious?”

“Wery serious,” T. McGuirk stated succinctly.

“Well, let’s see. You’re goin’ to do the job alone?”

T. McGuirk nodded.

The gunman, after a moment of grave consideration, suggested Stone and Blackstone, leading Fifth Avenue jewelers.

“They got some real good diamonds,” he declared. “You might try them.”

But T. McGuirk shook his head vehemently.

“You ain’t got no sense. I ain’t lookin’ for no job like that. Ain’t you acquainted with no crook what’s got a diamond to sell?”

Mr. Lannigan folded his arms, staring loftily down at T. McGuirk’s wizened form.

“Want me to steer you into a pal of mine so you can lift a sparkler? You’re a fine—”

“I thought you might have a enemy,” T. McGuirk explained meekly. “A fence or somethin’ that maybe done you a dirty deal. If he’s got a unset diamond to sell I’m a-goin’ to steal it off’n him. See?”

An idea came to Lefty Lannigan — a most amusing idea, for he chuckled.

“I got just the man,” he declared heartily.

He thumped T. McGuirk on the back so vigorously that the little man’s head seemed nearly to snap off.

“Just the man, Timothy. Ever heard of Ike Gluckstein?”

T. McGuirk had, vaguely. Gluckstein was a “fence” of unusually shady reputation even among those of the underworld with whom he did business.

T. McGuirk nodded. Mr. Lannigan went on:

“You try him. Go to his pawnshop — here, I’ll write down the address — an’ tell him you want to buy an unset sparkler. He’s got some wonders. Mention my name an’ he’ll sit up an’ take notice. He’ll show you some, an’ then—” Mr. Lannigan shrugged.

What would happen then obviously was past his understanding.

“Wery good idea,” assented T. McGuirk. “Gimme the place where he is.”

He pocketed the slip of paper with thanks.

“I’ll see Mr. Gluckstein right at once, personally. Wery good idea.”

A twinge of conscience overtook Mr. Lannigan. T. McGuirk was so trusting, and so obviously in earnest.

“You got a gun, Timothy?”

T. McGuirk shook his head emphatically.

“I’m a peaceable man. I don’t never use no rewolwers.”

He offered his hand, but still his friend hesitated.

“Hadn’t we better talk it over, Timothy? I s’pose you got a plan? You know what you’re doin’?”

“A plan? Sure I got a plan. I’m a-goin’ to steal a diamond. I gotta have a diamond, right away.”

Mr. Lannigan shrugged, discharging himself from further responsibility.

“Go to it then. But I warn you, Ike’s a bad guy. You let him catch you tryin’ to make away with a sparkler an’ he’ll wring your neck. If you pull anything queer make sure you get away with it.”

T. McGuirk assented gratefully.

“Wery good idea, in-deed.”

He shook hands and smiled his thanks.

Lefty Lannigan stood staring after him dubiously as he darted like a jackrabbit across the busy street, disappearing behind a passing stream of taxis.

The pawnshop of Isaac Gluckstein stood on an unobtrusive street of New York’s Lower East Side. Mr. Gluckstein was closing up for the evening, preparing for his more serious and much more profitable business, most of which was transacted in a back room with access to an alley alongside the building, when T. McGuirk appeared through the front entrance. The pawnbroker paused in the act of opening his safe and surveyed his visitor. What he saw was some five feet three of rags and filth — an extraordinarily inoffensive-looking little man who stood just over the threshold and smiled ingratiatingly.

Mr. Gluckstein grunted with contempt and turned back to the safe; T. McGuirk padded forward with complete confidence.

“You got a diamond you wanta sell me, Mr. Gluckstein?”

The pawnbroker looked up again, staring.

T. McGuirk’s smile widened, exposing an uneven row of tobacco-stained teeth.

“Lefty Lannigan sent me. He said you would sell me a diamond.”

At this mention of the well-known gunman the pawnbroker seemed somewhat impressed.

“You say it, Lefty’s a friend of yours?” he asked incredulously.

T. McGuirk nodded briefly.

“He sent you to me?”

Another nod.

“To buy a diamond?” Mr. Gluckstein’s incredulity was melting.

Still another nod.

The pawnbroker smiled — quite as ingratiating a smile as T. McGuirk’s.

“You could buy a diamond from me,” he stated. “You’ve got the money, my friend?”

T. McGuirk frowned.

“I got plenty money. I ain’t lookin’ for no credit — cash, that’s me.”

Mr. Gluckstein rubbed his hands together — a slight, wholly instinctive gesture. Obviously he had heard of the adage that appearances are deceiving. He surveyed this cash customer with a new respect.

“You could buy from me a very fine diamond, my friend — and cheap.” Mr. Gluckstein leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice. “Lefty Lannigan did it to you a favor. He knows I got stones — at a price. You couldn’t beat my prices, young man.”

“Wery good,” agreed T. McGuirk without enthusiasm. “Let’s see some. About two carats — unset.”

The pawnbroker stared again.

“An unset stone? I thought you wanted it a nice diamond ring — maybe for a lady. I got here many fine unredeemed pledges—”

T. McGuirk shook his head contemptuously.

“Me skirt’s wery partic’lar. I gotta get a unset stone an’ have it set special. Besides—”

T. McGuirk’s eyes gleamed craftily. He raised himself on his toes to reach up nearer Mr. Gluckstein over the counter.

“Besides, I wants a real bargain. Lefty said you had some partic’lar sparklers — unset — an’ I could buy one cheap an’ no questions asked.”

It was a stupendously complicated speech for T. McGuirk. He panted a little from the exertion of it.

Mr. Gluckstein pondered, then reached a sudden decision.

“Come with me,” he said briefly. “Wait — I lock up the shop.”

He locked the front door, pulled down the green shades and turned down the lights. Then he led his visitor through a door in the rear of the shop into a dim room adjoining. A man sitting there with his feet on a board table stood up as they entered. He was a huge man, thick-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a close-cropped, bullet head, blue jowls and a villainous countenance. T. McGuirk smiled at him naïvely.

“Meet Mr. Delancy,” said the pawnbroker. “Pete, a friend of Lefty’s. He wants to buy it a nice little unset diamond. His name is—”

“Me monicker’s T. McGuirk,” supplied the visitor promptly. “That’s the name I goes by mostly.”

Mr. Delancy acknowledged the introduction. A glance passed between him and the pawnbroker. Delancy nodded significantly and pushed his chair back to the wall. He seemed quite without further interest in the proceedings; as a matter of fact he was watching the visitor closely.

T. McGuirk sat down at the table, directly under the circle of illumination cast downward by the gas jet over his head. Mr. Gluckstein went to a small safe in a dark recess of the room, returning in a moment. In one hand he held a small square of black velvet, in the other an unset jewel. He laid the velvet on the table and placed the stone in its center.

“Such a diamond!” he murmured, half to himself. “Look how you could see it sparkle! Now there is a diamond—”

T. McGuirk looked calmly. He made no move to touch the stone.

“You got a glass?” he demanded. “Me eyes ain’t so wery good.”

The pawnbroker exchanged another glance with the saturnine Mr. Delancy. Then, reluctantly, he produced a magnifying glass from his pocket. T. McGuirk fitted it to his eye and with the air of a connoisseur bent forward to examine the diamond still lying untouched on its velvet background. After a moment he straightened. His glance was one of gentle reproof.

“I wanta buy a real diamond,” he stated patiently. “Ain’t you got a real diamond worth about four thousan’ bucks?”

The calm naming of this amount softened the pawnbroker’s disappointment at finding his customer could not be fooled.

“I got it absolutely what you want,” he stated confidently. “Wait a minute — you could pick out the exact stone.”

He removed his first offering; and returning, laid six unset diamonds on the square of velvet beneath T. McGuirk’s critical eyes. There was no doubt of the genuineness of these stones; Mr. Delancy’s immediate alertness was contributory evidence. He hitched his chair forward slightly, his eyes glued to the square of velvet with the six gems sparkling upon it. Quite evidently, though the visitor was not under suspicion, it was not part of Mr. Gluckstein’s plan to have anything go amiss. The pawnbroker displayed his wares carelessly; but his confederate, from the shadows, watched T. McGuirk like a hawk.

“You couldn’t find anything better at the price in America,” declared Mr. Gluckstein emphatically. “Pick it out, the one your lady friend would like.”

T. McGuirk sat with elbows on the table, staring at the six diamonds. He picked one up, gingerly, between thumb and forefinger. Mr. Delancy’s gaze unwaveringly followed the stone as T. McGuirk raised it nearer his eyes.

“How much for this here one?”

He laid it back among the other five. Mr. Delancy breathed again and relaxed slightly.

“Four thousand dollars you could have it for,” said the pawnbroker deprecatingly. “An’ if it ain’t worth six, s’elp me.”

T. McGuirk’s hands went suddenly into the side pockets of his ragged overcoat. Mr. Delancy leaned forward again. He saw quite plainly the six diamonds all lying on the black velvet. T. McGuirk’s hands came back to the table. They held a tiny bag of tobacco, two matches and cigarette papers. Deftly he began rolling a cigarette.

“Four thousan’? Wery good. An’ how much is this here one?” T. McGuirk touched another of the stones with the tip of his little finger. “Ain’t this here a canary diamond?”

Mr. Gluckstein, at the question, passed around to his customer’s left. For one brief instant he obstructed Mr. Delancy’s view of the table. T. McGuirk was lighting his cigarette carefully, his hands cupping the flame.

And then, after an interval of two seconds, to Mr. Delancy’s horrified gaze the square of black velvet presented only five diamonds! He counted them in a daze — five, not six as there should have been! Mr. Delancy sprang to his feet with an oath.

“Grab him, Ike! He’s got one of the sparklers!”

Mr. Gluckstein’s glance swung instantly to the velvet. He also could count only five diamonds. T. McGuirk had finished lighting his cigarette; he flicked away the match.

Quick as Mr. Delancy was to leap forward, the pawnbroker was quicker. He seized T. McGuirk by the collar unceremoniously, jerking him from his seat, shaking him as a terrier shakes a rat.

The cigarette tumbled from T. McGuirk’s lips and fell unheeded to the floor; on the table, by the square of velvet with its five diamonds, lay his cigarette papers, a match, and the tiny bag of tobacco.

When Mr. Gluckstein’s strength gave out from shaking his victim, he abruptly desisted. T. McGuirk’s feet found the floor. He stood quivering, shrinking within his rags and mumbling vehemently.

Mr. Delancy’s shock of surprise and alarm had now abated.

“Nothin’ to get excited over, Ike. The little shrimp can’t get away.”

“I don’t w-want to get away,” T. McGuirk chattered. “What you doin’ that to me for? How dare you do that to me for nothin’?”

“Shut up,” ordered Mr. Delancy. “Ike, how many sparklers was there? Am I seein’ things? I saw six.”

“Six,” verified Mr. Gluckstein briefly. “The Lady Vernon jewels we bought from Lefty.”

Mr. Delancy nodded.

“Come on, you.” This to T. McGuirk. “Hand it over or I’ll break every bone in your damn little body.”

“Not so loud, Pete.”

Mr. Gluckstein had a very wholesome desire to avoid any uproar. He prided himself on the fact that never once had the police had occasion to invade his premises because of interior disturbance.

Mr. Delancy modified his tones.

“Come on, you — hand it over. You can’t get away with that stuff here.”

T. McGuirk suddenly began to snivel.

“H-hand w-what over?”

“The rock — the sparkler. There was six — now there’s five.”

“I ain’t got no sparkler,” declared T. McGuirk sullenly. “I ain’t seen no sparkler ’cept them there what’s on the table.”

“You could search him, Pete,” suggested Mr. Gluckstein hopefully.

He seemed a little confused, anxious to leave the initiative to his companion.

“Look out! Maybe he’s got a gun!”

T. McGuirk’s hand had gone to his pocket.

“I ain’t,” he asserted stoutly. “I’m a peaceable man — I don’t never use no rewolwer.”

His empty hands went up obediently at Mr. Delancy’s command. Quite evidently he spoke the truth, for after a moment Mr. Delancy backed away again, surveying him from a distance.

“Search him good, Pete. You could find it. Right away we get excited — that ain’t sensible.”

After another peremptory but futile demand for the missing diamond, Mr. Delancy began searching the person of T. McGuirk. It was too slow a process.

“Take ’em off,” he commanded.

T. McGuirk obediently stripped. When he was denuded of every vestige of apparel, Mr. Delancy and the pawnbroker avidly pawed over the pile of rags. Their search was fruitless. The missing diamond was not to be found.

“Where’s his four thousan’ bucks?” Mr. Delancy demanded.

He and the pawnbroker turned accusingly on their prisoner. T. McGuirk, shivering in his nudity, flushed with embarrassment.

“I ain’t got no money with me,” he explained. “Lefty’s holdin’ it. He was comin’ here later to buy the diamond I picked out.”

This remark, which T. McGuirk made quite on the spur of the moment, evidently gave Mr. Gluckstein considerable food for thought. His respect for Lefty Lannigan was great, his fear even greater. And he well remembered the gunman’s ire at a little unpleasantness over these same Lady Vernon jewels. There was evidently more to this affair than Mr. Gluckstein had at first supposed. He was quite at a loss to explain it; but whatever it was, Lefty Lannigan must not be involved.

T. McGuirk, still shivering, remarked indignantly:

“Yous is wery, wery wrong, a-treatin’ me this way. Gimme my clothes.”

He began dressing, mumbling to himself.

“I’m a-gonna tell Lefty how yous is a-treatin’ me over nothin’.”

Mr. Delancy passed a hand over his blue chin reflectively. The situation was too complicated for him.

“You better put them other sparklers back,” he cautioned, waving his hand at the five diamonds on the table. “We might lose another if we ain’t careful.”

The pawnbroker mechanically replaced them in the safe.

T. McGuirk was still dressing, some distance from the table, when Mr. Delancy suddenly thought of the little tobacco bag lying there. He examined it eagerly, but it yielded nothing but tobacco.

“Maybe the diamond got knocked on the floor,” suggested T. McGuirk hopefully. “But I didn’t see none, only them five.”

The pawnbroker was already on his knees, searching about with a pocket flashlight. Mr. Delancy joined him. T. McGuirk, now completely dressed, sat down and watched the proceedings with interest.

For fifteen minutes the search went on. The room was ransacked thoroughly. Mr. Gluckstein verified his count of the diamonds in the safe. He searched his own pockets, and those of Mr. Delancy. The result was always the same. There had been six of Lady Vernon’s diamonds brought in by Lefty Lannigan and purchased from him by Mr. Gluckstein — but now there were only five.

T. McGuirk sat meekly watching. On the floor near the table leg lay the cigarette he had rolled. He picked it up. But before he had time even to reach for a match, Mr. Delancy seized the cigarette with a cry of triumph.

“Here’s where he put that sparkler, Ike! We’re fools!”

The pawnbroker hastened to his side as he tore the little cylinder apart ruthlessly. There was nothing but tobacco within it.

T. McGuirk’s glance was rebuking.

“I ain’t seen no sparkler, I’m telling you. Yous is wery wrong, accusin’ me this way.”

The exasperated Mr. Delancy seized him by the collar; but this time T. McGuirk yelped shrilly.

“You take your hands off’n me. S’elp me, I’ll yell for the cops. An’ when I get ’em in here I’ll tell ’em all about everything. I can’t help it if yous is so careless with Lady Wernon’s diamonds.”

The pawnbroker shuddered. Mr. Delancy released his victim, and remarked hopelessly: “Get him out of here, Ike, before I kill him. He’ll land the bulls on us sure.”

“I wanta go,” T. McGuirk asserted. “Lefty’s waitin’ for me anyhow. I don’t wanta buy no diamonds off’n you.”

He cast about for his hat, but Mr. Gluckstein confronted him.

“If we let you go now you could shut your mouth about this? You could get out of here an’ stay out an’ right away forget you were ever in here?”

“Wery good idea,” assented T. McGuirk readily. “I never seen no sparklers in here. I never heard of no Lady Wernon. Just lemme out. I deman’ to be let go!”

Half a minute later, with a push from Mr. Delancy that propelled him headlong down the steps into the darkness of the alley, T. McGuirk made his exit.

Lefty Lannigan, with a curiosity that would not let him rest, chanced to be loitering at the corner waiting for his friend’s appearance. T. McGuirk came shuffling along, still mumbling vehemently to himself.

“Hello, Timothy. You didn’t get killed?”

T. McGuirk stopped.

“Did you get the diamond, Timothy?”

There was a shade of irony in Mr. Lannigan’s tone.

“Sure I got it. Lady Wernon’s — the biggest one. Wery easy job — wery easy, in-deed.”

Mr. Lannigan stared, incredulous.

“How’d you get it? Show it up.”

But T. McGuirk shook his head.

“Not here. Come on — let’s eat.”

In the semi-private alcove of a cheap Chinese restaurant off the Bowery, T. McGuirk faced his burly friend over the marble table.

“I was rollin’ a cigarette — see?”

He suited the action to the word, rolling the little cylinder deftly and moistening it with his tongue. Then, with a bland smile, he removed a pivot tooth from his upper jaw. He held it out triumphantly. It was a realistically yellow false tooth with a gold top and a pivot sticking up. T. McGuirk turned it over in his palm. The back of the tooth was hollowed out and filled up with wax. And imbedded in the wax lay the missing diamond.

“You gets the sparkler on your tongue,” T. McGuirk explained. “An’ the tongue puts it in the tooth. It’s wery easy — wery easy in-deed. All you needs for a job like that is system. System an’ brains, an’ no rewolwer.”