The Python

CHAPTER III WEALTH RECLAIMED

IN the room below, three men were gathered at a large oak desk that matched the deep, rich polish of the paneling. One, who sat alone, was Danton Califax, a man of fifty. Shoulders slightly stooped, his face tired and hollow-cheeked, Califax possessed a weariness that explained his early retirement from active business.

His smile, however, showed that Califax was making an effort to receive his guests. While he used one hand to stroke the front of his baldish head, Califax employed the other as a means of introducing his visitors to each other.

“This is Lester Bornick,” stated Califax. He pointed across the desk to a rangy, firm-jawed man whose face was of a rugged mold. “He is my attorney.”

Bornick thrust out his hand to the other man, a pale-faced, nervous fellow of medium height. At the same time, Califax indicated the pale man with a pointing finger.

“This is Craig Jurrice,” said the manufacturer. He lowered his left hand from his brow. “You know about Jurrice, Bornick. Come. Let us begin our discussion.”

Califax extended a box of cigars. Both visitors accepted. Jurrice, more nervous than before, was still wincing from the pressure of the handclasp that he had received from Bornick. He gazed askance at the lawyer; then looked to Califax.

“You — you have told Mr. Bornick?” questioned Jurrice.

“About your offer?” said Califax, with a smile. “I have told him everything, Jurrice. Right from the start. I talked with him after the night of your first visit.”

“But — but I–I had hoped that nothing would be said—”

“I am Mr. Califax’s counsellor,” interrupted Bornick, his gaze firm on Jurrice. “He seeks my advice on many matters, Jurrice. To talk to me was no indiscretion on his part.”

“I–I understand.” Jurrice managed a smile. “I see — you are Mr. Califax’s lawyer? Not just someone whom he called in on this matter?”

“Mr. Bornick has represented me for years.” It was Califax who made the reply. “Set your mind at rest, Jurrice. Among his clients, Bornick numbers many who are far wealthier than myself.”

Jurrice nodded, relieved.

“Suppose we recapitulate,” suggested Bornick. “Start with the beginning and sum up the entire matter. It will help us, Jurrice.”

“Very well.” Jurrice spoke untroubled. His nervousness had lessened. “I shall do so, gentlemen.”

He paused long enough to take a few puffs at his cigar; then began to speak in a slow, careful tone.

“I have a friend,” declared Jurrice, “whose name is Revoort. Louis Revoort. Some years ago, Revoort traveled extensively in the West Indies. In the course of his journeys he met many wealthy Cuban planters. Some of his Cuban friends became closely identified with the affairs of the Machado administration. When that government was overthrown, they deemed it wise to flee.

“Not long ago, Revoort met a Cuban whom he knew. The Cuban’s name is unknown to me. I merely have the assurance that the man really exists. This Cuban told Revoort that he had left a fortune in his native land. Wealth, in gold, valuable securities and precious gems. The last named constitutes the greatest part of the fortune.

“The Cuban had not been a party to the misdeeds of the former administration; but certain high officials were his friends. Personal enemies have believed ill of him. The Cuban dares not set foot in his country. So he requested Revoort to go there and bring away the treasure.”

JURRICE paused; he leaned forward on the desk. His voice became a deep-drawn tone.

“It means a fortune for Revoort!” he exclaimed. “One third of the total amount, with a commission on the sale of the jewels. That part is most important. For both the Cuban and Revoort want an immediate conversion into cash.

“Revoort required funds. He called upon me, not only as a friend, but as one who has dealt in precious stones. It will be my task to find a single buyer for those jewels; to offer them as an unusually fine bargain for one who can buy them outright.”

Jurrice sat back in his chair. Bornick rubbed his chin; then put a question.

“Just how,” asked the lawyer, “did you happen to come to Mr. Califax?”

“I talked to people,” replied Jurrice, soberly. “To persons at my club; to some among the trade. I spoke quite cautiously; but mentioned that I might have access to a valuable collection of gems.

“Various persons told me names of those who might be interested. Several collectors were mentioned; among them, Mr. Califax.”

“Who mentioned me?” inquired Califax. “Do you remember?”

“No,” replied Jurrice. “I don’t recall just who. I heard your name mentioned somewhere; then made inquiries about you. I learned that you were a collector.”

“Hardly a real one, Jurrice.” Califax motioned over his shoulder, toward a safe at the back of the study. “I have some gems in there; but their total value is not great. True, gems have been a hobby with me, since my retirement, but—”

“That’s just it, Mr. Califax!” exclaimed Jurrice. “Don’t you see? I wanted to meet someone who was just beginning as a collector. One who did not have too much money tied up in precious stones. One who could buy if he would.”

“So you told me, Jurrice. I must confess that your judgement appears sound.”

THE windows of Califax’s study had raised window shades. Bornick, seated in front of the desk, could see straight past Califax, out toward the avenue. The lawyer’s view was an angled one that Jurrice could not gain. Nor could Califax observe what Bornick saw, for Califax had his back toward the window.

Bornick was watching blue lights that blinked from the corner of a distant loft building. His lips moved — almost imperceptibly — as he marked off dots and dashes. Lights ended their blinking.

Bornick continued to watch as they resumed again. He heard a question from Califax. Lips tight, Bornick stared straight at the manufacturer, yet kept watching the lights while he did so.

“What do you think, Bornick?” Califax was quizzing. “Would I be making an illegal step if I should purchase these gems from Jurrice?”

“I think you would be,” returned Bornick, steadily. Lights had blinked and finished. The lawyer’s eyes eased slightly, but neither witness noted their change. “Not so far as any Cuban complications are concerned. Provided, of course, that this Cuban friend of Revoort’s actually has title to the gems.

“But if the jewels are smuggled into the United States — and I understand that they are coming here by such method — any purchase of them would be a defiance of the customs law. You could be held responsible, Califax.”

Jurrice raised his hand in protest.

“There is no intent to break the law,” he declared. “Revoort already has the treasure. He came from Cuba by a small boat and landed in Florida, unchallenged by coast guards or customs officers.

“He does not want to escape paying duty. The gems can be declared after they reach New York. Any payment to the government will be deducted from the purchase price. That is why it has become imperative for me to plan a sale. So there will be funds available for customs charges.”

“What of the gold and the securities?” questioned Bornick. “Why not use them to pay the customs charges?”

“Revoort’s Cuban friend needs cash at once,” explained Jurrice. “Whatever remains may not be sufficient. The gems must be sold.”

“I explained this to you, Bornick,” reminded Califax, mildly. “Jurrice told me these facts several days ago. I repeated them to you the next night.”

“So you did,” agreed the attorney. “I wanted to hear Jurrice acknowledge them.”

“Did — did Mr. Califax mention what Revoort has done?” questioned Jurrice, nervously, as he faced Bornick. “About — about his planning to take passage on the steamship Tropical, at Savannah?”

“I did,” replied Califax, speaking for Bornick. “Mr. Bornick knows of Revoort’s plans. The Tropical, however, is a coastwise vessel. It comes from no foreign port; therefore, it will run into no difficulty with the customs authorities.”

“My advice, Califax,” stated Bornick, carefully, “is for you to avoid this purchase. If you decide to go ahead — in spite of my advice — make no transaction whatever except in the presence of an attorney.”

“Do you mean,” inquired Califax, “that you will not give me further counsel?”

“I mean exactly that. You understand, of course, that as my client you have absolute assurance that this entire subject has been and will be kept a secret. But I can not place myself in the position of becoming party to a technical conspiracy.”

CALIFAX looked troubled. It was Jurrice who showed a sudden gleam.

“Suppose the matter be forgotten,” he suggested, speaking to the lawyer. “For the present, you understand. Then suppose I should approach Mr. Califax. No — better not for me. Suppose a stranger such as Revoort should come here, with certain gems, ready to declare them before a sale—”

“Under those circumstances,” decided Bornick, interrupting, “it would be difficult to class the transaction as a conspiracy. Mr. Califax could summon an attorney and ask his advice in the unusual matter.”

With that, Bornick arose and extended his hand; first to Califax, then to Jurrice. Blue lights had begun anew. Unnoticed, Bornick was making a mental record of their blinks.

“I have an important appointment,” recalled the lawyer. “One that I postponed on account of this visit. I believe that I am needed here no longer. Good night, gentlemen.”

Bornick lingered while the blue lights finished their blinking. The slight delay allowed Jurrice opportunity for another statement.

“I talked too much at first,” declared the pale-faced man. “I even made the mistake of mentioning to certain persons that Revoort was in Florida. That was unwise, I know, for there have been some startling robberies lately. The Hildebrand collection of gems was stolen. A shipment of uncut diamonds was taken from a transatlantic liner. There have been other thefts as well.

“But I have preserved silence recently. Even when persons have tried to make appointments with me. There was one man who called me today — a gem collector named Lamont Cranston. I knew of him, however. He is a millionaire. He was coming to my apartment; but he did not arrive there.

“I left without waiting for him. Hence I can assure you, Mr. Califax, that I shall come to you first. Once the gems are in New York, you understand. Either I or Revoort—”

Bornick had nodded his departure. He was passing out through the door when Jurrice paused. The pale-faced man chewed his lips; then spoke to Califax again.

“Perhaps it would be best,” he decided, “for us to drop any further discussion. Particularly in view of what Mr. Bornick told us.”

“I think that is wise, Jurrice,” agreed Califax. “Let us do as Mr. Bornick suggested. Forget the matter for the present. Come; let us go downstairs and have some refreshments before you leave.”

IN the room above, Warthrope whispered to Thurney as conversation ceased across the wire.

“Did you see the lights blinking?” questioned the servant. “Maybe they were for you?”

“No.” Thurney shook his head. “I saw them. Probably some Coilmasters reporting in.”

“What if The Python didn’t see them?”

“If he doesn’t acknowledge the lights within half an hour, they’ll come through again. Just as with us, Warthrope.”

“What about these things we heard? Shall I report them?”

“There was nothing new. Nothing of great consequence. Leave the report to me, Warthrope.”

A buzzer sounded. Warthrope whispered that it was his summons. Thurney nodded and followed the servant from the room. They descended by the rear stairs. There Warthrope pointed the way to a back door. As soon as Thurney was gone, the servant went into the living room. He found Califax there with Jurrice.

“What kept you, Warthrope?” queried Califax. “Didn’t you hear my summons?”

“I–I was dozing,” stammered the servant, “Yes — that was it, sir. I was dozing.”

“Do less napping in the future,” reprimanded Califax. “You may leave, Warthrope.” The stooped manufacturer held up a glass as he spoke. “Sykes has served us our refreshments.”

Warthrope looked toward Sykes, who was present. He saw suspicion in the other servant’s eye. Warthrope was worried as he went upstairs. He mistrusted Sykes because the man was honest.

In his room, Warthrope covered over the dictograph set; something that he had previously forgotten to do. Warthrope then closed the door of his room and sidled over to the corner by the fake radio.

Neon lights were quivering again, blue in the blackness of night. Warthrope guessed that The Python still planned moves tonight. In that conjecture, the underling was correct. For the hour was approaching when The Python, master mind of crime, intended to interview his prisoner, The Shadow.