The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 More Classic Mystery Stories

The Tip-off

Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, August 1973.

Madame Fouchard’s jewelry store was so very haut monde that it was known, with snobbish and disdainful simplicity, as La Bijouterie, The Jewelry Store. It was marked on a high-fashion street by a very small sign without capital letters and a single, tiny display window offering plebeian eyes the glimpse of an emerald pendant, a bracelet of rubies, or a diamond necklace.

The subdued plush-and-brocade interior included no welcome mat for the low budget buyer. The décor was intended to rule out the poor and give the rich a sense of importance. As a result, the proletariat rarely ventured past the carven walnut doors. Today, however, was one of the rare exceptions.

An hour after lunch, with business at a total standstill, Richard Nollner was alone in the sales area nursing his boredom. He was well-cast for the role of Madame’s charming young clerk, a cool image that fitted the decor nicely. He was impeccably tailored, his softly waving brown hair carefully styled. His face was lean and handsome with quick, dark eyes. Before he moved or opened his mouth, he was clearly a young man with proper manners and a certain polish in speech. As a salesman, he was especially effective with the older, corseted, buxom matrons who accounted for a good part of La Bijouterie’s patronage.

At the moment, his good looks were clouded with dark dissatisfaction. He’d never let his feelings show to Madame Fouchard, who took a motherly interest in him, but after three years of kowtowing to her patrons he desperately wanted to escape the elegant cell, forever. Money, however, was a major source of trouble. Madame’s fondness didn’t stretch the scanty supply of dollars supplied to Richard each pay day. The job was supposed to carry prestige, but a clerk was still a clerk, even at Fouchard’s. Richard had to dress the part, no mean expense; and he and Willa, his lovely and saucy young wife, had tastes in food and entertainment more easily afforded by Fouchard customers. The Nollner apartment was small and cramped, and they simply had to get out on frequent evenings and weekends. So there were always bills, bills, and more bills, with life a strain and stretch from one pay day to the next.

Richard’s restless musings were broken this day by the advent of the most disreputable youthful apparition that had ever dared enter the elegant La Bijouterie.

A pulse suddenly throbbing in his neck, Richard stood rooted to the thick carpet, staring at what was obviously the lowest rank in the order of hippiedom. The slender figure crossing to Richard looked positively malodorous, clad in an enveloping poncho of dirty gray, baggy jeans that needed a wash, and grimy sneakers. The newcomer’s head and face were bundled in a cootie’s nest of wild and matted brown hair and beard, while eyes lurked unseen behind huge colored glasses.

Richard came to life with a start, lifting a cool brow. “Yes?” he inquired in a tone intended to discourage.

“Like, man, you’re Richard Nollner,” the brash apparition stated in a husky contralto, “and my name is Smith.”

Richard glanced at the street door as if quaking from the thought of a well-heeled Fouchard client walking in while Mr. Smith was present.

“So, if I’m fouling up the joint, take me to your leader,” Smith said. “I want to talk about some diamonds and a mere clerk won’t do.”

Richard was stiffened into momentary silence by a situation which had never presented itself before.

Young Smith snapped his fingers. “Come on, come on! On to Fouchard, the grande dame herself. For all you can see of me, Mr. Nollner, I might be a mentally defective young heir about to buy this decadent adjunct of the capitalistic system.”

Richard managed a movement of muscle. “Why not?” he murmured. “It’s her place, her problem. It’ll at least get the character out of public view...”

Madame Fouchard’s private office, unlike the front of her establishment, was Spartan in its use of space and furnishings. She was behind her old flat-topped desk when Richard knocked and opened the door.

“Madame...”

She looked up from the ledger spread before her. She was a trim, silver-haired little figure, with a small, ageless face and china-blue eyes. She was dressed simply in no-nonsense black, her only adornment a fantastic pearl worn about her slim neck on a fine gold chain.

“Yes, Richard? Well, do speak. Are you ill? You look positively pale.”

“There’s a... uh... young man out here who refuses to go away until he has seen you.”

No sooner had Richard made the statement than he was elbowed roughly aside by Mr. Smith, who’d followed on his heels. Smith barged into the office, Richard falling in ineffectually behind him.

Madame looked the youth up and down without batting an eye or flickering an expression; but behind the eyes, Richard knew, the keen old brain was trying to decide whether Smith was a dangerous breed of nut.

“Do sit down, young man,” she said graciously. “What may we do for you?”

Richard suspected that she was playing for time in which to assess the situation. Nothing really fazed the old girl. She’d lost her capacity for dismay during a lifetime that had begun in depression-ridden France. During World War II, she and her husband aided the Resistance. Betrayed, they got out of France a jump ahead of a German firing squad, leaving business and home behind. They went to Spain, Portugal, England, and finally to America, enduring hardship every step of the way.

In the United States, Monsieur Fouchard’s reputation as a diamond cutter quickly brought a change of fortune. In due time, La Bijouterie was established and the Fouchard integrity wrote a success story. Madame had taken over the business helm more than a year ago when her husband suffered a heart condition and went into semiretirement, pursuing his beloved craft of diamond cutting as a part-time occupation.

Smith accepted Madame’s suggestion, slipping to an alert crouch on a hard wooden chair. “It’s not what you can do for me. Rather, what you might do for yourself.”

“In what respect, young man?”

Smith glanced at the clock on the wall. “Old girl, only I can spare you.”

“From what?”

The baleful dark glasses swung back in the direction of Madame’s face. “In just thirty-one minutes,” Mr. Smith said, “you are going to commit murder.”

The breath jolted from Richard. Madame took the outlandish news with the slightest stiffening of her lean old body.

“Why, you...” Richard choked, taking a threatening step. “I’ll call a policeman and have you thrown out of here!”

“That would do it,” Mr. Smith said with contempt. “That would really do it.”

Madame Fouchard made a small motion with her hand. “I think he first owes us an explanation, Richard”

“You’ve a little more gray matter in your skull than your nitwit clerk,” Smith said. “One peep to the fuzz and the tragedy transpires.”

“Who am I supposed to kill?” Madame inquired.

“Willa,” Smith said.

“My wife?” Richard howled. “How dare you suggest—”

“Oh, pipe down.” Smith’s gritty contralto showed the first signs of real irritation. “Every second you waste is one second less that you have. I can make everything clear in a few sentences if you’ll quit interrupting.”

Smith paused for a long-drawn three or four seconds. From somewhere under the poncho he brought out a corncob pipe and filled it from a small, grubby pouch. He didn’t light the pipe right away, but sat tapping it on a knuckle.

“That’s better,” he said into the silence. “The setup is simple. At this moment, an associate of mine is in Mr. Nollner’s apartment — with a knife at Willa Nollner’s throat. He is quite prepared to color the pad red unless I phone him—” the glasses briefly sought the wall clock, “—within the next twenty-nine minutes and advise him that you have extended your full cooperation.”

Richard stared in openmouthed paralysis.

Madame was less slow in her reaction. “Cooperation in what way, young man?”

Smith looked at the rough bowl of the corncob. “I happen to know that a large shipment of uncut diamonds was delivered here under tight security last evening. They’re in your vault right now, destined for cutting by M. Fouchard. You hand them over and raise no alarm until I’m thirty minutes out of the building, and Mrs. Willa Nollner lives. Otherwise, Madame, you’ll be responsible for the young woman’s death. You will have triggered her murder.”

With trembling hands, Richard pulled a spotless, monogrammed linen handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it to his forehead. “I can’t believe it,” he croaked. “It’s too fantastic, unreal. Madame, I for one won’t buy it. Call the police and have this psycho thrown out!”

“Too bad.” Smith sighed. “Willa’s such a lovely young woman, too. Rare jewel. One of a kind. If I were you, pally, I’d phone my apartment before I threw away a chick like Willa.” Richard locked stares with the would-be robber. The glasses revealed nothing, but the hippie’s confident mien did.

Slowly, Richard reached to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed his apartment number. The phone rang once, and the connection was made.

“Willa... You’re not Willa!” Jaw muscles bunched, Richard pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Who are you? What have you done to Willa?” He squeezed out the words.

A long shiver went through Richard as he listened. “Please...” he said. “If she’s still all right, put my wife on.”

“Ricky?” Willa’s voice came in a near scream. “Don’t let him do it...

Richard sagged, clutching the edge of the desk with his free hand. He slowly took the phone away from his ear and stood holding it awkwardly, staring at it. Willa’s piteous entreaties poured tinnily into the office. “Ricky, he means it... He’ll kill me... Please, Ricky, don’t cross them up... Do as they say... Don’t let me die...”

Smith slipped from the chair, took the phone from Richard’s stiff fingers, and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Save your breath, chick. I think you’ve made a believer. You’ll live — if that’s what your husband and Fouchard want.” Smith dropped the phone into its cradle and returned to his chair.

The blankness of the dark glasses seemed to pose a question: Well, what is your pleasure? You want her dead?

Richard’s hands curled into fists. “If anything happens to her—”

“Come off it, pally,” Smith said shortly. “This is no time for heroics. A human life is evaporating, second by second.”

“Go to the vault, Richard,” Madame said quietly, “and fetch the diamonds.”

“But Madame Fouchard—”

“We’re insured,” she reminded him. “Even if we weren’t, a few diamonds couldn’t restore a life.”

“Now you’re rapping with some sense,” Smith said. “Not like this creep of a clerk.”

“Madame...” Richard said with a last note of helplessness.

“Do move, Richard,” Madame said. “Even the Nazis had their day.”

“Experience has made you a wise old woman,” Smith said approvingly. Then to Richard, “Drop the rocks into this, pally.” From the depths of the poncho, Smith dragged a large, heavy brown paper bag folded several times over, which he handed to Richard.

With a despairing look at Madame, Richard reeled through the narrow rear doorway of the office. He was absent briefly, noting on his return that Smith had lighted the corncob pipe and was polluting the air with little gray puffs.

Smith leaped up, snatched the loaded paper bag from Richard’s hand, and laughed softly as he looked inside.

“The shipment of uncut stones is all there,” Richard said miserably. “I cleaned the vault. Now, what guarantee do we have that you’ll not harm my wife?”

“My word, Mr. Nollner. And plain common sense. It would be stupid to complicate the gig by harming her now — unless you jump the gun and turn in an alarm. I’ll phone from a place nearby and tell my associate the deal has been satisfactorily concluded. Your worries are over, if you don’t yell fuzz within the next half hour.”

Wadding the top of the paper bag shut and tucking it under his arm, Smith turned and slipped out the door with a quiet swish of the poncho.

A silence followed. It seemed incredible that Smith had really been there.

Richard turned slowly from the sight of the closed door. “Madame, how can we ever repay you? You were so generous.”

Madame fell back in her chair, touched with weariness. “At the moment it seemed a life was in the balance, Richard. One I happen to value very much. Willa has always appeared to me such a lovely, vivacious child.”

“God bless you, Madame. Somehow, we’ll find a way to repay you for saving her life.”

“Never mind that right now, Richard.” Madame shook off her tiredness, planting her feet, and rising. “If the Nazis had their day, remember they also experienced their midnight.”

Her words caught at Richard. He peered closely at the composure of her small, firm face. “You have some plan for trapping our thief?”

“Nothing that would endanger Willa, my boy. I think she should be quite safe by now. Go to her. I’ll be along as soon as our half hour of grace is over.”

With a brief crushing of her little hand, Richard nodded, turned, and rushed out.

Willa was in the living-room of their small, commonplace apartment when Richard burst in and slammed the door shut. He decided that she’d never looked lovelier, a willowy five-five with a pixie face and sparkling golden hair.

They looked at each other across the space of the room, smiles building. Then they rushed together with a shout of laughter. They met in the middle of the room, flinging their arms about each other. Richard swung her in a full circle before dropping her toes back onto the floor.

“Hi, Mr. Smith,” Richard said, trying to control his wellsprings of pure rapture.

“Hello, Harassed Young Husband.”

They drew apart and beheld one another from arms’ length, still holding hands.

“With all that disguise,” he said, “you made a positively noxious hippie.”

“I was worried about the voice,” Willa confessed.

“The hours of practice paid off. You sounded the part. Immature youth with a high-pitched voice. But hey!”

“Yes, darling?”

“You didn’t mean those things you said, like calling me a creep of a clerk?”

“All in a day’s work. Five years married, and you’re still my sugarplum.”

They melted close together for another moment. Richard kissed the tip of her nose. “You really shocked me when you pulled out the corncob pipe. Not a part of the original act.”

“I know, darling. I was still too conscious of being a girl. The pipe was a beautiful last-minute thought, the proper final touch. Nothing so masculine as a pipe smoker.”

“Couldn’t you have bought a better brand of tobacco?” Richard laughed.

“For a one-time run-through?”

“We can afford anything now,” Richard said. He nuzzled her forehead with his lips. “Think of the future, darling — the beautiful, beautiful future. No more boredom, no more borrowing and pinching from pay day to pay day... Uncut diamonds — the safest loot of all. No one can identify them once they’re cut. And we won’t even have to fence them for a fraction of their worth. After three years of picking up rap in the trade, I know of cutters in Amsterdam, Paris, New York, who’ll shape the stones for the right fee with no questions asked. We’re rich, baby, rich!”

“There’s still the final act, Ricky.”

“I know. I’ll have to stick at La Bijouterie a few more weeks so my leaving won’t appear suspicious. But under the circumstances,” he slapped her playfully on the derriere, “I believe we can bear it.”

She looked up at him brightly. “You didn’t play your own role so badly, Ricky. Just the right amount of fear, disbelief, reluctance to take Madame’s lovely diamonds.”

They strolled across the room, arm in arm. “The old girl reacted just as we knew she would,” Richard snickered.

“How else, Ricky? She thought she was sparing the life of a cherished young friend. Even on the million-to-one chance that she would balk, we had virtually nothing to lose in comparison to the stakes.”

His snicker became a chuckle. “The phone call was the real convincer. When she heard your desperate pleas pouring out of the phone, I knew we had her.”

“You’re so clever, Richard.”

“Not really,” he said, with a note of false modesty. “Once we had tape-recorded your voice, it was simple to rig a little electronic switch and relay to tap the phone and turn on the recorder.”

“It didn’t look simple during those evenings you studied the books and kept tinkering with the thing, running test after test.”

“Perfection, Willa darling, is the better part of discretion, or something to that effect.” They had neared the inner doorway, and he changed the subject. “Now, how about the disguise?”

“Stowed in the bedroom closet, Ricky, along with the diamonds. Just slip the hippie garb, beard, and wig into the building incinerator and Mr. Smith will appear no more.”

“I’ll do it right away, and I’ll stash the diamonds in a better place.” Richard glanced at his wristwatch. “The old lady is coming over.”

“’Natch,” Willa said, “to offer me a bit of solace. So on to Act One, Scene Two...”

She stepped away from Richard’s side. She breathed deeply, her face sobering. Her joy vanished. She blinked hard, and a couple of tears trickled down her cheeks. Her body crumpled inwardly. “Oh, it was awful, Madame,” she wept through shivering teeth. “That dreadful man came in and said he would kill me if his partner didn’t get your diamonds—”

She broke off the quick rehearsal, which she’d practiced many times before, and slipped Richard an elfin look. “Okay, Ricky?”

It was better than okay. She’d have Madame offering a motherly shoulder to cry on. And yet... somehow Richard was held in a moment of strange hesitation.

Willa eased out a breath. “Ricky, what is it?”

He shook his head, refocusing on Willa’s face. “I don’t know... Something the old lady said, about evil doers experiencing their midnight darkness. As if she suspected something.”

“What could she possibly suspect?”

“Nothing, of course,” he admitted.

“It’s just the tension of the game, Ricky. But don’t let it get to you. It won’t last much longer now.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said with sudden shortness. “Just be sure you don’t overplay the description of your mythical assassin to the cops.”

Willa’s eyes sparked, but she held back. “Let’s not fight, darling. It’s neither the time nor the place.”

“You’re right, of course,” Richard said. “It’s just that the old dame shook my nerve at the last minute.” He glanced once more at his watch, making certain he had ample time to take Willa’s hippie costume to the basement incinerator; but he’d taken only a step toward the bedroom when the door from the outside corridor opened without any warning.

Madame Fouchard stood in the doorway, flanked by a lanky, sallow man in a slightly baggy suit.

Willa was off guard for a fraction of a second. Then, her face stamped with pathos, she was rushing across the room. “Oh, Madame, I’m so glad you came.”

“Are you really, my dear?”

Willa was met and sent stumbling back by Madame’s outstretched hand.

The lanky man shouldered the door closed and pulled a leather case from his inside coat pocket, revealing a policeman’s badge. “Lieutenant Sam Gerard,” he said. “Police headquarters. Robbery detail.”

Recovering, Richard started across the room. “Thanks for bringing Madame so quickly, Lieutenant. You can count on our full cooperation to help bring the murderous, thieving hippie to justice.”

Gerard looked at Richard with fisheyes. “I must warn you, Mr. Nollner, that you have the right not to speak except in the presence of your attorney. If you cannot afford a lawyer the state will provide one for you.”

Richard shuffled to a halt in mid-room. He moistened his lips and somehow managed a wry grin. “Lieutenant, if you are accusing me of a preposterous something or other...”

“I’ve discussed my suspicions with Lieutenant Gerard on the way over,” Madame said quietly. “He agrees that the evidence warrants an investigation.”

“Evidence?” Richard echoed. A distinct chill spread through the room. He sensed that Willa felt it also. Instinctively, they huddled a little nearer to each other. “Evidence, Madame?” He struggled to keep strength in his voice. “You heard Willa pleading on the phone for her very life. That was the evidence!”

“I heard Willa’s voice,” Madame corrected. “But nowadays anyone can purchase telephone answering gadgets in any electronics and radio shop. It’s possible I heard Willa’s voice, previously taped for my benefit, while Willa herself was sitting in my office disguised as a hippie, waiting to carry off my diamonds.”

Willa implored with an uncertain hand gesture. “Madame, how can you say such a thing? The experience has been too much for you, you poor dear! You’ve lost—”

“Lieutenant—” Madame broke in coldly.

Gerard said, “Don’t worry, ma’am, if there are hippie clothes and uncut diamonds tucked around on the premises we’ll turn them up. You can bet on that.” Richard stood, unable to move. Willa looked from face to face. Then she went to the couch and sat down in stiff-kneed slow motion. She began crying, very quietly — and now the tears were for real.

Madame nodded for Gerard to go about his work, her gaze coming back at last to Richard. “You seemed like such a nice young man. You and Willa in time might have become like my own children.”

“Madame—”

“No, don’t say anything more, Richard! If it’s any satisfaction, you and Willa did it perfectly — right up to the final touch, the tip-off that came during the masculine act on Willa’s part of lighting the pipe while you were ransacking the vault. Until that moment I did believe Willa was in mortal danger. After that, however, I suspected that I was confronted by a clever young woman — not a man — who had access to the knowledge of our diamond shipment.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Richard said forlornly. “Anyone might have known about the diamonds. There might have been a security leak from the time they left New York.”

“Perhaps, but it’s far more logical for the theft to have been planned by someone inside La Bijouterie.”

“But if you knew, Madame, why did you let me leave the office?”

She raised a brow at his lack of logic. “I’ve had experience with thieves and Brownshirts, Richard. I was no match for you physically. With the diamonds already in Willa’s possession, I couldn’t be sure to what measures you would resort in your desperation to keep the stones. I simply bided my time until a policeman could even the odds.”

Madame walked toward the couch, looking at Willa with a touch of sadness. “Married to Richard for five years...” she mused. “A woman’s engagement and wedding rings become so much a part of her that she’s never really conscious of them being on her finger...”