Sidney Zoom puckered his forehead in a frown.

  “The prints of the butler, the dead man and the housekeeper would naturally be all over the place,” he said.

  “Sure,” agreed the young detective. “What we’d be looking for, maybe, would be a strange finger-print that would tally with the prints of some fellow who might have pulled a diamond job.

  “It’s hard to identify from a latent, but where we’ve got the prints to check with we can check pretty fast. Maybe the inside end was just an accomplice. Maybe there’s somebody higher up. We’ll get the prints and check them against half a dozen big diamond men who are known to be in the city.”

  Zoom nodded thoughtfully. His eyes regarded an irregular dark stain upon the floor.

  “What sort of a knife?” he asked.

  “Big butcher knife. Came from the kitchen.”

  “Finger-prints on the knife?”

  “Not a print.”

  CHAPTER IV

  The Dodger

  THERE CAME a nervous knock at the door of the death chamber. Almost at once the knob turned and a pasty-faced man thrust himself through the doorway.

  He was fleshy in a flabby, unhealthy corpulency. Yet he moved with the nervous, jerking swiftness of a lighter man. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face haggard.

  Hargrave looked up.

  “Shake hands with Mr. Zoom, Mr. Slacker. Jed Slacker, Mr. Zoom. He’s the manager I told you about.”

  The fleshy man thrust out a right hand with the explosive force of a man striking a blow. He spoke and the words came rushing out so fast that each word seemed to be treading on the heels of its predecessor.

  “Howdy-do-Mister-Zoom-howdy-do-pleas’d-t’meetcha. Listen, Hargrave, there’s gotta be a will here, simply gotta be. I can’t sleep. My God, my money, all of it. I’ve looked up the law. I’m stuck. Checked out my own money. Goldfinch would have made it good in a minute. Came out here, find he’s been murdered. Worst of it is that he was murdered after I’d put up the money. If he’d only been croaked an hour sooner I could have recovered. Furnished to the estate instead of to the dead man. See the point? But there’s a will, and I know he’ll remember me in the will. And—”

  Hargrave interrupted:

  “If you can think of any new place to search you’re welcome. If there’s a will there’s likely to be diamonds in the same place.”

  The fleshy man fell to pacing the floor, quick jerky steps that made the flabby fat of his paunchy frame jiggle with the very violence of the motion. His hands were clasped behind his back, his head thrust forward. He seemed oblivious of everyone in the room.

  From time to time as he strode his feet passed over the irregular dark stain on the floor which marked the place where the life blood of a murdered man had oozed into the boards. But the fat man gave it no heed. He was utterly engrossed in his own problem.

  Hargrave looked at Sidney Zoom, grinned, a wry twisting of the features.

  Sidney Zoom fastened his eyes speculatively on the pacing form of the manager.

  Of a sudden that form stopped with an abrupt cessation of motion, almost in mid stride.

  “Got it,” he said. “Remember Goldfinch said once that he had to have the floor fixed in his bedroom. He wanted a certain carpenter to come in for the job. I had to get that carpenter. He was an old man, a crab, but a friend of the old gent. I couldn’t see anything wrong with the floor. Betcha he put something in there. Let’s take a look.”

  He spun on his heel, worked his short legs like pumping pistons, and steamed through a doorway into an adjoining chamber. Zoom and the detective followed. The fat man dropped to his knees, started exploring the boards with his eyes and the tips of his fingers, keeping up a running fire of conversation meanwhile.

  “Must be somewhere—bound to have a will—must have account books—funny old codger—but I can’t afford to donate everything I’ve got to the estate—what a break!—what a break—ought to’ve known better—me, a lawyer, too!”

  There were heavy steps. Phil Brazer stood in the doorway. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

  Hargrave jerked a thumb toward the figure of the fat man, crawling around on the floor.

  “Thinks he can find something,” he said, and fished a package of cigarettes from his pocket.

  Jed Slacker crawled about the floor, making odd puffing noises as the fat pushed up against his lungs. He fumbled with his right hand.

  “Here,” he said.

  Hargrave stepped forward. Brazer bent over the figure. Sidney Zoom stood aloof. The fat man pointed to a section of the boards.

  “Feels funny. Put your fingers on it.”

  Hargrave bent forward. He pushed his hand against the place Slacker indicated. There was a slight click. A section of the floor lifted up on cunningly concealed hinges. There was disclosed an oblong opening in which appeared papers tied together with a pink ribbon.

  The fat man sat back on his haunches, gasping for breath. A smile of serene satisfaction appeared on his features.

  “That’ll be the will,” he said. Hargrave reached for the papers.

  “Just a minute,” said Brazer, and his broad shoulders and bull neck pushed Hargrave aside as he reached a thick arm down into the cavity. “I’m in charge here now.”

  He pulled out the package of papers.

  Slacker was wheezing, getting his breath back. “Get the will—the will!” he said.

  The detective thumbed through the papers.

  “Lot of receipts, letters, cancelled checks,” he said. “Here’s some sort of a legal paper. Let’s take a look at it.”

  He unfolded the oblong document, read it with corrugated brows, his lips moving soundlessly as they laboriously formed the words of the document. Jed Slacker peered over his shoulder, let out a whoop of delight.

  “The will?” asked Hargrave. Slacker answered the question.

  “No. But it’s a statement that we hold the stocks in trust as a joint venture and that I’m to be reimbursed for any expenditures I make. Dated only a couple of days ago, too. I don’t care about any of his money, only I don’t want him to take mine.”

  Brazer grunted.

  “What,” asked Sidney Zoom, “is this?” Hargrave muttered an exclamation of surprise. “By gosh it’s a dodger,” he said.

  The fat man looked his relief, also his lack of comprehension. “Dodger?”

  “Yes. The sort that describes criminals, the type that’s tacked up in post offices in the small towns and mailed to peace officers.”

  He unfolded the grayish sheet of printer’s paper. It showed a front and profile view. Above it, in large letters appeared the words Diamond Thief! Below the photographs was a description. “Robert Reelen, alias Sid Whalen, alias Charles Gillen, super crook of the diamond industry. Age, forty-seven; height, five feet ten and one-half inches; weight, one hundred and ninety-four pounds. Scar on left hand running from base of thumb to wrist. Almost bald. Eyes gray, slight blemish scar on left cheek. This man steals rings and stickpins, also acts as fence for crooks dealing in such articles. He pries stones from settings and sells. Never been able to find his market, but he is able to handle stones for cash. When arrested will probably have diamonds concealed in lining of vest. I hold a warrant, detain and wire. I will extradite.”

  Below appeared the printed name and address of a sheriff. “Humph,” said Hargrave.

  “Huh,” snorted Brazer, “I don’t remember no Reelen—but a guy can’t remember every crook in the country. What else is in here?”

  He finished going through the papers. Then he leaned over the opening in the floor, plunged his thick arm in to the shoulder, groped about. A slow smile wreathed his features.

  He withdrew his hand.

  Within the cupped palm were diamonds, half a dozen of them. They glittered in the light of the gloomy bedroom.

  “More?” asked Hargrave. “Yeah.”

  The bull-necked detective made another lunge down into the dark interior. Sidney Zoom watched him with narrowed eyes. Hargrave’s expression was a mask. Slacker re-read the typewritten document and grinned.

  “Let’s me out,” he breathed with that degree of satisfaction which is only seen in men who are fat.

  CHAPTER V

  Madison, the Butler

  BRAZER STRAIGHTENED up after a few seconds. His face was very red from the strained position in which he had been lying. His huge hand cupped perhaps seven or eight diamonds. These were smaller than the others.

  “That,” he said, “is about all.”

  Slacker rotated his flabby head upon the thick neck. “Can’t be. There’s a lot—somewhere.”

  “Not here,” said Brazer.

  Sidney Zoom lit a cigarette in silence. “Let me feel,” said Hargrave.

  Zoom tapped him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t,” he remarked.

  The detective regarded him in surprise. “Wouldn’t what?”

  “Feel in there.” Brazer laughed.

  “No traps in there. I’ve felt all around it. It’s some sort of a metal box.” Sidney Zoom nodded.

  “Quite certain there aren’t any more, eh?”

  Brazer grunted, got down on his knees again and groped around. “Here’s one,” he said.

  He brought out a stone smaller than any of the rest, a mere pebble of a diamond, looked at it, grinned.

  “Wouldn’t bend down for another one that size.”

  “Let’s give headquarters a ring,” suggested Hargrave.

  Brazer grunted, walked to the corridor. “Telephone up here somewhere. Here it is.”

  He called headquarters, reported, listened while the receiver rasped forth metallic sounds, and then turned to Hargrave.

  “That’s a break,” he said, slamming the receiver back on the hook. “What is?”

  “Some of those latents have been checked. They’re the finger-prints of Shorty Relavan. Remember him? He’s the gem man that got out of stir two years ago and vanished. We haven’t been able to get him located. He hasn’t pulled a job that we know of. Now he turns up on this thing. He must have been layin’ low for a job that’d be big enough to make it worth his while.

  “He’s the guy higher up all right. He’s the brains back of the thing. See the lay? He got the housekeeper planted, got her to spot where the sparklers was. Then he gets her to croak the old man and grab the rocks. Maybe he does the sticking himself … No, I guess the housekeeper did that, because we’ve got her. An’ it’s always better to have the guilty guy in jail than to have him outa jail. It makes a difference with the newspapers, see?” And Brazer winked one eye in a portentous and solemn manner.

  There was a knock at the door. “C’min,” called Brazer.

  A man entered, clad in a bathrobe.

  “Pardon, sir, I heard voices and the conversation over the telephone. I thought perhaps, sir, you had found the diamonds.”

  Hargrave muttered an aside to Sidney Zoom. “Madison, the butler.”

  Brazer fastened stern eyes upon the man.

  “Madison, did you ever know there was a secret hiding place under the bedroom floor?” he asked.

  The butler stared at the opened oblong of space and let his jaw sag. “Good heavens, sir. No, indeed, sir!”

  Sidney Zoom flung a question at the man. “How long you been with Mr. Goldfinch?”

  “About a year and a half, sir.”

  “Before that?” asked Sidney Zoom. “I was in Australia, sir.”

  Sidney Zoom turned to Hargrave.

  “Let me see the latents you developed, please.”

  The young detective swung on his heel, motioned toward the outer room.

  “New knob on the door. I took latents from the knob that was on there. I took latents from the desk, from half a dozen other places where the man who had committed the murder might have searched for diamonds.”

  Sidney Zoom studied the spiral of smoke from the end of his cigarette. “Madison, have you noticed any strangers about the place?”

  Brazer snorted. Madison shifted uneasily.

  “He’s been asked that question at least a dozen times,” said Hargrave. Sidney Zoom remained unperturbed.

  “This,” he observed, “will make the thirteenth, then.” The butler squirmed inside his bathrobe.

  “No, sir,” he said. Then, suddenly, he started. “The book peddler!” he exclaimed.

  “Who?” asked Hargrave.

  “I had forgotten when I told you before. He came here with a set of books. Mr. Goldfinch seemed much interested. The peddler came up here to the bedroom. And I remember he was talking with Mrs. Barker, the housekeeper, when I came into the corridor. They seemed to be quite well acquainted. They were whispering, sir.

  “And I thought it was strange at the time, sir, and went so far as to mention the matter to the housekeeper, sir. She told me that they had a secret arrangement by which she was to share in the commission in the event a sale was made.

  “The book agent was back here three times after that, sir. The last time was this afternoon. But I don’t think he saw Mr. Goldfinch, sir, not this afternoon. I know he was talking with Mrs. Barker. Of course, sir, you will understand that us servants sometimes have our little commissions, sir, so I thought nothing of the matter.”

  Brazer grunted.

  “This the first time you’ve told anyone about that guy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why,” asked Jack Hargrave, “did you not say anything about it before?”

  “Because it slipped my mind, sirs.”

  Brazer cleared his throat.

  “What sort of a looking chap was this book agent?”

  “Five feet nine, a hundred and eighty-five pounds, about forty-one or two years of age, dressed in a pin-striped suit. He had gray eyes, and a funny way of talking out of one side of his mouth, sir. He had a funny habit of reaching up with his right hand and rubbing the lobe of his right ear, I remember that well, sir.”

  Brazer whistled. “Whew,” he said, “that’s the description of Shorty Relavan. I remember now the dope that came out on him. He had that habit of tugging at his ear when he was excited. Gosh, what a break! We’ve got the higher up located right at the start. And we’ve got the housekeeper. This ties her in so tight she won’t never get out. All the slick lawyers in the world won’t never pry her loose.”

  Jack Hargrave glanced at Sidney Zoom. His eyes were glittering with concentration.

  Sidney Zoom’s lips twisted, just a trifle.

  “Where else,” asked Sidney Zoom, “did you find the latents of this Relavan?” “In the kitchen, on some of the knives. Not on the murder knife,” said Hargrave. Brazer thrust out his chest.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m in charge of the case. I’m goin’ to telephone headquarters and tell ’em of the new developments.”

  Jack Hargrave grinned at Brazer. “How much credit do I get?” he asked. Brazer grunted. “I’m in charge.” Hargrave nodded, wordlessly.

  “I,” remarked Sidney Zoom, “would like to check up on this dodger of Robert Reelen. Do you suppose, Mr. Hargrave, you could drive me to headquarters and go over the records? And it might be well to take Mr. Madison, the butler, with us, so that we can have him check over the photographs of Shorty Relavan.”

  The eyes of Sidney Zoom met with those of Jack Hargrave and locked there for one long moment.

  Hargrave smiled. “Okay,” he said.

  Phil Brazer scratched his head meditatively.

  “Yeah. I’m in charge here. You guys get out and let me think this thing out. It’s red hot, all right.”

  The butler dressed, in company with Zoom and Hargrave they drove to police headquarters in utter silence. Hargrave led them to the presence of Sergeant Huntington.

  “Understand Brazer’s in charge of the Goldfinch case.”

  “Yes. Orders came through. Sergeant Gilfillan was working on it. You were under him. They switched it to the special duty department and ordered Gilfillan to lay off.”

  Hargrave nodded. “Is that notification official?” Sergeant Huntington studied him long and earnestly. “No,” he said, “it’s not official.”

  Hargrave turned to the man at his side.

  “Shorty Relavan, alias Arthur Madison, I arrest you for the murder of Jacob Goldfinch, and warn you that anything you may say will be used against you.”

  Sidney Zoom heaved a sigh.

  “I was hoping,” he said, “that you would do that.”

  CHAPTER VI

  The Butler’s Confession

  THE MAN who had acted as butler, his face the color of chalk, made two efforts to speak, but only succeeded in making weird throat noises.

  Sergeant Huntington whistled softly, under his breath.

  The butler cleared his throat.

  “All right, you got me. I went after the sparklers. I got the job with Goldfinch hoping to find out where he kept ’em. I couldn’t get the lay so I asked the housekeeper if she knew. She told me to get a market for the stones and she’d produce ’em.

  “I told her the name of a fence. Then she crossed me. She went ahead on her own, pulled the thing without my knowing anything about it, and the old man caught her. They had a struggle. She had taken a butcher knife from the kitchen, and she croaked him. She admitted it to me right after the crime.”

  Sergeant Huntington looked at Jack Hargrave, a light of admiration in his eyes. “Jack,” he said softly, “where did you leave Phil Brazer?”

  Hargrave grinned. “Out at the house, waiting for something to turn up.”

  “How did you know this was Relavan?”

  “Simple. His finger-prints were all over the job. A man like Relavan wouldn’t have left any prints unless he couldn’t have helped himself. If he’d been going there once, or even twice or three times he’d have worn gloves.

  “Then, again, when this man suddenly recollected how the book agent had pulled the lobe of his ear, I knew we had him. An old-timer like Relavan would have changed a habit like pulling at an ear as soon as he knew the police were using it as something to twig him by.”