Sergeant Ackley jerked the soggy cigar from his mouth, spat out a mouthful of smoke and jerked his thumb toward the door.

  “That’ll do, Beaver. I know how to handle this case. Don’t spoil a good record by impertinence, and remember what I told you about losing your temper. That’s going to make a bad blot on your record someday.

  “You can get them to fix you up a glass necklace at the department, or there’ll be some glass stuff at the five and ten. Get him something awfully crude. That’s what he said he wanted, and that’s what we’ll get.

  “In the meantime I’m going to drift down to Goldman’s and explain the case to the manager. I’ll be back here though. I want to get a line on the broad he picks.

  “On your way.”

  And the spy, wordless in chagrin, half opened the door, oozed his bulk into the corridor and flat-footed toward the elevator.

  Sergeant Ackley followed after an interval of a few moments.

  CHAPTER V

  A Sweet Little Girl

  It was two o’clock when Lester Leith opened the door of his apartment, bowed, ushered in a striking brunette.

  “Right in this way, Miss Rayon. Scuttle, the valet, will make you comfortable.”

  The girl turned snapping, black eyes to Lester Leith. There was a subtle invitation in the very manner in which she turned her head, in the angle of the chin as it topped the rounded point of a perfect shoulder.

  “Scuttle! What a funny name!”

  Lester Leith nodded. “It’s a nickname. I never did learn his real name. But he looked so much like a reincarnated pirate that I christened him Scuttle—ah, here he is now.

  “Scuttle, this is Miss Jean Rayon, an actress, temporarily out of employment. You’ll observe that she fits into the description I had worked out for my accomplice.

  “And I want her to understand the terms of our bet, Scuttle. I am to go to Goldman’s Jewelry Store, stand at exactly the same counter, and in exactly the same place that George Cripely stood. I am to lift a diamond necklace, leave a glass necklace in place of it, and I am to conceal the genuine necklace so the police can’t find it. We have a wager of one hundred dollars on the outcome. Is that right?”

  The valet could hardly take his eyes from the seductive figure, but he glanced at Lester Leith, shook his head. “No, sir, the bet was that the police wouldn’t be able to pin a case on you.” And his eyes went back to the brunette.

  Lester Leith laughed.

  “Right you are, Scuttle. Miss Rayon will hold the stakes. And don’t stare so. I can assure you that Miss Rayon, in private life, is a very estimable young woman. But she’s playing a part now. She’s assuming the part of a vamp for the afternoon, and I warn you, Scuttle, not to succumb to her wiles, or you’ll have a broken heart.

  “But to get back to the stakes, Scuttle. Get your hundred dollars. And I’ll put up a hundred.”

  The valet reached in his pocket, pulled out some bills. “There’s sixty dollars here, sir. If you’d advance me forty— there’ll be a two weeks’ salary payment due on Saturday, sir.”

  Lester Leith’s hand flashed to his pocket. “Not at all, Scuttle, not at all. It’s a pleasure. I’m glad to see you betting. It’s a sign of an adventurous disposition, isn’t it, Miss Rayon?”

  The girl flashed her dark eyes to Scuttle’s face.

  There was, in the glance, a tangible something, almost as perceptible as in the caress of a dog’s tongue. She deliberately swept her eyes from chin to forehead, forehead to chin. Her half parted, red lips disclosed a fleeting glimpse of pearly teeth, a red tongue.

  “I simply adore adventurous dispositions,” she said and gently elevated the tip of her shoulder.

  The valet gasped.

  “Come, come, Scuttle. Look alive. You have the layer cake, and you have the lemon pie?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the glass necklace?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, you may get them for us. We’ll be leaving. And, by the way, Scuttle, what do you think of Miss Rayon’s wearing apparel? That is, do you think it matches the newspaper description of the wearing apparel of George Cripely’s female accomplice?”

  “My God, yes!” exclaimed the valet.

  “We have had the best shops in town working frenziedly,” beamed Lester Leith. “There are trivial imperfections which could not be remedied in the short time allotted, but, on the whole it’s rather striking.

  “Well, we’ll be off. And please, Scuttle, don’t make the mistake of confusing Miss Rayon’s stage personality with her real self. As I told you, she’s acting a part.”

  Lester Leith gathered up the paper bags, peered at their contents, inspected the glass necklace, then held the door open for his accomplice. “All set, Miss Rayon.”

  At the door, she turned, swung her very short skirt in a half circle as her tilted head regarded the valet over shoulders that slanted seductively. “I just adore tall men with mustaches!” she breathed, and the very whisper was a caress upon the ears.

  “Wait a minute!” yelled Scuttle. “Let me warn you, Miss Rayon—”

  But Lester Leith had the girl by the arm. The door slammed. The police spy sat down in a chair. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed to himself.

  Then he arose, walked to a mirror and preened his sweeping mustache with thumb and forefinger.

  The door banged open.

  “Scuttle, we’ve overlooked something.”

  “Yes, sir. What is it, sir? Do come in, Miss Rayon.”

  Lester Leith jabbed the tip of his cane toward a pile of newspapers.

  “We were to stand at exactly the same place George Cripely stood, have exactly the same clerk wait on us. And I haven’t the name of the clerk, and I don’t know just where it was that Cripely stood. Do the newspapers give any photos, and diagrams of the store, the name of the clerk?”

  Scuttle nodded.

  “Yes, sir. I have them here. The clerk was Robert Farley, sir, and the parties stood at the extreme southerly end of the second counter on the west of the store, sir. That’s where the diamonds are kept, it seems, and Mr. Cripely remained right at the corner of the counter. The woman wandered around some, looking at various things.

  “Might I have a word with Miss Rayon, sir? Just a suggestion I might make to her, sir, so that, if you—er—if you lost the bet, sir, she wouldn’t be involved, sir?”

  Lester Leith shook his head, firmly, emphatically. “No, Scuttle, it wouldn’t be fair. Come, Miss Rayon.” And he drew the protesting girl into the corridor.

  “But I’d simply adore talking with him. He’s such a splendid specimen — “

  The banging of the hall door clipped off the sentence, Scuttle cursed, went to the telephone, called Goldman’s Jewelry Store and asked to speak with Sergeant Ackley. “They’re on their way, sergeant, and go easy with the young lady. She’s just an innocent little kid that he’s roped in to do his crooked work—Yes, they’re coming—No, no, she’s not a common type—Rather striking and her skirts are very—er—stylish: but she’s as sweet and refined as any girl you ever saw—No, no. How in hell would I know how he made her fall for him! It’s just his way, damn him!”

  And the spy slammed the receiver viciously into place.

  CHAPTER VI

  A Few Swift Gestures

  The arrival of Lester Leith made quite an impression at Goldman’s. The clerks had been repeatedly warned to act natural, comport themselves as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. They overdid their parts. There was in evidence too much elaborate carelessness.

  But Lester Leith seemed not to notice. He turned, held the door for his companion.

  Masculine eyes swept over Jean Rayon in swift appraisal, and continued to appraise.

  The girl’s walk was slightly exaggerated. Her close-fitting skirt, revealing a perfect figure of rounded curves and supple motion, was daringly short. The limbs that were disclosed were graceful, well formed.

  “I am looking for Mr. Robert Farley, and we wish to purchase a diamond necklace,” announced Lester Leith casually to the elderly gentleman who bowed him a welcome to the store.

  “This way, sir,” said the gentleman.

  And his were the only masculine eyes in the place that did not dwell upon Jean Rayon as she walked down the aisle.

  At the second counter from the end on the west side of the store, Lester Leith leaned against the counter, hooked his cane over the edge of the showcase, and gripped the corner of the molding with well-manicured hands.

  “You are Mr. Farley?”

  “At your service, sir.”

  “And the diamond necklaces?”

  “Are here, sir.”

  The tray of necklaces was placed upon the counter, each nestling in a special case, each case fitted into a tray, all sparkling, glittering, scintillating.

  And then instructions were forgotten. The entire store crouched tense, expectant.

  In the inner room, his eyes glued to a special peep hole in the polished walnut paneling. Sergeant Arthur Ackley held his breath. His face twisted and writhed,. unconscious evidence of the inner suspense, the nervous strain under which he labored.

  The girl stood slightly to one side. Her languid form draped against the showcase would have ordinarily arrested attention. But now all eyes were fastened upon Lester Leith.

  Slowly, deliberately, with a tantalizing disregard of time, Lester Leith inspected the necklaces.

  “This is a beautiful one.” he said, at length. “What is the price?”

  The clerk lowered his voice.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ah, yes, yes indeed. And this other one?”

  “That, also, is ten thousand dollars The tray contains ten-thou-sand-dollar necklaces. Now we have another tray of necklaces at fifteen thousand dollars, if you should be interested.”

  Lester Leith shook his head. “No. I think these are as high as I should care to go. Let me see now if I understand you. This tray contains necklaces each of which is priced at ten thousand dollars.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, indeed. Therefore, if I should pay you twenty thousand dollars in cash—cash, mind you, I would have the privilege of picking out and purchasing any two necklaces now on the counter?”

  The clerk’s eyes widened. “It’s rather unusual, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, my dear man. I am an unusual character. But my understanding is correct, is it not? Twenty thousand dollars in cash and I can pick out any two of the necklaces now on the counter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah,” muttered Lester Leith, and his tone was as the purring of a cat approaching a dish of cream. “Here, then, is your twenty thousand dollars.”

  He flipped a slender, well-manicured hand into an inner pocket, brought out a billfold. From that bursting bill fold he took crisp one-thousand-dollar currency.

  “One thousand—two thousand—three thousand—four thousand-ten thousand—fifteen thousand—eighteen— nineteen-twenty thousand dollars. Would you mind verifying the amount, my good man?”

  The clerk counted the money. “Yes, sir. The amount is correct, sir.”

  “Yes, indeed, and I now have the privilege, or perhaps I should say, the duty, of selecting two of the necklaces now on the counter?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s rather unusual, sir, but—”

  There was the piercing shrill of a woman’s scream as it knifed the air. The clerk looked up.

  Jean Rayon, lounging against the counter, her arm stretched along the wooden molding of polished mahogany which rimmed the heavy plate glass, had upset one of the paper bags.

  The lemon pie tilted out, hung poised on the edge of the counter.

  As she screamed, the pie toppled over, hit her dress, slid down her stockings; plumped to the floor, a shapeless mass of soggy, sticky sweetness.

  The girl gave another scream, darted back from the counter. Too late. The falling pie had smeared her clothes.

  She raised the skirt, held it before her for inspection. And then her laugh rang out, a rippling cadence of genuine amusement. And the laugh was like the woman. In its throaty abandon there was a certain voluptuous note that arrested attention. Men ran to her, everybody shouted at once. Only the clerk at the diamond counter held his place.

  Lester Leith reached her side, not as promptly as the others, however; he had hesitated for a moment while his hands had made certain swift gestures. A glittering necklace skidded upon the glass counter as he flung the bauble from him to go to the girl’s assistance.

  “My dear Miss Rayon! This is indeed a shame! I shall telephone a modiste immediately. Perhaps Mr. Goldman can give us a dressing room where you can wait—”

  A masculine voice raised in a hoarse shout. “We’ve been robbed. Grab that man!”

  Lester Leith turned, his face showing an expression of courteous inquiry.

  “Robbed?” he asked.

  “Robbed!” yelled the clerk. “Grab him! Hold them both!” There was a patter of running feet. The special duty policeman hurtled forward, grabbed the unresisting Lester Leith by an arm. The clerk rounded the counter, his finger pointing. “He switched necklaces. Left a glass necklace. Search him!”

  A glass necklace dangled from the finger of the pop-eyed clerk.

  “It happened during the excitement! Just the same as Cripely did yesterday!”

  “I say, my man,” drawled Leith, “aren’t you getting a bit impertinent?”

  CHAPTER VII

  Not Robbed, But—

  Abe Goldman, veteran of many a confidence racket, waddled out from an inner office. His shrewd face was stamped by years of business successes and reverses. His deep eyes carried great pouches beneath them. Those eyes flitted from Leith to the girl, from both to the special duty officer.

  “Bring them into the office,” he said.

  And Lester Leith was swept into that inner office as a ship is swept on the crest of an incoming tide.

  “Search him!” yelled the clerk. And Abe Goldman nodded.

  Eager hands explored Leith’s pockets, brought out a various assortment of objects. There were money, keys, cigarette lighter and case, fountain pen, pencil, handkerchief, knife—no trace of a necklace.

  Abe Goldman twisted the cigar in his paunchy lips, twitched the puffs under his eyes, a bit as his cheek muscles tightened.

  “Where’s that other guy?” he asked.

  Lester Leith smiled. “Rather laid yourself open for a damage suit, haven’t you, Goldman?” he drawled.

  Goldman never flickered so much as a flash of expression. His eyes were as steady as ever.

  “We were warned about you,” he said. “Where’s the other guy?”

  And Sergeant Arthur Ackley, striding into the room with his chest expanded, a satisfied smile on his face, answered the question. “Here I am, sir, Sergeant Arthur Ackley, ready to expose one of the slickest thieves in the country.”

  “You!” exclaimed Lester Leith.

  “None other—in person!” gloated the sergeant.

  “The man has no necklace on him,” said Goldman in steady tones. “On the strength of your warning I ordered a search. I hope you haven’t laid us liable to a damage suit, sir.”

  Sergeant Ackley laughed. He pulled the moist cigar from his lips, tried to blow a smoke ring, failed, sneered at the man before him.

  “Well, I’m Sergeant Arthur Ackley, and I don’t make mistakes. I told you this man was going to pull a fast one. Every one of your clerks was on the job. Your special duty officer was on the job, and still he pulls the wool over their eyes.”

  “There’s no necklace on him,” said Goldman. “I ordered him searched. How about the woman? Did he slip it to her? Shall we have a matron come? There is a great responsibility in this searching business, you know.”

  Sergeant Ackley laughed, then he thrust that laughing, gloating face close to the expressionless mask of Lester Leith’s features.

  “Ha, ha, ha! Another triumph! But it was nipped in the bud. You didn’t know that I was ready for you, did you? Just shrewd detective work, that’s all. I figured you’d read about Cripely’s arrest. It was a toss-up whether Cripely or the clerk was guilty. If you could stage the same game with the same clerk and make it stick they’d come to the conclusion the clerk was the guilty party.

  “And you sure were slick about it. But I was on the job, watching with my face against a little window. Didn’t know that, did you? Well, you’ve come to the end of your rope.”

  Abe Goldman interrupted. “You can keep the praise for the papers, sergeant. Tell it to the reporters. I want to get my store cleared. This business isn’t helping trade. Where is the necklace? It’s missing. There’s a glass substitute. The man hasn’t got it on him. How about the woman?”

  Sergeant Ackley shook his head. “You could search her until the cows came home!” he gloated. “There isn’t a thing on her.”

  Then he laughed at the look of mystification which came upon their features. Sergeant Arthur Ackley was living one of the supreme moments of his life and he sought to prolong it.

  But Goldman was impatient, and Sergeant Ackley hungered for their praise, their eager adulation. So he sprung his little surprise.

  “The bag with the layer cake,” he said. “When the woman screamed and held out her skirts all of you men looked. I didn’t look. I was on the job. I did my duty. I kept my eyes on Lester Leith.

  “What happened? Ha! I’ll tell you what happened. Lester Leith made a swift pass with his hand toward the layer cake. There was something in his hand that glittered. After an instant he took his hand out of the bag. Nothing glittered. Clerk, get that bag!”

  They regarded him in awestruck silence.

  The bag was produced. Sergeant Ackley ripped open the paper. Ostensibly the cake was as before, save for a certain dent in the frosted surface, a little ridge on either side.

  “He stuck his forefinger into that cake. From the palm of his hand the necklace dropped into the hole. Then his thumb smoothed back the frosting!”