The Girl With The

  Diamond Legs

  CHAPTER I

  Beauty and the Mouse

  During the course of his entire career, Stacy Middleton did but three things which met with the unqualified approval of his wife. The first was to acquire some two million dollars, profiteering on war contracts. The second was to take out a million dollars in life insurance. The third was to die.

  Mrs. Middleton was too fat to look well in black. Her period of mourning was, therefore, quite brief. Within two weeks following the death of her husband, which was as soon as she could arrange for the collection and investment of the insurance money, she left for Europe. Upon her return, two years later, she had developed into a full-fledged follower of cults, a seeker of publicity, and a simpering, fleshy, foolish widow who religiously believed all the flattery which was poured into her ears by fawning fortune seekers.

  Even the most imaginative person on earth could hardly see how such a woman would enter into the life of Lester Leith, that debonair connoisseur of crime whose activities caused the police such exasperating unrest.

  But Mrs. Stacy Middleton purchased a diamond necklace in Berlin, and the fabulous value of that diamond necklace was commented upon from time to time in the newspapers. And Mrs. Middleton took up parlor magic and entertained her select friends.

  Those two facts, standing alone, would never have caused Lester Leith to take an interest in her case. But it happened that on one stormy March night, Mrs. Middleton arranged an entertainment for a select group of friends, and part of the program included a spring dance by Dorothy Delano, a beautiful chorus girl, and an exhibition of parlor magic by Mrs. Stacy Middleton.

  Those facts, welded by fate into a composite whole, attracted the attention of Lester Leith in due course and gave rise to the adventure of the vanishing diamonds.

  As has been mentioned, the night was stormy. Dorothy Delano had not, as yet, done her spring dance. She had not even dressed for it. Her simple costume, consisting principally of flowing veils, reposed in a very small hand bag.

  A buffet supper was being served. Mrs. Stacy Middleton, standing upon a little platform at one end of the room, simpered in the rays of a well diffused spotlight.

  “I will now give you a little demonstration of spiritism,” she said. “Of course it’s not genuine. It’s just magic. I’ll be tied and placed inside a little cabinet on a chair. And yet you will see spirit hands, hear bells ring, hear a drum beat, hear a revolver shot. Then the cabinet will be opened and I will appear still bound tightly to the chair.

  “Will a committee from the audience come forward and see that I am bound securely to the chair?”

  Dorothy Delano fought back a desire to yawn, and toyed with a salad. She wished heartily that the old fool would get it over with. Dorothy had a heavy date at midnight.

  Several men, decorously garbed in conventional evening dress, moved listlessly but politely to the stage to see that Mrs. Stacy Middleton sat down on the chair which a liveried servant placed in the center of the platform.

  It was noticed that the lights glittered and gleamed from the double string of diamonds which circled the fat neck.

  The tying was completed. The liveried servant slipped the folding cabinet around her. The volunteer committee left the stage, one at a time. The last to go paused for a final look at the bound figure.

  The servant snapped the fastenings of the cabinet in place, and signaled with his hand for the lights to dim to that weird blue glow which Mrs. Middleton always used as a background for her spiritualistic tricks.

  The lights dimmed. The place was flooded with a ghastly blue light which robbed beautiful ladies of the bloom of youth, and made them fidget uneasily and avoid the eyes of their escorts.

  All eyes were on the cabinet.

  Nothing happened. There was no ringing of bells, no beating of drums, no firing of shots.

  Then the silence was broken by the piercing scream of a woman. Dorothy Delano, the actress, jumped to her chair. “A mouse!” she screamed, and elevated her silken skirt. The display of hosiery attracted the attention of every masculine eye in the room. The eyes of the women followed those of the men. The men looked in ill-concealed admiration.

  At that moment the lights went on.

  A mouse scuttled for shelter, a dark streak of scampering fear. Other women contented themselves with screaming and wrapping their skirts tightly around their knees. Only one or two went as far as Dorothy Delano.

  Some of the women laughed, some craned necks curiously. Some lifted their noses in scorn. One rather slender and nervous woman screamed in actual fear.

  Then the mouse vanished, and the room echoed to masculine laughter and the shrill comments of the women. Several minutes passed before anyone thought to inquire about Mrs. Stacy Middle-ton.

  Then the liveried servant ran to the cabinet.

  Mrs. Middleton sat as she had promised she would, still tied to the chair. But now she was also gagged. The glitter of diamonds was gone from her bare neck. Only her eyes caught the reflections of the lights and scintillated indignant lightnings.

  The cowbell, the drum, the revolver with its blank cartridge were all untouched, lying upon a shelf of the cabinet which had dropped down when the cabinet was latched into place.

  They untied the bonds, took off the gag.

  “My diamonds!” screamed Mrs. Stacy Middleton, and her voice rasped with harsh indignation.

  A man arose from the center of the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, in a rich, throaty voice, “it is obvious that something has happened. I was one of those who went on the stage to inspect the bonds which tied Mrs. Middleton to the chair.

  “I realize that if anything has happened to those diamonds, we are all under suspicion. In justice to ourselves, I propose that all doors be locked, and that everyone in this room submit to an immediate and thorough search!”

  Mrs. Middleton nodded her head emphatically. Here and there a mutter of protest was swallowed in a chorus of affirmation.

  The search was made, first by the guests themselves, later by the police. The diamonds were not found.

  All of which was why Lester Leith, super-crook deluxe, became interested in the affair of Mrs. Stacy Middleton.

  CHAPTER II

  The Scavenger Business

  Lester Leith, sprawled at silken ease in his bachelor apartment, blew a smoke ring and watched it float upward toward the ceiling of the room.

  His six-foot valet, ponderous as a steam shovel, surreptitious as a prowling weasel, in reality no valet at all, but a police spy, set to watch over the suspected criminal, thumbed the newspaper clippings in his fingers.

  Those clippings gave all the facts of the Middleton robbery as the newspaper reporters and the police had been able to gather them.

  “Who suggested the search, Scuttle?” Lester Leith asked. Edward H. Beaver, undercover agent of the department, writhed under the nickname of Scuttle, bestowed upon him by Lester Leith through some fancied resemblance to a reincarnated pirate.

  But when the spy spoke, his voice and manner were letter-perfect imitations of the well-trained valet.

  “That was Steven Slone, sir, press agent for Dorothy Delano, the actress, who was to give a spring dance later on in the evening.”

  “Ah, yes,” commented Lester Leith, his voice drawling in lazy good nature. “Doubtless knew he would be considered an outsider, and, therefore, the first to lie suspected. Tell me, Scuttle, why didn’t the spiritualistic cabinet do its stuff?”

  “The way she was tied, sir. It was a trick chair. One of the rungs in the back was made to come out of its socket and let Mrs. Middle-ton get her hands loose. It just happened that someone had bungled the tying and got the rope around two of the rungs, holding them firmly together. Then a gag was slipped around her mouth and the gems lifted.

  “She thinks it was the servant when he adjusted the cabinet, but she can’t be certain. She was held in such a position that she couldn’t even turn her head. It must have been either the servant or some member of the committee.”

  Lester Leith nodded.

  “Suspicion, of course, attaches to the press agent?”

  “So I gather from the newspaper clippings, sir. Either him or the servant. Yet the diamonds were not actually taken until about the time the actress screamed at the mouse, sir.”

  “I see. That would implicate the actress, eh, Scuttle?”

  “The police have grilled her, sir. She’s always been deathly afraid of a mouse. They’ve established that much, sir. And there doubtless was a mouse.”

  Lester Leith nodded. His eyes were lazy-lidded and laughing. “By the way, Scuttle, save me those newspaper clippings, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lester Leith blew a smoke ring and traced its perimeter with a well-manicured forefinger. He seemed to be chuckling inwardly, as though at some joke which was plain enough to him, yet obscure to others.

  “If the gems weren’t taken until the woman screamed at the mouse, there’s no real reason to suspect any member of the committee, Scuttle.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Because the committee was off the stage by that time. The guests were being served a buffet supper, I understand, Scuttle?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I presume the food was left untouched in the excitement which followed, Scuttle.”

  “Yes, sir. One of the papers even comments upon that fact, sir. There were great bowls of punch, of salad, plates of rich food, all untouched save for such food as the police consumed.”

  Lester Leith’s eyes slitted in thought. “I wonder who collects the garbage out there, Scuttle? It’s rather an exclusive residential district, eh?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe someone has the concession. The food goes to hogs, sir. The garbage is collected at night, sir, so the residents won’t be annoyed by the sight of the ugly wagons, sir.”

  Lester Leith nodded dreamily.

  The police spy was watching him like a hawk. It was during such moments that the master mind of Lester Leith conceived the ingenious schemes which had hitherto baffled the police. But the police were learning much of his method of working out these mysteries. Daily the invisible net was growing tighter. Daily the police were becoming more efficient in their surveillance.

  “Scuttle,” said Lester Leith, at length.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I think I shall go into the show business. I am going to back a show — preferably a musical comedy.”

  The valet’s eyes widened. “Become an angel, sir!”

  “Tut, tut, Scuttle. I haven’t been any angel in the past, and I don’t know what there would be about backing a musical comedy which would make me grow wings. If there’s anything in environment, Scuttle, one might expect quite the opposite.”

  “Pardon me, sir. I didn’t mean it that way, sir. An ‘angel’ is what the theatrical profession refers to when it means a rich man who backs shows. Usually—er—ahem—the angel backs a show in order to star a certain young lady in whom he has taken an interest.”

  Lester Leith let his eyes beam in ingenuous enthusiasm. “That’s just it, Scuttle! You’ve hit it exactly. This Miss Delano, Scuttle, is going to have some trouble, being mixed up in this Middleton mess. It will undoubtedly affect her career, Scuttle; and it seems a shame that the career of an innocent woman should be affected by so trivial a thing as a mouse.”

  The valet was decorously deferential, but doubtful. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Yes, indeed, Scuttle. And there’s one other thing I propose to do. I want to go into the scavenger business.”

  “Into the scavenger business, sir!”

  “Yes, Scuttle. Not that I shall make it a permanent profession, Scuttle. But I shall dabble around in it a bit. I think I shall start in on the route which comprises the best houses, such as the Middle-ton house, for instance.”

  “But, good heaven, sir, you can’t just go into the business that way, sir. Those garbage routes are highly profitable. They are all contracted for. The Middleton garbage is collected around midnight, sir—twice or three times a week, sir. You couldn’t simply start hauling it away.”

  But the valet’s eyes were narrowed with a shrewd suspicion, and he was watching Lester Leith as a cat watches a mouse hole.

  “But,” drawled Lester Leith, “suppose one should simply take over the garbage route? Suppose one should hijack the garbage? They couldn’t stop one from doing that, could they?”

  “No, sir. I guess not, sir. That is, sir, I suppose it could be arranged, sir. But what you’d want of the garbage is more than I know, sir.”

  Lester Leith stretched and smiled. “Certainly, Scuttle.”

  “Certainly what, sir?”

  “What I want with the garbage is more than you know. But, Scuttle, would you mind arranging for a garbage truck? And you’d better have it lined with galvanized iron, Scuttle, so that nothing can leak out. Once the garbage is placed in the truck, Scuttle, I should dislike very much to have any of it, no matter how small, leak out. Do you understand, Scuttle?”

  The valet leaned forward, lowered his voice.

  “Yes, sir. I think I do, sir. It will be a pleasure to help you, sir. I’ve often mentioned that I could do a great deal more for you, sir, if you’d just take me into your confidence, sir.”

  Leith nodded, casually, carelessly.

  “That’s fine, Scuttle. And now, if you’ll lay out my afternoon clothes, I think I shall take a stroll. By the way, Scuttle, better ring up Dorothy Delano, tell her who you are, and tell her that your master has become interested in backing a musical comedy. Ask her if she would care for the leading part. She would pick her own players from first to last, have charge of the rehearsals; in short, be the one to handle all details.”

  Edward H. Beaver, police spy, smiled, a suggestive smile. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, indeed, sir. I shall fix everything up in the approved manner.”

  Lester Leith stared at him gravely. “The approved manner, Scuttle?”

  The valet-spy coughed. “Well, sir, at least in the usual manner, sir.”

  Lester Leith’s eyes remained cold.

  “You will confine yourself, Scuttle, to transmitting the message I gave you to transmit. That will be all, Scuttle.”

  CHAPTER III

  A Break

  Sergeant Arthur Ackley mouthed a cigar between his thick lips, and scraped a spade like thumbnail along the angle of his jaw, a mechanical gesture of meditation. The thumbnail scraped the bristles of a grizzled beard, and gave off little rasping noises, particularly irritating to the ears of Beaver, the undercover man.

  “So you think he’s got a line on those Middleton diamonds, eh, Beaver?”

  “I’m sure of it,” said the ponderous spy.

  “But how could he? He hasn’t been to the place, doesn’t know the facts!”

  Beaver grunted. “You know the way he plays the game. He figures the newspapers give all the facts that are necessary to solve a crime in a lot of the cases. He never starts on a case unless the newspaper clippings give him some lead.

  “Well, now, I think I know his lead in this case. He figures the actress, Dorothy Delano, engineered the whole thing. When the stage had been set just right, she yelled at a mouse, probably one she’d turned loose herself, and climbed on a chair.

  “The girl made a good job of it. Most of the people in the room were looking at her silk stockings. The rest were all excited.

  “An accomplice pulls the robbery and drops the gems into a bowl of punch, or into a salad or some such place, or, perhaps, sticks them into a roll.

  “Now the man who pulled that robbery will try to get back to the house to pick up the stones. Leith intends to prevent him some way or another, and then he figures the stones will find their way into the garbage. He’s going to hi-jack the garbage route, and go over all the stuff with a fine-toothed comb. He expects to get the diamonds.”

  Sergeant Ackley grunted. He rolled the cigar from the left side of his thick-lips to the right side, grunted again, and then fell to drumming on his desk with heavy fingers.

  “Humph,” he said. Beaver waited.

  “Humph,” grunted the sergeant.

  “The idea has possibilities. And the girl’s accomplice?”

  “Her press agent, of course. Who else would it be? He was one of the men to go on the platform to tie up Mrs. Middleton. He was in a position to work hand-in-glove with the girl, and was about the only one in the place the girl knew at all well.”

  Sergeant Ackley took a card from his desk, studied it. “Name’s Steven Slone. He’s married. His wife is jealous. Used to be on the stage himself, doing ventriloquism. Has no criminal record. Been publicity agent for several minor actors and actresses, been with Dorothy Delano for six months. Looks like the wife is jealous of Dorothy, too.”

  Beaver nodded.

  “I think he’ll let me go with him this time,” he said, lowering his voice. “Handling garbage requires an assistant. I think he’s getting ready to take me into his confidence.”

  Sergeant Ackley grinned.

  “Yeah. Looks like we’re getting a break after all. Tell you what you do. You go on the garbage wagon with him. When he acts as though he’s got the stuff, you work a flashlight. I’ll have the shadows ready to throw a raid. Well tackle the garbage and beat him to the rocks. Then we’ll slip him the works!”

  The two men shook hands.

  “I’ve got to get back to my job. Looks like we’ve got him, sergeant!”

  Sergeant Ackley beamed. “There’s a promotion in it for you, Beaver!”

  CHAPTER IV

  The Proposition

  Lester Leith regarded the beautiful Dorothy Delano, and Dorothy Delano studied the debonair visitor over the tip of a smoldering cigarette.

  “It’d take a lot of money/’ she said.

  Lester Leith nodded, casually waved his right hand. “That,” he said, “I had expected.”