The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

It was just a little time after dusk. There was a crescent moon half-hidden by the jagged peak of the Pali; a cool breeze blew through the garden not far from the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Jo Gar relaxed in the wicker chair in which his diminutive body rested. But his gray-blue eyes were alert; they watched the mild ones of Benfeld, the Honolulu representative of the Dutch Insurance Company. Benfeld sipped his cool drink and said with a slight English accent:

“Herr Von Loffler had cabled me. It was in code and therefore quite safe. We are interested, of course. My home company insured the diamonds. A terrible crime.”

Jo nodded his head. “The murders were incidental,” he said in his toneless voice. “The one who planned the robbery perhaps thought it could be accomplished without a killing. He was mistaken. Delgado’s son was murdered in the jewelry store. There was the bank guard, who was killed outside. And then Juan Arragon, my friend, who was in pursuit. An attempt was made to murder the American chief of police. In Manila he is not too well liked. I was forced to shoot a Malay, and he spoke of a ‘man in white — who walks badly.’ I traced such a man aboard the Cheyo Maru.”

Benfeld said grimly: “And you were forced to shoot him to death. But you learned something.”

Jo Gar widened his eyes slightly. He had only told the insurance representative certain things, not too much.

“Very little,” he corrected.

Benfeld shrugged. He was a tall man, with a long face and blond hair.

“You recovered one of the diamonds,” he said.

Jo Gar sighed a little. He smiled and straightened in his wicker. Palm trees swayed beyond the garden, and yet Honolulu was not like Manila. It was cooler, less tropical in a sense.

“Señor Ferraro was a fool,” he said placidly. “The Malay who spoke of him might have thought he was the important one of the bandits. But he was not. Perhaps he talked with the Malay, who I think was one of the robbers. But Ferraro was given only one of the ten Von Loffler stones.”

Benfeld relighted a thin cigar and nodded his long head very slowly.

“And you have said he tried to murder you, on the Cheyo Maru,” he said.

The Island detective nodded. “In Manila — many people have tried to murder me,” he said simply. “The stolen diamonds are worth more than two hundred thousand dollars. There was a diamond expert on the boat, by chance. He has valued the diamond I recovered from this Ferraro at in excess of twenty thousand dollars. It is one of the Von Loffler stones, of course. I think, had Ferraro succeeded in murdering me, he would have received another.”

There was a flickering light in Benfeld’s eyes. He said very softly:

“Who would have given it to him, Señor Gar?”

Jo Gar got a brown-paper cigarette from a pocket of his light-colored suit coat. He smiled with his almond-shaped eyes almost closed.

“Ferraro died during the fourth day out from Manila,” he said very softly. “I spent the remaining days in attempting to associate him with some other person on the boat. It was a failure.”

Benfeld frowned. Gray smoke curled upward from his thin lips. He was silent for several seconds.

“Then, as it stands, Señor Gar—” he said thoughtfully — “you have recovered one of the Von Loffler stones. You are thousands of miles from Manila. And you have completely lost the trail of the others.”

Jo Gar closed his eyes. It was peculiar — the way Benfeld regarded the situation. It was almost as though the Dutch insurance representative was pleased. He was certainly extremely inquisitive. He had received a cable from Von Loffler, there was no doubt about it. And Jo considered that the German owner of the nine missing diamonds had been foolish, even though he had sent the message in code. But then, this man seated across from him represented the company that had insured the diamonds. That company would suffer a severe loss if they were not recovered.

He had not answered Benfeld’s question — the long-faced one said quietly:

“Of course, I understand that your friend was murdered. Juan Arragon. And also that Señor Delgado wishes to bring to justice the person that murdered his son. And already you have recovered one diamond. But the trail—”

His voice died away; he frowned and shrugged. Jo Gar opened his eyes and smiled at the Dutchman.

“The trail is lost,” he said simply. “There are nine diamonds still missing. They are worth almost two hundred thousand dollars.”

Benfeld cleared his throat and said in a tone that was so careless Jo noticed it:

“If this Ferraro — had only spoken, before he died!”

Jo Gar inhaled smoke from his brown-paper cigarette. He lifted his glass with stubby, brown fingers. He sipped a little of the cool liquid.

“It would have helped — very much,” he said simply.

He looked towards the swaying palm trees and remembered the words that Señor Ferraro had used. Benfeld did not know of those words, and he would not know of them. The man was getting at something.

The Dutchman shook his head and sighed heavily. He said:

“The company will investigate, of course. But it will be very difficult, I fear. And what are your plans, Señor Gar?”

Jo Gar shrugged. “The Cheyo Maru remains in port until noon tomorrow,” he said. “She will be in San Francisco within six days. I shall make the voyage aboard her. Only a few passengers disembarked here — and I have made quite certain they are not involved.”