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The Vanishing Diamonds
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By Charles R. Tanner
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A fortune in jewels awaits Professor Stillwell, discoverer of flawless
artificial diamonds. Then the gangsters decide to muscle
in - and the diamonds begin to disappear.
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Among the various activities which serve to stimulate
and interest the vagrant hodge-podge which I call my
mind is that of stamp collecting, and it was this hobby
that first brought me to the attention, and later caused
me to be listed among the friends of that ponderous
intellect, Professor Isaac N. Stillwell.
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When I say ponderous, I mean it in more ways than one,
for it is not only intellectually that Stillwell is
ponderous. Physically, he is six feet tall, bald-headed,
with heavy black brows and keen eyes, and he weighs—or
did, the last time he confided in me—two hundred and
ninety-four pounds.
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Mentally, the man is just as big. I sometimes think that
he is not just exactly human; he must be a sport or
mutant, for surely an ordinary human being could not
cover the enormous range of knowledge that Stillwell
does. But sport, mutant or normal human being,
Professor Stillwell is a genius of the first water, and
as such, he has my respect.
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As I say, it was through stamp collecting that I met
him. The Pest and I had been shopping and while in town
I thought I had better visit the stamp dealer’s and see
if any new items had arrived that might add to my
collection. The Pest, I suppose I should tell you, is
my ward, Marjorie Barrett. She is nineteen, and because
I am thirty-two, she treats me as though I were in my
second childhood. Around the house, she seems to think I
am part of the furniture. I think quite differently of
her, but I would die before I’d let her know it.
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Anyway, the Pest and I had been shopping, and so we
stopped in at the stamp dealer’s. Arriving there, I
opened the door and stepping aside for the Pest, she
swept past me in her usual breezy, confident way, and
collided forcefully with the back end of a man-mountain
that was walking backward toward the door and
chattering away to the dealer as he walked.
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The Pest went down to the floor in a heap. I let out a
cry of alarm and jumped toward her, and the mountain
spun around, all apologies. He stooped over, offering
her his hand.
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And again that mountainous back of his brought
catastrophe. He bumped into a table, a small table at
one side of the counter. It went over with a crash, and
a watermark detector full of benzene which was on it
splashed to the floor and the contents fell squarely on
a little gas burner which provided heat to a stack of
blotters between which the stamp dealer was drying some
stamps. There was a flash—and the skimpy, dusty little
curtains which hung in the windows were a mass of
flames.
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For a moment all was confusion. Stillwell forgot the
Pest even before she got to her feet; he turned and
began batting at the blazing curtains with an enormous
paw, but fortunately he was wise enough to desist when
the first windowpane broke and so no more damage was
done.
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Presently the dealer and I succeeded in quenching the
flames that were consuming the curtains, and some
measure of calm was restored. I turned to see Stillwell
clumsily trying to apologize to Marjorie. That young
lady was unhurt and apparently quite amused by it all.
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“It was quite unavoidable, I am sure,” she was saying.
“Pray think nothing of it, sir. Remember the words of
the immortal Shakespeare? ‘There’s a divinity that
shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.’ Don’t you
think that fits the point?”
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She said this so solemnly and sincerely that I am sure
Stillwell missed the atrocious sarcasm, indeed he
became quite cordial. He waited until I had completed
my business and then, still apologizing, tagged along to
the street and even followed us to our machine. He
wound up by asking me to visit him sometime to look over
his stamp collection.
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So it was that I first became acquainted with him, and
never until this day have I regretted our friendship. Of
course, it is a rather hazardous friendship in a way,
as you will see, but between Stillwell and the Pest, my
life is not in danger of ending from ennui, anyhow.
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At first we were merely acquaintances, brought together
by our mutual liking for stamps, but presently I found
that we had many more things in common. I am by
way of being a sort of scientific dilettante, and have
dabbled superficially with a half dozen sciences; I
have collected minerals and fossils, played a bit with
chemistry and astronomy, and even read a few books on
biology. And in all of these sciences and a dozen
beside, Stillwell is an authority.
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I
found in him, one who could answer my questions on any
subject; and he found in me, one who at least knew
enough to understand him, whatever the subject he chose.
So it was natural that our friendship grew, in spite of
his peculiarities—and my own.
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- CHAPTER
II - A Startling Discovery
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The particular adventure which I here intend to tell
about began about three months ago. I had not seen
Stillwell for over a week and I was sort of halfway
expecting a call from him when the phone rang one
evening just after supper.
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“Clement, my boy,” it was Professor Stillwell calling.
“I want you to come over here right away. I’ve designed
a new kind of watermark detector for our stamps. A light
that shows up the watermark without even wetting the
stamp. Hurry over.”
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I
congratulated him, hung up and apologized to the Pest
for leaving her alone. Half an hour later, I was
ringing Stillwell’s door-bell, eagerly wondering if he
actually had invented the long-needed dry detector.
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He admitted me, boomed out a welcome in his pompous
bass voice and led me to the basement. Stillwell’s
laboratory was in the basement and I had never been
there before, for heretofore my visits had consisted
mainly of conversations in the living room. But he had
talked so much of experiments in the lab that I had
looked forward eagerly to this day when he would invite
me to visit it.
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We entered the basement and I looked around, striving to
keep from smiling. For the big room was certainly
characteristic of the man. Thirty feet long and half as
wide, one whole side was taken up by a massive
workbench composed of twelve inch boards and
two-by-fours. It held a bewildering maze of chemical
and electrical appliances, and beneath it a half-dozen
trash cans and a litter of broken flasks, test tubes and
burettes testified to the fact that Professor
Stillwell’s amazing clumsiness was not left behind when
he entered his workshop. A number of large cabinets on
the side of the room opposite the workbench held
mysteries that, for this time at least, were to remain
unrevealed.
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“Now, here’s my little trick, Clement,” began the
Professor, leading me to the far end of the bench. “The
system I use is based in the relative lengths of red
and blue light waves, see?”
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He began an explanation, but for once I was inattentive.
My eyes were roving the laboratory, trying to puzzle out
the meaning of this thing and that, staring at one
complicated piece of apparatus after another, only
vaguely aware that Stillwell was talking to me. But one
cannot remain in the presence of that adipose genius
long without being definitely aware of him. He raised a
pudgy hand to take me by the shoulder to emphasize some
remark he was making, and his cuff swept a beaker from
the bench. It fell to the floor with a clatter and
splash, spattering liquor and scattering across the
cement floor a dozen or so small crystals that had
evidently formed in the liquid. Stillwell was annoyed.
This surprised me for ordinarily he ignored his
clumsiness, his pompous dignity being too great to allow
him to notice it. But this time:
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“Drat the infernal luck!” he exploded. “That was my
solvent, Clement. I wasn’t through working with that.
Now I’ll have to make up another batch.”
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“Solvent?” I queried. “What kind of a solvent?”
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“It’s a solvent for carbon,” he answered. “I discovered
it myself. A complicated organic acid, it is, and rather
volatile. I hoped to be able to add something to it to
make it less volatile.”
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“But—those crystals!” A vague thought was stirring in my
mind, a vague incredible thought based on a
long-remembered fact that I had learned back in the days
when my hobby was inorganic chemistry. “What are those
crystals, Professor?”
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“Carbon, probably. Carbon crystallized out of solution
as the solvent evaporated.”
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“Carbon! Good Lord, Stillwell, do you realize what
you’re saying? Carbon only crystallizes in two forms,
and you know well enough that those transparent
crystals aren’t graphite.”
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“Eh? Oh, no, they’re the other form of crystal
carbon—diamonds.”
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I
stooped and snatched up one of crystals. It was an
octahedron in shape, like two four-sided pyramids set
base to base, and it was glassy in appearance, with a
sort of cloudy crust over it. It was an unprepossessing
sort of thing, and looked about as much like a diamond
as it did like a gold piece, but I had read, somewhere,
of the appearance of rough diamonds and I was not
deceived.
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“Professor Stillwell,” I barked. “Do you realize what
you’ve got here? You’ve discovered a way to make
diamonds! It could have been done long ago if somebody
had known of a way to dissolve carbon. Why, man, there’s
millions in this. You can make these and sell them— Why
there’s no limit to it.”
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“Nonsense.” The Professor chortled. “Two weeks after I
publish the formula for my solvent, diamonds won’t be
worth a penny a peck. Everybody will be making them.”
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“After you publish your formula! Now, look here,
Professor, that’s carrying philanthropy a little bit
too far. What good will publishing that formula do? A
few chemists will be able to simplify their work and
that’s all. And a million jewelers will be ruined.
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“On the other hand, if you keep this a secret, and make a few
diamonds each month, and sell them; the jewelers will be
in no danger, you’ll get rich, and the added facilities
with which you can equip your laboratory will enable you
to produce a dozen new processes which you can offer the
world in place of the one you have withheld. You simply
mustn’t publish this.”
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Now, frankly, it was not entirely the milk of human kindness
and love of my fellow man that led me to this
philanthropic speech. I was seeing visions of myself
and Stillwell engaged in a business of turning out
synthetic diamonds for the trade. And I was not to be
the least member of that business by any means. But,
whatever my intentions, my arguments convinced the
scientist. He admitted my wisdom and, taking the crystal
from me, waddled down to the other end of the bench. For
a moment, he was busy examining the stone.
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“Hm-m. Let’s see. Hardness?” He reached into a box, brought
out a huge handful of crystals and minerals, selected
one and carefully put the others back—into a beaker full
of red liquor that stood by the box. Ignoring his
mistake, he went on:
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“Hardness—scratches corundum, all right. Crystal form,
octahedral, correct. Index of refraction? Hm-m—hm— Yes,
I guess it’s diamond, all right. Well, Clement, my
friend, now what do we do? Know any jewelers we can
peddle this batch to?”
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Ah,
there was a place for me in the business, already. Agent
for the Stillwell Diamond Co. I could see, in my mind’s
eye, the coming business.
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"I think I know just where I can dispose of them,” I
hastened to say. me have them, Professor, and I’ll let
you know all about them by tomorrow night.”
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He helped me gather up such of the scattered diamonds as
we could find, and with them carefully wrapped and in my
pocket, I hurried home.
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CHAPTER
III - Disappearing Diamonds
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The next ten days were a bustling maze of good fortune.
I found out at once that I would have to dissemble a
little if I wished to dispose of my gems to a reputable
jeweler, for rough diamonds have a duty, and not many
are brought into the country without the revenue
department knowing about it. So I prepared an elaborate
story of a diamond field recently discovered and kept a
secret by Professor Stillwell.
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I assured the jewelers that as soon as we had disposed of a
certain amount, the location of the field would be made
public, and so—well, the diamonds were so fine that I
suppose the jewelers overlooked the possibility that
they might have been smuggled.
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So, at the end of ten days, we found ourselves richer by
some $30,000. That day was the first since the
night of the discovery that I had found it possible to
remain at home, and by great good fortune, the Pest was
home, too. She was reading the paper (the Pest reads
everything from Homer to Dorothy Dix), and presently
she looked up, holding her finger to the place where she
had left off reading.
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“Didn’t you sell some of those diamonds of Professor
Stillwell’s to Parrot & Small, Clem?”
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“Why, yes, I did. Why do you ask?”
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“And didn’t you sell some to the Endicott company?”
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“I believe so.”
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“Hmm, strikes me those diamonds of yours are rather
flighty things. Look!”
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She handed me the paper. One item, on the first page, read:
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There was more to this, but I turned to read
the other article which the Pest pointed out. It was a
smaller item, on an inner page, and read as follows:
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I lifted my eyes from the paper to encounter a
dubious look from the Pest.
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“Well?” I asked.
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“Well, don’t it seem sort of funny, all those
diamonds you sold disappearing like that?”
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“It is a rather strange coincidence,” I began, but
she interrupted with a most unladylike snort.
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“Coincidence, hah! Call it that if you want to. I
think there’s something funny about those diamonds.
They always did seem too good to be true, to me.”
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I attempted to scoff at her ideas, but the more I
scoffed, the more I felt convinced that something was
wrong. At last, I clapped on my hat and dashed off to
Stillwell’s.
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The Professor met me at the door with a beaming smile
that vanished when he saw my face.
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“Why, what’s the matter, Clement, my boy? You look as
if you had just lost a fortune instead of having just
made one.”
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“Maybe we have,” I began bruskly. “Look at these items
in the paper.” He took the paper from my hand and was
just about to close the door when be noticed a tall,
brisk-looking man striding up the walk. The man bounded
up the steps and:
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“You Professor Stillwell?” he chattered, rapidly. “I’m
from the Revenue Department. Like to ask a few
questions about some diamonds you’ve been selling
recently. Have to watch out for smuggled gems, you know.
We’d like a little more knowledge of where those jewels
you’ve been selling are coming from.”
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Stillwell, looking a little bit discomfited, waved the
T-man inside and I followed. We entered the living
room and took seats.
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“Now, about those diamonds,” boomed the professor in
hesitant tones. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me,
but - I make them myself.”
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“What!”
The
detective was certainly not expecting such a
statement as that. He looked at me as though to find
some one to support him in his doubt.
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“He’s right,” I announced. “I’ve seen him make them.
Down in the basement. It’s very simple, but we’re
trying to keep the process secret, in order to keep
the market from collapsing.”
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The government man scratched his head dubiously.
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“Never heard of anything like that in my life,” he
stated. “Tell you what. Let me watch you make some,
and I’ll report it to the department. And if they
think it’s O.K., why, it’s O.K. with me.”
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So Stillwell led the way to the basement, and
presently he was busily making up some of the
solvent. We already had several beakers with
diamonds forming in them, but the detective
intimated very politely that he must see the
process from the beginning, so the professor had to
mix up more of the solvent.
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Presently he began searching for one of the
ingredients but without success.
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“I hope you don’t mind this delay,” he sputtered. “I
seem to have mislaid a solution of nitrogen iodide.
It’s quite essential. I’ll find it in a moment.”
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His search, however, was interrupted by the
doorbell. He pardoned himself and lumbered upstairs,
but minute after minute passed and he failed to
return. At last the T-man [Familiar title given
investigators associated with the Federal
Department of Treasury—Ed.] grew impatient.
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“Look here, Mr. Jordan,” be said (I had already
introduced myself), “maybe he’s took a run-out
powder. Better go up and see—”
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His words were interrupted by the sound of voices
raised in altercation coming from upstairs. There
were several of them and the professor’s was not
the only one which sounded angry and threatening. I
gave the detective a significant look and dashed up
the stairs, the T--man closely following. By the time
we reached the top of the stairs, Stillwell had
dropped his angry tone and had become conciliating.
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“I assure you - I assure you, gentlemen, that if
there is a mystery about these diamonds it is not a
mystery about their structure,” he was saying.
“Didn’t you all examine them and certify their
genuineness?”
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“Never mind about that,” snapped the biggest of the
four men who faced him. “What we want to know is,
where did those diamonds come from? By the Lord
Harry, when six different jewelers buy diamonds
from a man, and then the diamonds disappear from all
six of them, there’s something wrong with those
diamonds!” I gasped in dismay as I looked at the
speaker, for I recognized him, and the others as
well. The big man was none other than Jeremiah
Small, the junior partner of Parrott & Small, and
the others were also jewelers, all of whom had
bought diamonds from me within the last week. They
saw me at the moment that I saw them, and Small
immediately seized me by the collar.
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“Here’s his accomplice, men,” he snapped. “Now we’ll
get at the truth of the matter.”
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Stillwell was looking most
uncomfortable, and I have no doubt that I was, too,
but fortunately the government man intervened. He
explained who he was and sort of took charge of
things. He explained, quite unconcernedly, that
Stillwell was making the diamonds and suggested that
the angry jewelers come down and prove it for
themselves. But Small, who seemed to be acting as
spokesman for the jewelers, was further incensed by
this statement.
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“Making ‘em,”
he
howled. “Now I know it’s a game. I knew there was
something phony about this, but—making ‘em!”
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He shook his head dazedly, but nevertheless, he
started for the basement, and the other jewelers
followed. Once there, Stillwell began again his
search for the nitrogen iodide solution. The
patience of the jewelers was reaching another
breaking point when the doorbell rang for a second
time. Professor Stillwell looked annoyed and
started for the door.
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“No, you don’t,” snapped Ben Small. “Don’t let him
get away, boys. Hold him.”
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He dashed toward the professor, and I was about to
make a dash toward him when the government man again
interfered.
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“Come on, calm down now,” he barked. “We don’t need
any rough stuff. Jordan, you go see who it is.
Professor, you stay here. Looks like there’s going
to be a regular convention before the night is
over.”
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I left with Small and Stillwell glaring at each
other, and went up stairs. I opened the door
and a dapper little man with a tiny red moustache
brushed by me and entered the living room.
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CHAPTER IV - A New Arrival
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“You Professor Stillwell?” he asked in a crackly,
clipped tone. And then, before I could answer and
deny it: “Look here, Proff, you been peddling a lot
of diamonds lately, haven’t ya? Diamonds which
nobody knows how they got into this country? Sure.
Well, me and a couple of pals has got interested in
them diamonds of yours.
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“We ain’t no fools, and we been figuring, see? We
know you ain’t smuggling ‘em. And where could you
mine ‘em at? That’s out, too. But—you’re a brainy
guy, Proff. So me and my pals put two and two
together and doped out that you’re making ‘em. See?
Are we right?”
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“Well, in the first place, I’m not Professor
Stillwell,” I snapped, angrily. I didn’t like this
fellow’s ways, he was too much like the gangsters I
had seen in the movies. And I was beginning to fear
that he was entirely too much like them. “I’m
not the professor,” I went on, “and I’m not at
liberty to divulge anything concerning his
processes.”
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“Is that so?” The little man’s hand went into
his pocket and came out flashing a snub-nosed
automatic. “Now, you ain’t going to be silly,
brother. You just tell me where the professor is,
and lead me to him. And—keep your trap shut, so he
don’t get wise to anything, see?”
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This last was uttered so emphatically that I
realized the utter seriousness of the man. I turned
without a word and led the way to the basement. The
hoodlum pocketed his gun but I noticed that he kept
it trained on me and so I said nothing when I
entered the laboratory, allowing him to do all the
talking.
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He was disconcerted slightly at seeing
the crowd, but recovered himself at once and asked
to see Professor Stillwell alone for a moment. I
tried to catch Stillwell’s eye, but he was
uncertainly looking toward the T-man, trying to get
his permission to leave the lab oratory with the
crook. And the T-man wasn’t looking at Stillwell,
for he had his eye on the dapper gangster.
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And then suddenly things began to
happen. The T-man burst out: “Tony the Slip!” and
tugged at his hip pocket, the gangster whipped out
his gun and covered the entire group, and Professor
Stillwell, overcome by the quick succession of
untoward circumstances, lost his patience at last,
and burst out with a string of oaths that would have
done credit to a sailor’s parrot.
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But the Tony person was the one who
controlled the situation. He remained calm, and a
command from him calmed the rest of us. Then he
turned to Stillwell.
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“What’s all this about, anyhow?” he
demanded. “What kind of a pow-wow are you holding
here, huh?”
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I was about to demonstrate to these gentlemen, my
system of making diamonds,” answered the professor
stiffly. As was always his way when at a loss, he
had retired into a shell of dignity, and seemed
likely to remain there indefinitely.
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“Well, what do you think of that!” cooed
Tony, seemingly greatly pleased. “Ain’t that just
splendid. Really, Proff, that is just exactly what I
came here to see. Go on with the job.” Stillwell
looked hesitantly at the rest of the group, but:
“Go on with the job!”) barked the gangster, as he
motioned to the work bench.
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Again he took up his search for the nitrogen iodide
solution. He peered into cabinets, looked on shelves
and under them, but the missing chemical failed to
materialize. All the while, the detective kept an
eagle eye on the gangster, and presently he gave a
lunge toward him but Tony leaped back and sent a
shot winging over the T-man’s head. The bullet
struck a test-tube on the top-most shelf above the
workbench, and a shower of broken glass clattered
down into a big beaker standing on the bench. And
then –
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There was a blinding flash from the beaker and a roar
that was deafening. Amid the clatter and crash of
breaking glassware and crockery, I saw the jewelers
hurled backward; saw the Government man hurled
through the air to land bodily on “Tony the Slip.”
Then I, too, was dashed to the floor by the force of
the explosion.
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For a moment, I was dazed, then I felt hands lifting
me to my feet and saw that my aid came from
Professor Stillwell.
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“Quick, Clement,” he sputtered, “Get me out of here while
there’s a chance. Those men will kill me if they get
hold of me. I’ve got to get away.”
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I turned as he bustled me out of the lab, and looked at the
chaos we were leaving behind. The gangster was
struggling in the grip of the detective, and
Jeremiah Small and another jeweler were helping the
T-man hold him. The other jewelers were sitting on
the floor in a daze, but apparently they were
unhurt, for one of them cried wildly and pointed to
us as we hurried up the stairs. I did not hesitate,
for I knew they would soon follow.
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We dashed through the house and out on the Street and then
hesitated, uncertain just where to go next.
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“Taxi, sirs,” called a feminine voice, and I looked around
and there was the Pest, seated calmly in my machine,
and holding the door open for us. We darted in, I
with a question on my lips, but it remained
unspoken, for even as she closed the door and sent
the machine speeding down the street, the Pest
answered it.
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“A couple of those jewelers phoned and asked
for you, and before I thought, I told them you were
at the Professor’s,” she said. “After I got to
thinking, it looked a little funny, so I thought I
had better come over and sort of look after you.”
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“And a mighty good thing you did, young lady,” puffed
Stillwell. “You probably saved our lives. If ever I
saw murder in a man’s eyes—” he stopped and puffed
some more. “Drive to the depot, Miss Marjorie. I—I
really think I had better get out of town for a
while.”
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We drove on in silence for a way, and then I thought of
something.
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“Those diamonds, Professor. It seems they all disappeared.
How do you account for it?”
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“It must have been allotropy,” * the professor answered,
speculatively. “The crystals we formed from solution
seemed to be diamond—but I suspect now that they
were a new allotropic form that resembled diamond
only superficially.”
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“But—why did they disappear?”
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“Well, of course, I can’t be certain but I suspect they
were unstable at ordinary temperatures. Diamond
will combine with the oxygen of the air at high
enough temperatures and form carbon dioxide. This
stuff evidently holds up for a while and then forms
the gas, and poof goes your diamond. Confined in a
safe, enough of the gas was generated to blow the
door off. But when not confined, the gas escaped and
the diamonds disappeared.”
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“It seems to explain everything,” I said—and scowled at the
Pest’s comment:
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“Everything except how you’re going to get out of this
jam.”
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“The money we received for the jewels, my dear young lady,
will all be returned, of course,” stated Stillwell,
loftily. “Nevertheless, I think it the greater part
of valor to remain out of sight for a few weeks.”
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We reached the depot and the professor hastily stepped out
of the machine and started for the ticket window.
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“Just a moment, Professor Stillwell,” I called. “Do you
know what caused that explosion?”
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“Why—ah——it must have been the nitrogen iodide,” he called
back, wearily. “I had it in solution, but I must
have carelessly let it evaporate. You know, when
perfectly dry, nitrogen iodide will explode if so
much as touched with a feather. That broken
test-tube, falling on it—” His voice trailed off as
he hurried into the building.
-
-
The
End
-
*The capability shown by certain chemical elements
to assume different forms, each characterized by
peculiar qualities, as the occurrence of carbon in
the form of the diamond, charcoal, and plumbago,,
respectively.—Ed