He ensconced himself behind the wheel of his automobile.
“You’re sure it’s the stone?” asked Townley as he slid into the front seat next to the driver.
“Absolutely,” said the criminologist, entering the tonneau of the car and slamming the door shut. “Go ahead and step on it, Bander. It’s a place out by Centerville, and that’s going to take us a little while, even if we smash all the speed records.”
“Don’t worry,” grinned the detective, tooling the car through the gears, “we’re going to bust every speed record that’s ever been known. Just hold your hats, that’s all.”
“I still don’t understand,” said Townley, “just how the gem was recovered.”
“You’ve got nothing on me,” the criminologist told him. “I don’t myself. I only know that I gave a list of the possible suspects to certain people who make a business of locating valuable properties that have been concealed by their owners. In short, gentlemen, I enlisted the aid of a gang of crooks, figuring that the end would undoubtedly be worth the means.”
“Well,” said Townley doubtingly, “I don’t want to throw any cold water on your enthusiasm, but I’ll feel a lot more certain when I have seen the stone.”
“Of course,” said the criminologist, “we all will. But I have the utmost confidence in these people.”
Bander pushed the throttle well down to the floorboards.
“Shucks,” he said, “there couldn’t be any opportunity to mistake that diamond. If the crook says that he’s got it located, he’s got it located, and that’s all there is to it. I’m not so certain about getting the dope on the murderer, particularly if we have to rely on the evidence of crooks, but getting the stone is all I want. The rest of it is up to the police. That’s their funeral.”
The car swung around the corner, and Clark and Townley both braced themselves.
From that point on, there was little opportunity to engage in conversation. The promise that Bander had made that he would violate all speed regulations was faithfully kept, and his two passengers were forced to exercise all of their strength and agility in hanging on and keeping balanced.
It was dusk when they arrived at the spot which the criminologist designated, out in the vicinity of Centerville. The old house loomed dark and forbidding, with blight-destroyed pear trees in the front yard and a porch that sagged at an angle.
“You chaps wait here,” said the criminologist, and, jumping from the car, ran up the weed-choked driveway to the house. He put his shoulder against the front door, pushed it in, and went into the dark interior. He waited for a minute or two, in order to make that which was to follow seem real. Then he came running out with his hands fumbling at a box that had been wrapped in heavy paper and tied with coarse twine.
“Did you get it?” shouted Bander.
“I got it. It was left right where they said it would be,” said the criminologist.
“My heavens!” said the detective. “Think of leaving anything as valuable as that out in a place like this, all unguarded.”
“Don’t worry,” said the criminologist. “It wasn’t unguarded. Nobody else would have stood any chance of getting up here. You don’t know the way these men work, that’s all.”
His fingers tore off the paper and pulled back the cover of the box.
On the interior was a pillow of white cotton, and in the center of this cotton was a large object which caught the faint light of the dying day and sent it in coruscating brilliance into the dazzled eyes of the spectators.
Solemnly Clark put the cover back on the box and started tying it with string.
“Well,” said Townley, “let’s have a look at it.”
“Not here,” said the criminologist, tying the string and pushing the box down deep into his overcoat pocket. “We can’t tell just who’s around here. The fact that my people gathered out here this afternoon may have led others to follow. We’ll stop down the road a few miles and give it a more detailed inspection, but it’s the stone all right.” He climbed in the car. “Let’s get started, Bander,” he said.
The detective swung the car around in the road and started shifting the gears. A machine shot out from an abandoned side road, swung into the road directly in front of the detective’s car, blocking the entire roadway.
The detective slammed on the brakes, cursed, and reached for his gun. Townley slipped a hand toward the lapel of his coat.
Clark lurched forward from the rear seat and grabbed the shoulders of both men.
“Take it easy, boys,” he said, “take it easy. The gem isn’t worth getting killed over.”
As he spoke, the huge, forbidding form of Gorilla George, a heavy automatic in either hand, swung around from the rear of the other machine.
“Stick ’em up,” he yelled.
“My God!” gritted Bander, “I can’t lose that gem!”
“Don’t be a fool,” said the criminologist. “We’re on the spot, and there’s nothing we can do about it. This is a gang job, and they’ve probably got machine guns trained on us from the brush on the side of the road.”
Gorilla George walked over to the car. “Never mind making any motions,” he said, “and there ain’t going to be no preliminaries. Just toss out that diamond, and toss it out quick.”
There was a flurry of motion from the rear seat, and the box sailed through the air toward Gorilla George.
“There it is,” said Clark, and the bandit dropped one of the guns in his pocket, stooped, picked up the case, pried off the cover, looked inside. He pushed the box into his pocket.
“All right,” he said, “you there in the back seat! Get out of the car and let the air out of the front tires, but before you do it I want to get all of the guns that are in the car.”
No one moved.
“I mean what I say,” said Gorilla George. “Here, you in the back seat, you take the guns away from them two guys. Go on, now, I’m watching you, and you make a false move and I’ll blow the top of your head off.”
The other gun had reappeared in the gangster’s right hand, and his scarred, evil face seemed suddenly sinister.
“Come on, boys,” Clark said. “Pass ’em up here. There’s no use in making fools out of yourselves.”
He relieved the two men of their guns, tossed them through the open sedan window.
“Now yours,” said Gorilla George.
“I haven’t got any,” said the criminologist.
“Okay,” said Gorilla George, “you’ve acted like a sensible man, and I’ll take your word for it.”
He walked forward and picked up the two guns from the roadway.
“Now get out,” he told the criminologist, “and let the air out of the front tires.”
Clark got out, unscrewed the valve stems, and let the air out of the tires.
“Okay,” said Gorilla George. “Don’t try to follow me, and don’t be in too big a hurry to get to a telephone, because if you do it isn’t going to be healthy for you. There’s other people in the brush here that are watching you. You can start going when you get your tires pumped up, but not before.”
He walked forward, got into his car, swung it back into the road, and left.
“Quick!” shouted the criminologist. “Where’s the tire pump?”
The detective started to curse.
“Of all the damned cowards I ever saw,” he said, “you take the cake.”
“Be foolish with your own life if you want to,” said the criminologist casually, “but I’m not taking chances with mine. I recovered that gem once, and I can recover it again. If you want to risk your life for an insurance company, that’s your prerogative. I make my living with my brains, and I don’t propose to have them spattered all over a roadway. Give me a hand with these tires. Maybe we can get started in time to do some good.”