Ten minutes later they were in a taxi on their way to Oppenheim's house.
It was a silent journey, for Fernack was too full of a vague sort of wrath to speak, and Corrio seemed quite content to sit in a corner and finger his silky moustache with an infuriatingly tranquil air of being quite well satisfied with the forthcoming opportunity of demonstrating his own brilliance.
In the house they found a scene of magnificent confusion. There was the butler, who seemed to be getting blamed for having admitted the thief; there was a representative of Ingerbeck's, whose temper appeared to be fraying rapidly under the flood of wild accusations which Oppenheim was flinging at him; there was a very suave and imperturbable official of the insurance company which had covered the jewels; and there was Mr Oppenheim himself, a short fat yellow-faced man, dancing about like an agitated marionette, shaking his fists in an ecstasy of rage, screaming at the top of his voice, and accusing everybody in sight of crimes and perversions which would have been worth at least five hundred years in Sing Sing if they could have been proved. Fernack and Corrio had to listen while he unburdened his soul again from the beginning.
"And now vat you think?" he wound up. "These dirty crooks, this insurance company vat takes all my money, they say they don't pay anything. They say they repudiate the policy. Just because I tried to keep the emeralds vere they couldn't be found, instead of leaving them in a safe vat anyone can open."
"The thing is," explained the official of the insurance company, with his own professional brand of unruffled unctuousness, "that Mr Oppenheim has failed to observe the conditions of the policy. It was issued on the express understanding that if the emeralds were to be kept in the house, they were to be kept in this safe and guarded by a detective from some recognized agency. Neither of these stipulations have been complied with, and in the circumstances----"
"It's a dirty svindle!" shrieked Oppenheim. "Vat do I care about your insurance company? I vill cancel all my policies. I buy up your insurance company and throw you out in the street to starve. I offer my own reward for the emeralds. I vill pay half a mil--I mean a hundred thousand dollars to the man who brings back my jewels!"
"Have you put that in writing yet?" asked Lieutenant Corrio quickly.
"No. But I do so at vonce. Bah! I vill show these dirty double-crossing crooks ..."
He whipped out his fountain pen and scurried over to the desk.
"Here, wait a minute," said Fernack, but Oppenheim paid no attention to him. Fernack turned to Corrio. "I suppose you've gotta be sure of the reward before you start showin' us how clever you are," he said nastily.
"No sir. But we have to consider the theory tha't the robbery might have been committed with that in mind. Emeralds like those would be difficult to dispose of profitably--I can only think of one fence in the East who'd handle a package of stuff like that."
"Then why don't you pull him in?" snapped Fernack' unanswerably.
"Because I've never had enough evidence. But I'll take up that angle this afternoon."
He took no further part in the routine examinations and questionings which Fernack conducted with dogged efficiency, but on the way back to Centre Street he pressed his theory again with unusual humility.
"After all, sir," he said, "we've all known for a long time that there's one big fence in the East who'll handle anything that's brought him, however big it is. I've been working on him quietly for a long time, and I'm pretty certain who it is, though I've never been able to get anything on him. I even know where he can be found and where he does most of his buying, and I don't mind telling you that it's helped me a lot in tracing the loot from other jobs. Even if this isn't one of the Saint's jobs, whoever did it, there are only four things they can do with the emeralds. They can hold them for the reward, they can cut them up and sell them as small stuff, they can try to smuggle them out of the country or they can just get rid of them in one shot to this guy I've got in mind. Of course they may be planning any of the first three things, but they may just as well be planning the fourth, and we aren't justified in overlooking it. And if we're going to do anything about it, we've got to do it pretty quickly. I know you don't think much of me, sir," said Corrio with unwonted candour, "but you must admit that I was right a few days ago when you wouldn't listen to me, and now I think it 'd be only fair for you to give me another chance."
Almost against his will Fernack forced himself to be just.
"All right," he said grudgingly. "Where do we find this guy?"
"If you can be free about a quarter to five this afternoon," said Corrio, "I'd like you to come along with me."
Simon Templar walked west along Fifty-second Street. He felt at peace with the world. At such times as this he was capable of glowing with a vast and luxurious contentment, the same deep and satisfying tranquillity that might follow a perfect meal eaten in hunger or the drinking of a cool drink at the end of a hot day. As usually happened with him, this mood had made its mark on his clothes. He had dressed himself with some care for the occasion in one of the most elegant suits and brightly colored shirts from his extensive wardrobe, and he was a very beautiful and resplendent sight as he sauntered along the sidewalk with the brim of his hat tilted piratically over his eyes, looking like some swashbuckling medieval brigand who had been miraculously transported into the twentieth century and put into modern dress without losing the swagger of a less inhibited age. In one hand he carried a brown paper parcel.
Fernack's huge fist closed on his arm near the corner of Seventh Avenue, and the Saint looked around and recognized him with a delighted and completely innocent smile.
"Why, hullo there," he murmured. "The very man I've been looking for." He discovered Corrio coming up out of the background and smiled again. "Hi, Gladys," he said politely.
Corrio seized his other arm and worked him swiftly and scientifically into a doorway. Corrio kept one hand in his side pocket, and whatever he had in his pocket prodded against the Saint's stomach and kept him pinned in a corner. There was a gleam of excitement in his dark eyes. "I guess my hunch was right again," he said to Fernack.
Fernack kept his grip of the Saint's arm. His frosted grey eyes glared at the Saint angrily, but not with the sort of anger that most people would have expected.
"You damn fool," he said rather damn-foolishly. "What did you have to do it for? I told you when you came over that you couldn't get away with that stuff any more."
"What stuff?" asked the Saint innocently.
Corrio had grabbed the parcel out of his hand and he was tearing it open with impatient haste.
"I guess this is what we're looking for," he said.
The broken string and torn brown paper fluttered to the ground as Corrio ripped them off. When the outer wrappings were gone he was left with a cardboard box. Inside the box there was a layer of crumpled tissue paper. Corrio jerked it out and remained staring frozenly at what was finally exposed. This was a fully dressed and very lifelike doll with features that were definitely familiar. Tied around its neck on a piece of ribbon was a ticket on which was printed: "Film Star Series, No. 12: CLARK GABLE. 69˘ ."
An expression of delirious and incredulous relief began to creep over the harsh angles of Fernack's face --much the same expression as might have come into the face of a man who, standing close by the crater of a rumbling volcano, had seen it suddenly explode only to throw off a shower of fairy lights and coloured balloons. The corners of his mouth began to twitch, and a deep vibration like the tremor of an approaching earthquake began to quiver over his chest; then suddenly his mouth opened to let out a shout of gargantuan laughter like the bellow of a joyful bull.