The effect was good, and she added the brownish hue to her arms and hands.
She was just finished, when the apartment bell announced the Rajah of Lengore.
Margo met her escort in the apartment lobby. He was as handsome as his photograph, and quite tall.
His smile of greeting was a bit troubled by sight of Margo's fur coat, but when she explained that she was wearing the Hindu costume, too, he gave a pleased nod. The rajah, himself, was wearing his uniform and a compact turban.
They stepped into a waiting limousine, and as they rode away together, the rajah produced an array of rings and bracelets for his niece to wear.
There was an anklet, too, the most expensive item among all the jewelry. Of gold, studded with diamonds and rubies, it was so heavy that when Margo crossed her knees, she found it more comfortable to keep her left foot on the floor, since the band of gold was on her left ankle.
When they reached their destination, Margo was rather surprised to find it an old-fashioned office building. A man stepped from an elevator to give the Oriental visitors a curious look, but when the rajah announced in slow but perfect English that he was Cranston's friend, the elevator man took them up.
At the top, Margo saw an elevator door which had a pane of thick bulletproof glass. Peering through, a servant studied the visitors, then opened the door.
They were ushered into a room of paneled oak, where a crabby old man sat behind a desk on which rested a tray with a half-finished bowl of milk toast. The servant was already helping Margo remove her fur coat, when the old man looked up. The expression of annoyance that Uriah Crome was showing to impress Commissioner Weston, took a very sudden change.
Open-mouthed, Crome scanned the uniformed Rajah of Lengore, then, let his widening eyes take in Margo from head to foot. The rajah was introducing himself, and announcing that the lady was his niece, which Crome could readily believe.
Margo's complexion looked about the same hue as the rajah's, and her bizarre Oriental costume revealed a shapeliness that suited the specifications of a Hindu princess. But the feature that overwhelmed Crome, and won him to immediate belief, was the display of jewelry that Margo flashed for his especial benefit.
The rajah had placed a necklace of emeralds and diamonds around his niece's neck, and those gems made a wonderful splash. Bracelets and rings attracted Crome's down-sweeping eye, and when he saw the anklet, with its sparkle of diamonds and fire of rubies, he drew a long, amazed gasp.
The bitter flicker to his lips was just a recollection of the half million dollars that he had spent, under forced pressure, for the Star of Delhi.
IF the Rajah of Lengore intended to pawn his niece's gems, and had asked her to wear them here for the effect on Uriah Crome, it was certainly a case of super-salesmanship. Already, Crome was wishing that he could afford to purchase those adornments wholesale.
Catching the covetous glint in the old man's eye, Margo began to picture herself peeling off layers of jewels and dropping them on Crome's desk, while the rajah would be counting money in return.
It made her angry at Lamont, and at the rajah, too. Cranston's helping the rajah to sell jewels to Crome was fair enough, but Margo didn't like the idea of being used as an attraction to raise the price. She could imagine how a real Hindu princess would feel if called upon by an avaricious uncle to make a public sacrifice of her personal jewels, to impress an old miser like Crome.
She intended to tell Lamont what she thought of him, when she met him. Meanwhile, she'd act the part that she was playing, even though it was helping the very cause that she considered detestable.
Then, as the Rajah of Lengore spoke in a slow, musical tone, Margo was overwhelmed with remorse for having formed so wrong an opinion of Cranston and his Hindu friend.
The rajah, too, had observed Crome's gaze and was politely telling the old collector that none of his niece's jewels were for sale. Instead, the Rajah of Lengore had come to buy gems from Uriah Crome, and had requested his niece to accompany him, that she might compare with her present adornments whatever items Crome offered.
Indeed, the rajah's tone implied a doubt that Crome had many jewels that the princess would care to own.
It was the right way to deal with Crome. Testily, the old collector pressed buttons on his desk and started panels spinning all about the room. Bobbing about like a jack-in-the-box, he pointed his visitors to one display case after another, trying to impress them with his marvelous collection.
They went from topazes to opals, past shelves that teemed with specimens of turquoise and amethyst. On beyond an array of diamonds, to emeralds and rubies, finally stopping at a case of sapphires. It was there that the rajah made his closest study; he shook his head in disappointment.
"I had hoped to find the one gem that I wanted," he announced. "The great Star of Delhi."
Never had any man been taken more off guard than Uriah Crome.
Margo looked quickly at the old collector, saw his face go as purple as the shelves of sapphires. Crome's lips were wagging, but no words came from them. It was the Rajah of Lengore who spoke.
"In my land," said the rajah sagely, "we regard no gem as worthy of importance unless men have died in quest of it. Every great ruby can be said to own its color from the blood of those who have warred for its possession. The green of emeralds comes from the grass that grows above the graves of those whose lives were lost in seeking to gain, or keep, the stone they so prized.
"Seldom has any sapphire brought murder to its owner. But the stars of the sky have now looked down upon six scenes of death. I would like the Star of Delhi, itself, to speak its story, like the stars of the firmament. In my land, we believe in the stars. They have told me that the Star of Delhi was not destroyed -"
"No, no!" interrupted Crome. "It was cut, I tell you, into six smaller sapphires!"
"Such could not be," inserted the rajah, while Margo stared, enraptured by his manner. "No man like yourself, Mr. Crome, would have allowed such a crime to happen. Such a crime, I mean, as the ruin of the priceless Star of Delhi. I would only like to see the gem, to know if it could have a price."
THE rajah's definition of crime was the point that made Crome capitulate. He felt, at last, that he had found a friend in whom he could confide. Weighed down by the secret of the Star's true story, craving to be rid of the purchase that Garmath had forced upon him, Crome staggered to a safe and opened it.
Not only did he show the rajah the Star of Delhi, he poured out the whole history of Lenfell's swindle and Garmath's double cross. With it, Crome swore that he had known nothing of impending murder until after the deaths had been delivered. Garmath's visit had been his first meeting with the master killer.
Margo believed him, as did the rajah. Finding them sympathetic, Crome added to his tale of woe.
"If I sell the Star of Delhi," he said hoarsely, "Garmath may kill me! He knows that I am worried -"
The telephone bell began to ring. The start that Crome gave convinced Margo that the old man expected a call from Garmath. The Rajah of Lengore was of the same opinion. He stepped close to Crome.
"Tell Garmath that you are glad you bought the Star," advised the rajah. "Say that all you want is a way out, in case anyone accuses you of owning it."
"But - how?"
"Garmath made one replica of the Star of Delhi," returned the rajah. "Ask him to manufacture another. It will be your alibi. You can produce it, upon demand; when it is examined and found to be synthetic, you will be regarded as another dupe, like Lenfell; nothing more."
His lips tightening in a wise smile, Crome picked up the telephone. His voice firmed as he chatted with Garmath. In the course of conversation, Crome put the request that the rajah had suggested. His call finished, he hung up, still retaining his smile.