well. But with all those recent robberies, it just wouldn't do to flaunt my
jewels in a public place."
Reggie agreed. Everyone knew that crime was rampant in Manhattan. The
police were looking for "fingermen" who spotted persons that flourished too
much cash or displayed too many gems. The law had not found those malefactors.
Nor had the police rounded up the crime specialists who staged the robberies
after they received the tip-offs from the finger-men.
Crooks had cracked into large New York offices and pretentious residences.
They had opened safes that invariably contained large amounts of swag. Stolen
property had remained untraced. The brain who controlled this present crime
ring, also had fences who knew how to unload the pilfered goods in secret.
"You're tired, Val." Reggie's smooth tone was sympathetic. "The floor
show's finished. Suppose we leave."
Valencia took the suggestion eagerly. So apparently, in fact, that Reggie
framed an apology.
"I didn't know this place would be so jammed," he declared. "It wasn't,
the last time I was here; but that was six months ago. Let's start, Val - wait
a minute, though. I need some cigarettes."
Reggie snapped his fingers toward a passing cigarette girl. Valencia
recalled that he had bought a pack of cigarettes only an hour before. She
remembered that he had handed the same girl a folded five-dollar bill. Probably
Reggie had forgotten that he still had a pack in his pocket. Valencia decided it
didn't matter.
THEY left the Star Club in a cab. Valencia was still adjusting her evening
wrap when Reggie started a purry tone that told her what was next. It was the
same old story. He wanted her to announce their engagement.
"I can't, Reggie," declared Valencia, frankly. "Because we aren't engaged."
"We intend to be, Val. Very soon."
"Perhaps." Valencia admitted that much. "I may change my mind, though."
Reggie was silent while the cab rolled northward. At the end of half a
dozen blocks, he spoke ruefully:
"You care for me a lot, Val. What's the real trouble? Don't you feel that
you can trust me?"
"Why do you ask that, Reggie?"
"Because you never seem to trust anyone."
Reggie was correct in that statement. Valencia did find trouble in
trusting people. That applied particularly to Reggie, although Valencia didn't
like to tell him so.
There was something oily about him at times; he could become too smooth.
Earnestness did not fit the shrewd expression that so often flickered on his
sallow face. To be fair to Reggie, though, he had never done anything to make
Valencia actually dislike him.
"I can't trust people," admitted the girl. "I've known too many
disappointments. There is only one exception. That is my uncle."
"That's odd, Val," rejoined Reggie. "I don't want to offend you, but the
fact is, there are a lot of people who don't trust Everett Gaylor."
"I know that, Reggie. He made his wealth by driving hard bargains. Many
people have criticized his recent business mergers, but they have always been
