Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

As he made comments about the jade collection, his mind still pondered the green elephant problem. He couldn’t steal it personally so he would have to hire a thief. But who? If he hired one locally, all details of the theft would be common knowledge within a few hours. He would have to hire someone from New York — and he knew just the man.

“Well,” she said finally, “that is my jade.”

“A beautiful collection and I may buy some — that is, if it’s for sale.”

“The jade — yes — the green elephant — no.”

He rose and bowed. “I’ll return in a day or so. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Chau.” She held out her hand.

He clasped it briefly and left.

Bradford Winchester arrived in San Francisco the next night at eight and immediately reported to Lee Chau at the Mark Hopkins. Winchester was a tall, slim, distinguished looking man of forty-five who could pass for a doctor, lawyer, college professor or just about any type and during his twenty year span as a con man or scam operator he had played all the roles mentioned and more.

He found Lee in the Tap Room sipping wine and smoking a cigarette. Lee bought him a scotch and soda and then told him about the green elephant leaving out some of the more violent details.

“Winchester, I want you to steal it for me.”

“Sounds easy,” Winchester said, sipping his drink. “How can I case Madame Chen’s shop?”

“I will take you there tomorrow. You are an old friend and wish to see the green elephant you have heard so much about.”

“Fine,” said Winchester. “What name shall I use?”

“Whatever.” Lee shrugged.

Winchester thought for a second. “Nolan... Croft. That’s good. And I’ll present myself as a gem collector.”

Lee nodded. “Just don’t lay it on too thick. That woman is no dummy. She probably knows more about gems than most gem collectors.”

“I’ll be careful. Now, let us discuss money.”

“Five thousand dollars,” Lee said.

“Six thousand plus expenses.”

Lee took a sip of his wine. Winchester was probably the best in his field. “I agree.”

“Good.” Winchester picked up the menu. “I think I’ll have a steak dinner. I’m hungry.”

Lee sighed. “Be my guest.”

The next morning at ten, Lee Chau and Winchester walked into Madame Chen’s shop and found Madame Chen in her office reading a Chinese newspaper at her desk. She looked up as they stood in the doorway.

“Mr. Chau — and friend. Come in and sit down.” She removed her reading glasses.

After the introductions were made, Winchester — or Croft — went into his act.

“I have heard a great deal about you, Madame Chen, and it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I must show you my gem collection sometime.”

“I would love to see it,” she said softly. “Mr. Croft.”

He cast a professional eye toward the green elephant glowing in its case. “Mr. Chau was telling me about this particular gem” He put on his glasses and peered into the case. “A fine example of emerald that appears to be common to certain parts of China.”

“Would you care to examine it more closely?” she asked.

“Yes. If you would be so kind.”

She rose and went over to the case. A moment later, she carefully placed the gem on the desk in front of Winchester and Lee.

Winchester then extracted a tiny magnifying glass from his coat pocket, bent down and peered at the gem through the glass for almost a minute. Lee and Madame Chen, their faces devoid of any expression, watched. Finally, he straightened up.

“I’ll give you twenty thousand for it, Madame,” Winchester said.

Lee’s eyes flickered slightly while Madame Chen’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry — Mr. Croft. Your offer is quite flattering but — I cannot sell it.” She picked up the gem and put it back into the case.

Winchester smiled. “I don’t blame you. I trust you keep it under lock and key at all times.”

“Oh — I do,” smiled Madame Chen. “Would you be interested in seeing some valuable jade?”

“Of course,” said Winchester.

Lee Chau sighed. As Number one son might have put it, Winchester was a crock.

That night was one of those miserable, foggy nights so common to San Francisco in the winter season. A heavy fog had rolled under and over the Golden Gate Bridge and had spread itself over the city turning walkers into ghosts and buildings into giant gravestones. It was a perfect night for killers, muggers — and Winchester to carry out his six thousand dollar caper. Attired in black — even to a black cap — he made the turn on Grant Avenue at exactly three in the morning. Several minutes later, he was standing in front of Madame Chen’s shop. An occasional car went by and the sidewalk traffic was sparse, limited to a few staggering drunks.