Before he left the office one of the men had asked him, “When are you leaving for the United States?” He had said that he intended to leave the next day, which was Saturday. Then the man had said, “We will deliver the stones to you on Tuesday night next. You will receive a phone call at your home and be given further instructions.”
Mr. X had returned to New York City and had waited at his home for the expected call on Tuesday night. The call came, finally, at 10 P.M. A voice had said, “Mr. X? Were you expecting delivery of a package?” Mr. X had eagerly assured the caller that he was expecting a delivery. The voice had said, “Can you be on the corner of 57th Street and Third Avenue at 11 P.M.?” Mr. X had told the caller that he would be there. Then the voice had said, “So that I will not make any mistakes, please stand on the southwest corner of the street and have a copy of the Chicago Tribune under your left arm.”
Mr. X had taken a cab to the corner of 57th Street and Third Avenue. He had purchased a copy of the Chicago Tribune at a newsstand selling out-of-town papers, and he folded it under his left arm. As he stood on the corner, a man walked up and said, “Mr. X?” And he had replied, “Yes, I am Mr. X.” The man had said, “Here is your package.” Then he had walked away.
Mr. X had taken the diamonds back to his apartment. He had ripped the paper from the box and had opened it to find every gem that he had purchased in Antwerp and turned over to the syndicate representatives. It was as simple as that. There was not a scrap of paper on record anywhere showing that he was liable for taxes.
The second time he had made the trip to Antwerp he had followed the same procedure, although he had dealt with different men. The second delivery had been made safely also. And now he was ready for the syndicate to make its third delivery. All he had to do was wait....
After Mr. X’s return from his third trip to Antwerp—on July 12, 1953—a Belgian Sabena Airlines plane glided to a landing at Idlewild International Airport in New York City with Capt. Robert Edmund Deppe at the controls.
The passengers debarked. Members of the plane’s crew came down the gangway with Deppe bringing up the rear. Deppe carried in his hand a shoe box tied with a string. He saw one of the airline clerks near the ship and he tossed the box to him.
“Hold this for me, Joe,” he said. “It’s a little gift I brought over for a friend. He’ll be calling for it.”
The clerk said, “Sure, Captain. I’ll put it in the crews’ baggage room.” No one paid any attention to the incident nor did anyone later give a second look at the shoe box when the clerk tossed it onto a shelf in the baggage room.
There was considerable excitement in the terminal when the crew checked in. “What’s going on?” Captain Deppe asked. An airline employee replied, “The Customs people are searching everyone again. You might as well get in line yourself.”