Charlie Chan [5] Charlie Chan Carries On Read online

  “I quite understand, sir,” Duff said. “Unless he supposed Honywood dead because he thought he himself had strangled the man in the night. Unless - in other words - Tait is Jim Everhard.”

  “Precisely,” nodded the superintendent. “It is a matter to think about. Now, with regard to the future. As far as the travel party is concerned I believe, Mr. Duff, that for the time being your usefulness in that quarter is ended.” The inspector’s face fell. “Don’t misunderstand me, my boy. I merely feel that you are too well known among them to accomplish anything there. I have looked over the itinerary Lofton gave you. After Egypt. I note four boat trips - on a P. and O. liner from Port Said to Bombay, on a British India Steam Navigation Company ship from Calcutta to Rangoon and Singapore, then by way of another P. and O. boat from the latter place via Saigon to Hong Kong. From Hong Kong they are to take a Dollar liner bound for San Francisco. For the present I would leave the party in peace. Our quarry may think we have dropped the matter and be off his guard. In a few days I intend to dispatch a good man to Calcutta with instructions to get in touch with the party from that point on, in any manner that offers. I haven’t definitely decided, but I am thinking of sending Sergeant Welby.”

  “One of the cleverest, Welby is, sir,” Duff replied.

  “Yes - and the type who could easily pass as a ship’s steward, or something of the sort. Cheer up, my boy. If Welby hits on anything definite, you shall join him and make the arrest. In the meantime, there is work to be done in the States. An investigation of the Honywoods’ past - the meaning of those wash leather bags - the search for a safety deposit box with the number 3260. All that will be left to you. But there is no need for you to be off just yet. I want you to time your investigation in America so that you can conclude it on the west coast about the date when Lofton’s travel party lands in San Francisco.”

  Duff was smiling again. “Very well planned, sir. But may I make one suggestion?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I should like to meet the party at Honolulu, sir.”

  “And why at Honolulu?”

  “It would give me that last run from Honolulu to the mainland, sir. Some of them may leave the party at San Francisco. And furthermore -“

  “Yes?”

  “I have a very good friend at Honolulu. A chap of whom I’m particularly fond. I believe I’ve spoken to you about him - Inspector Chan, of the Honolulu police.”

  The superintendent nodded. “Ah, yes. Charlie Chan - the Bruce case. Do you think Inspector Chan would like to see you, Duff?”

  Duff was puzzled. “I’m sure he would, sir. Why do you ask?”

  His superior smiled. “Because I have long wanted to do a favor for Mr. Chan. Don’t worry, my boy. Honolulu can undoubtedly be arranged.”

  Chapter XII

  THE JEWELER IN CHOWRINGHEE ROAD

  There followed for Duff weeks of restless waiting. He busied himself with minor tasks, but his heart was elsewhere. Welby was off on a P. and O. boat, his destination Calcutta. For several nights Duff had coached him, read aloud from his notes, speculated with him over the possibilities in the Lofton travel party. Sergeant Welby, he realized with mixed emotions, was a remarkably clever lad. Not, like most of the C.I.D. men, from some inland farm, but a London product, a little cockney born within sound of Bow-bells. Within sound of those bells most of his days had been passed, and the seven seas were to him an uncharted emptiness. He had never even read about them; he was having some difficulties with his geography now; but he faced the future with cool unconcern and unbounded confidence. He examined again and again the little bags of pebbles; they seemed to fascinate him. They formed, he said, the essential clue. He trembled to be off.

  Well, he was off now. Duff had gone with him to Tilbury Docks, and had watched the cheerful face of his fellow detective until it faded from sight. Walking that same night across Vauxhall Bridge, with the tide out and the tang of salt sharp in the air, the inspector thought of Welby, some miles out at sea by this time on his great adventure. Would Welby solve the puzzle - the puzzle that was by all rights the special task of Duff? He would try to be broad-minded. He had wished Welby luck, and by gad, he meant it.

  In a little more than two weeks came the first news of the Lofton party. It was contained in a letter from Pamela Potter, postmarked at Aden. The inspector opened it and read:

  “Dear Inspector Duff:

  “I’m so sorry. I meant to send in my first report from Port Said. But the days are so full and the nights are so wonderful - well, we just drift along. I’m afraid you’d be feeling a bit impatient if you were with us. A murderer in our party - and what of it? We’ve done all the bazaars, we’ve met the Sphinx - I did remember to ask her that question we so want answered, but she didn’t reply.

  “I’ve seen Port Said. It may be as wicked as it’s reputed to be, but Mrs. Luce wouldn’t let me find out. She said she’d tell me all about it - and she did. Yes, she’s as full of reminiscences as ever. You need an atlas of the world when she talks to you. But she’s an old dear.

  “We’ve put the Suez Canal behind us. Like a muddy river, with lonely people sitting at the stations beside the locks. I wanted to get off and tell them about Maurice Chevalier in the talkies. On each side, oceans of sand dotted with scrub acacias, and at night the nice light air of the desert blowing across the ship. We’re nearly out of the Red Sea now, and the way I feel is, thank heaven that’s attended to. Hot - my word! The flying fish flopped on to the deck with a sort of pleased-to-meet-you air. The sun is a huge red ball when we watch it go down every night, and we listen to hear it sizzle when it hits the water. At least I do. Mark Kennaway says it never touches the water at all, and that the sound I hear is eggs frying in the crow’s-nest.

  “Faithful to my orders, I’ve been cultivating the men in the party. The only result up to date is that I’ve got myself heartily disliked by the women. Even Sadie Minchin thinks I’m trying to steal her Maxy. Maybe I have overplayed Maxy a bit - but he’s quite amusing. I’ve posed for Elmer Benbow so many times, I expect to see his wife take his camera away at any moment. As for the rest, I really believe I’ve got over big with Stuart Vivian.

  “You remember that nice little row between Stuart and his lady friend at the San Remo station? About being superstitious? They didn’t speak for days - that is, she didn’t, and after a while he gave up trying. It was then I came into his life. I got to thinking we didn’t know much about him, so I set to work. When the gentle Irene saw the speed I was making, she rose in her wrath and took him back. I’m not so sure he wanted to be taken. He squirmed considerably. A conceited man. As though I meant anything by my deep interest in his past. He’s forty-five, if a day.

  “All of which brings me - don’t ask me how - to dear Captain Keane. I was going to my stateroom the other night at twelve - I’d been sitting up on deck with somebody or other - a man, I believe it was. I’m trying to follow out your instructions to the letter, you see. Well, when I entered the alleyway - that’s authentic and nautical - leading to my room, there was Captain Keane snooping just outside Mr. Vivian’s door. He muttered something and hurried away. Still up to his old tricks, you will note. He’s one of the slyest men I’ve ever met, but I’m afraid he’s too obvious to mean anything, aren’t you?

  “As for the rest, I’ve listened to Doctor Lofton’s erudite talks, to Mr. Ross on the subject of Tacoma and why does anybody live in the Middle West now that the Pacific coast has been discovered, until my ears ache. There’s Mr. Tait, too - my one failure. Somehow, my charms seem to fall on barren ground when he is about. How would you explain it? Perhaps he’s a bit miffed because I take up a little of Mark Kennaway’s time. Did I say a little? Maybe that isn’t quite accurate. You see, he is so young, and I am so beautiful - But as I was saying, I’ve cultivated them all. And so far, I must admit I haven’t turned up a single clue. I wouldn’t call that about Keane a clue. Would you?

  “We have nearly reached Aden. Mrs. Luce i
s taking me to luncheon there, at her favorite restaurant. Probably she will call the head waiter by his first name, and ask after all the little waiters. Aden, she tells me, is a melting-pot that somebody put on the stove and forgot to remove. According to her, I shall get my first smell of the East when we reach there. I believe I’ve had a whiff or two already. I don’t much like it. But Mrs. Luce claims you grow to love it in time. That when you’re sitting in your patio at Pasadena you suddenly remember it, and then it’s just a case of engaging a caretaker and locking the front door. Maybe. No doubt I shall be able to tell you more about that when I write again.

  “Sadie Minchin has just stopped at my elbow, wondering about the jewelry shops in Aden. Maxy had better arrange to have her met by an armored truck at the San Francisco dock. He owns a limousine with bullet-proof glass - perhaps he’ll have that there.

  “Sorry I haven’t proved more of a detective. Better luck from here on. I’ll have lots of time in the Indian Ocean.

  “Sincerely yours

  “Pamela Potter.”

  That night, in the Vine Street station in London, Duff discussed this letter with Hayley. There wasn’t much to discuss, as they both realized. Duff was inclined to be impatient.

  “First time in my life,” he muttered, “that I ever depended on a girl to keep me abreast of a case. And the last, I hope.”

  “A charming girl, at any rate,” Hayley smiled.

  “What of that? She’s not so charming that one of those men will suddenly turn to her and say: ‘Oh, by the way, I murdered your grandfather.’ And that’s all I want. Not charm, but the identity of Jim Everhard.”

  “When does Welby join the party?” asked the Vine Street man.

  “Not for ages,” sighed Duff. “There they are, just drifting along, with no one watching them but a girl. A big idea of the chief’s.”

  “It will all come right in the end,” Hayley answered. “Something tells me.”

  “Please ask your something to come and talk to me,” said Duff. “I need it.”

  He needed it even more before he heard again. Every night he studied the itinerary Lofton had given him. In his thoughts he followed the little party across the Indian Ocean to Bombay, then by the long route - they would take the long route - to Mt. Abu, Delhi, Agra, Lucknow, Benares, Calcutta. It was while they were at Calcutta that he heard once more - a mysterious cable from the girl.

  “If one of your men is in this neighborhood, have him get in touch with me at once. At the Great Eastern Hotel, Calcutta, until this evening, then aboard British-India liner Malaya bound for Rangoon, Penang, Singapore.”

  Feeling an unaccustomed thrill of anticipation, Duff cabled Welby in care of certain British agents in Calcutta. Then - silence again. One dreary day succeeding another, and not an atom of news. Confound the girl - didn’t she realize that he, too, had a deep interest in this affair, wanted to know what was happening?

  He heard at last. A letter came in, postmarked Rangoon. Eagerly the man in London tore it open:

  “Dear Inspector Duff:

  “I am rather a dud as a correspondent, aren’t I? No doubt my cable left you in a little fever, and the explanation has been slow in coming. But the mails, Inspector - you really must blame it on the mails. I couldn’t very well cable the contents of this letter. Spies, you know, in this mysterious East - spies back of every tamarind tree.

  “Let me see - where was I? We were just steaming into Aden, I believe. We went on steaming after we got there, and all the way across the Indian Ocean to Bombay. Tempers began to get a little frayed about the edges. You know, a party of this sort starts out as one great, big, happy family. It was a bit delayed in our case by certain events at the beginning, but the peak of comradeship and mutual love and esteem was reached in Italy and Egypt. Every one was very confidential. Then gradually, as the weather got hotter, our ardor for one another began to cool. It’s got so now that nobody enters a room without a preliminary survey to make sure no other member of the party, thank God, is inside.

  “Well, we did the Indian Ocean. We came into Bombay, said good-by to the dear old ship, and staggered up to the Taj Mahal Hotel. And who do you think was in the lobby? Mr. Fenwick, and his silent sister, from Pittsfield, Massachusetts. It seems that after they left us at Nice they said to themselves, we’ve started out on a world tour, so why not go through with it? In Naples, it appears, they signed on for a cruise - you know, one of the big wonder ships that goes right on around without a change. At least, that’s what they told us, and as we’d seen such a ship in the harbor, I presume it was the truth. Little Norman was insufferable. He asked us if we’d had any more murders, and gave us a long talk on the superiority of their method of travel over ours. We were so happy to see a comparatively new face - even one like Mr. Fenwick’s - that we listened meekly.

  “We stayed in Bombay a couple of days, and then set out over the hills and far away in the direction of Calcutta. I got a good look at the Taj Mahal, and a terrible cold. Eventually we reached our destination, feeling a little sad about India and rather wishing there wasn’t any such place. In Calcutta something happened - and so I come at last to my long delayed story of the cable.

  “On our final morning in Calcutta, Doctor Lofton herded us into a jewelry shop on Chowringhee Road. I presume he gets a commission on sales, he was so passionate about having us go there. Imri Ismail, I believe, was the proprietor’s name. Once I got inside, I was glad I’d come. Really, the most gorgeous jewels you ever saw in your life - star sapphires, rubies, diamonds - but of course you’re not interested. Sadie Minchin went haywire on the spot. Even Maxy turned a bit pale to see her buying.

  “Most of the others in the party just looked casually around and then drifted out. But I happened to see a necklace of diamonds, and my will-power certainly failed me. A little weathered clerk with a drooping eyelid and a most villainous expression saw the condition I was in, and fastened himself on me. While I was hovering on the brink, Stuart Vivian came up and advised me to wait a minute. He said he knew a little about diamonds, and that these were good stones, but not worth what my pirate friend was asking. After a bitter argument, the price began to drop amazingly, until finally Mr. Vivian said it was a good buy. At that point Irene Spicer swept down on him, evidently after a long search, and carried him off.

  “It was while the clerk was removing the fictional price tag from the necklace that a surprising thing happened. Another clerk came along behind him, and as my man pressed close to the counter to let the other pass, he said something in a foreign tongue. Right in the middle of that string of strange sounds, two English words stood out like a house afire. He said ‘Jim Everhard’ as clearly and distinctly as a radio announcer.

  “My heart stood still. The other man paused, as though he were idly curious, and looked toward the door. No one was there. I had to get busy at once with travelers’ checks, and when I handed them over, I said casually to the man with the drooping eyelid: ‘You know Jim Everhard, too?’ That was where I made my big mistake. I should have said it before he got his hands on the checks. Now it was all a closed incident as far as he was concerned. He calmly pretended he didn’t understand English any longer, and bowed me out.

  “I went for a walk in the Maidan and wondered what to do. I thought maybe I’d send you a postcard with the message: ‘Wish you were here.’ I certainly wished it. Then I evolved the brilliant idea of the cable.

  “I didn’t hear anything all day. Mr. Kennaway and I went for a stroll in the Eden Gardens that afternoon, and then rode down to Diamond Harbor to get the British-India boat. We were quite late, and everybody else was aboard. As we started up the gangplank, which they were about to draw in, who should come rushing down it but my friend of the drooping eyelid? He’d evidently been aboard to see somebody off. Who? Jim Everhard? Or was this merely a last minute effort to make a few more sales?

  “Late that night I was walking along the deck of the Malaya when a steward stopped me and told me some one in th
e second class wanted to see me. I was startled at first, then I remembered my cable, and so I followed the steward down a ladder to the lower deck. In the shadow of a life boat I met the queerest little man. I was a bit dubious about him at first, but he was all right. He was your friend, Mr. Welby, of the C.I.D. I liked him. He was cute. And such a quaint cockney accent.

  “I told him what had happened in the jewelry shop, and he was naturally interested. When I added that I had seen the clerk leaving the ship a few hours ago, he nodded. He said that he had been up in the first class about that time himself, talking with a friend among the stewards, and that the man from Imri Ismail’s had attracted his attention. He had followed him and noticed which cabin he visited. ‘And,’ added Mr. Welby, ‘it was a cabin occupied by two members of the Lofton travel party, Miss Potter.’

  “Of course I wanted to know which two. Did I find out? You know better. Mr. Welby just thanked me heartily for my information. ‘You may have lightened my job considerably,’ he said. Then he asked me how much Stuart Vivian seemed to know about diamonds. I said I couldn’t tell, but that like all men he claimed to know everything about everything. Mr. Welby nodded again, and intimated that I could run along now. He told me he was hoping to obtain a position as steward on the Dollar boat out of Hong Kong, and that in the meantime he would be hovering about, but that I mustn’t speak to him unless he spoke first. I assured him I was always the perfect lady in such matters, and we parted. I haven’t seen him since.

  “Well, there you are, Inspector. That’s the situation on this hot April night in Rangoon, where our boat lays over two days. Speaking of the smell of the East, I know all about it now. The odor of fetid narrow streets, vegetables rotting in the tropic sun, dead fish, copra, mosquito lotions - and of too many people trying to be in one place at one time. I’m used to it. I can look forward to China and Japan with an unconquerable nose.