Charlie Chan [5] Charlie Chan Carries On Page 21

  Who? Kennaway? Nonsense. It had without doubt been the same man who killed Honywood and his wife. Kennaway was a mere boy; what concern could he have with Jim Everhard and the Honywoods. With events that had happened long ago in some far place, and then remained in the shadows for many years?

  Charlie put his hand to his head. Puzzles, puzzles. It couldn’t have been Kennaway. The murderer’s settled policy, evidently, was to implicate innocent men if he could. Witness the matter of the strap in London, the theft of the rubber tip from the stick belonging to Ross. Furthermore, he would hardly care to have this key discovered in his possession. What more natural than for him to attach it to the property of another man?

  Who would have had the best opportunity to put that key on Kennaway’s bag? Chan’s eyes, fixed unseeing on the glittering water, narrowed suddenly. Who but Tait? Tait, who had been so prompt that morning to proclaim himself an innocent man, who had asserted that his change to a wristwatch had been effected before the tour started. Tait, who had slept in the room next to that in which Drake died; Tait, who had fallen in a terrific heart attack when he discovered next morning that Honywood, the man Everhard meant to kill, was still alive. Certainly Tait was old enough to have been Everhard in his day, to have acquired those little bags of pebbles, to have carried them for years, determined to return them when opportunity offered. What more likely than that Tait had made use of his companion’s suitcase?

  Chan began a slow stroll about the deck. No, the key was never Kennaway’s. Suddenly he stood still. If Welby had found it where it was now, and it did not belong to Kennaway, then the little detective from Scotland Yard had not discovered the murderer. Why, then, had he been killed on the Yokohama dock?

  Again Chan put his hand to his head. “Haie, I wander amid confusing fog,” he murmured. “Much better I go to my pillow, seeking to gain clarity for the morrow.”

  He took his own advice at once, and the second night aboard the President Arthur passed without incident.

  In the morning Charlie cultivated the society of Mark Kennaway. It meant considerable moving about, for the young man seemed restless and distraught. Ho roamed the ship, and Charlie roamed with him.

  “You are youthful person,” the Chinese remarked. “You should study calm. I should say to look at you, you have few more than twenty years.”

  “Twenty-five,” Kennaway informed him. “But I seem to have added about ten by this tour.”

  “It has been difficult time?” inquired Chan sympathetically.

  “Ever been a nurse maid?” asked the young man. “Lord - if I’d known what I was letting myself in for! I’ve read aloud at night until my eyes ached and my throat felt like the desert’s dusty face. Then there’s been the constant anxiety about poor Mr. Tait’s condition.”

  “There have been other attacks since the one in Broome’s Hotel?” Charlie suggested.

  Kennaway nodded. “Yes, several. One on the boat in the Red Sea, and a quite terrible one at Calcutta. I’ve cabled his son to meet us at San Francisco, and believe me I’ll be glad to see that Golden Gate. If I can get him ashore there still alive, I’ll consider that I’m a fool for luck. I’ll heave a sigh of relief that will be reported in all the Eastern papers as another California earthquake.”

  “Ah, yes,” agreed Chan. “You must have been under much strain.”

  “Oh, I had it coming to me,” Kennaway returned gloomily. “I should have started to practice law and let the map of the world alone. None of my people in Boston were in favor of this trip. They warned me. But I knew it all.”

  “Boston,” repeated Charlie. “As I told you yesterday, a city in which I have great interest. The diction of its people is most superior. Some years ago I did small favor for Boston family, and never in my life was I thanked in better language.”

  Kennaway laughed. “Well, that must have been something,” he replied.

  “A great deal,” Chan assured him. “I am old-fashioned person who feels that choice of words proclaims the gentleman. Or, in the case of which I speak, the lady. My children regard me old fogy on this point.”

  “Children don’t show their parents enough respect these days,” the young man nodded. “I say that as an ex-child. Well, I hope my parents don’t find out the hell I’ve been through on this trip. I’d hate to hear the familiar: ‘I told you so.’ Of course, it hasn’t been only poor Mr. Tait. I’ve had other troubles.”

  “I do not wish to penetrate any Boston reserve,” Charlie remarked. “But could you name one, please?”

  “I certainly could. That Potter girl - well, perhaps I shouldn’t have said it.”

  Chan’s eyes opened in surprise. “What is wrong with Potter girl?” he inquired.

  “Everything,” returned the young man. “She annoys me beyond words.”

  “Annoys you?”

  “Yes. I’ve said it, and I’ll stick to it. Doesn’t she get on your nerves too? So damned Middle Western and competent? So sure of herself? She’s got more poise than a great-aunt of mine who’s lived on Beacon Hill for eighty-one years and met everybody worth while.” He leaned closer. “You know, I actually believe the girl thinks I’ll propose to her before this tour’s over. Would I take that chance? Not I. And get her bank-book thrown in my face.”

  “You think that would happen?”

  “I’m sure of it. I know these Middle Westerners - nothing matters but money. How much have you got? We don’t feel that way in Boston. Money doesn’t count there. Ours certainly doesn’t. Uncle Eldred lost it all betting on the New York, New Haven and Hartford. I - I don’t know why I’ve said all this to you. But you can see how I feel. Worn out acting as a nurse maid - and this girl on my mind all the time.”

  “Ah - then she is on your mind?”

  “She certainly is. She can be mighty nice when she tries. Sweet, and - er - you know, sweet - and then all at once I’m run over by an automobile. One of the Drake brand. Millions at the wheel.”

  Chan consulted his watch. “I see her now at far end of deck. I presume you wish to flee?”

  Kennaway shook his head. “What’s the use? You can’t get away from people on a boat. I’ve given up trying, long ago.”

  Pamela Potter came up to them. “Good morning, Mr. Chan. Hello, Mark. How about some deck tennis? I think I can trim you this morning.”

  “You always do,” Kennaway said.

  “The East is so effete,” she smiled, and led the captive Kennaway off.

  Chan made a hasty tour of the deck. He found Captain Ronald Keane seated alone near the bow of the boat, and dropped into a chair beside him.

  “Ah, Captain,” he said, “a somewhat gorgeous morning.”

  “I guess it is,” Keane replied. “Hadn’t noticed, really.”

  “You have other matters that require pondering?” Charlie suggested.

  “Not a thing in the world,” yawned Keane. “But I never pay any attention to the weather. People who do are nothing but human vegetables.”

  The chief engineer came strolling along the deck. He paused at Charlie’s chair. “About time for our tour of the engine room, Mr. Chan,” he remarked.

  “Ah, yes,” returned the Chinese. “You were kind enough to promise me that pleasure when we talked together last night. Captain Keane, I am sure, would enjoy to come along.” He looked inquiringly at Keane.

  The captain stared back, amazed. “Me? Oh, no, thanks. I’ve no interest in engines. Wouldn’t know a gadget from a gasket. And care less.”

  Charlie glanced up at the engineer. “Thank you so much,” he said. “If you do not object, I will postpone my own tour. I desire short talk with Captain Keane.”

  “All right,” nodded the engineer, and moved away. Chan was regarding Keane grimly.

  “You know nothing about engines?” he suggested.

  “Certainly not. What are you getting at, anyhow?”

  “Some months ago, in parlor of Broome’s Hotel, London, you informed Inspector Duff you were one time engineer.”
/>
  Keane stared at him. “Say, you’re quite a lad, aren’t you?” he remarked. “Did I tell Duff that? I’d forgot all about it.”

  “It was not the truth?”

  “No, of course not. I just said the first thing that came into my head.”

  “A habit of yours, it seems.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I have been reading about you, Captain Keane. In Inspector Duff’s notebook. Investigation of murder is serious business, and you will pardon me if I get plenty crude in my remarks. You are self-confessed liar, seemingly with no regrets. All through tour you have behaved strangely, listening outside doors. Not very lovable activity.”

  “No, I fancy it isn’t,” Keane snapped. “You must have found that out in your own work.”

  “I am not sneaky kind of detective,” replied Chan, with dignity.

  “Is that so?” replied Keane. “Then you can’t be much good. I’ve been in the business six years, and I’m proud of what I’ve done.”

  Charlie sat up. “You are detective?” he asked.

  Keane nodded. “Yes - keep it under your hat. I represent a private agency in San Francisco -“

  “Ah - private detective,” nodded Chan, relieved.

  “Yes, and don’t be nasty. We’re just as good as you are. I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to waste your time on me. Mrs. Spicer has a husband and he’s eager to get rid of her. Wants to marry a movie actress, or something like that. So he sent me on this trip to see what I could see.”

  Chan studied Keane’s mean face carefully. Was this the truth? The man certainly looked well-suited to the role of private detective. So he didn’t want Chan to waste any time on him? Unexpected consideration, this was.

  “You have had no success?” the Chinese remarked.

  “No - the thing was a flop from the first. I believe Vivian suspected me the moment he saw me. I dread meeting Spicer when we land at San Francisco - all this has cost him a pretty penny. But it wasn’t my fault if love’s young dream blew up right in my face. If they only hadn’t been partners at bridge - that finished it. They’re not even speaking now, and Vivian has threatened to break my neck if I come near him again. I’m fond of my neck. So I’m at a loose end from here on home. By the way, all this is on the quiet.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I was wondering,” continued Keane. “Couldn’t I help you out on this murder thing? Is there any reward, or anything like that?”

  “The reward of work well done,” Charlie replied.

  “Tripe! You don’t mean to say you’ve come into this without having an understanding with the Potter girl? Say - you need a manager. I’ll go and have a talk with her. The family’s got wads of money, and they naturally want to find out who killed the old man. We’ll go fifty-fifty -“

  “Stop!” cried Chan. “You have already said too much. Kindly remember that I am not private detective. You have no authority from me for your low plan -“

  “Wait a minute. Let’s argue this out -“

  “No. The ignorant are never defeated in argument. What is more, there is nothing to debate. You will kindly keep out of this affair, which does not concern you in the least. I am bidding you good day.”

  “You’re a hell of a business man,” growled Keane.

  Charlie walked rapidly down the deck, his accustomed calm rudely disturbed. What a worm this fellow Keane was! All that about being a private detective - was it true? Possibly. On the other hand, it might be merely a blind, a tall story designed to put Charlie off his guard. Charlie sighed. Mustn’t forget Keane. Mustn’t forget any of them.

  The creaking ship plowed on its way, making good time over the glassy sea. Kashimo reported the key still on Kennaway’s bag. Long, leisurely talks with one member of the party after another yielded no result. The second day passed, and the third night. Not until the fourth night did Charlie begin to take hope again. It was on that evening that Maxy Minchin entertained - a grand party to celebrate the approaching end of the tour.

  Maxy had passed about with his invitations and had been, much to his own surprise, cordially received. Familiarity had bred charity where he was concerned. The long weeks together had led the party to overlook his crudities. As Mrs. Luce put it: “We mustn’t forget there’s some one in this crowd who’s even worse than Mr. Minchin.”

  Every one accepted, and Maxy was delighted. When he brought the news to his wife she reminded him that, with Lofton, there would be thirteen at table.

  “Don’t let’s take any chances, Maxy,” she said. “You been gettin’ all the breaks so far - don’t trifle with your luck. You got to find a fourteenth.”

  Mr. Minchin found the fourteenth in Charlie. “I ain’t got nothing against the dicks,” he explained to the Chinese. “I give a party once in Chicago for a table full of ‘em. One of the nicest feeds I ever pulled off. You come along. Informal. I’m leaving my Tux in the trunk.”

  “Thank you so much,” Chan answered. “And may I hope that you will not be offended if at this dinner I make bold to refer to the subject of murder?”

  “I don’t get you,” said Maxy, startled.

  “I mean I have unlimited yearning to mention there the unfortunate fate of Hugh Morris Drake in Broome’s Hotel. It would make me happy to hear conversation regarding this affair from one and all.”

  Maxy frowned. “Well, I don’t know about that. I was hopin’ we wasn’t going to talk business. Just a good time for all and no questions asked - get me? Some guy in this gang’s got a lot on his mind, and I wouldn’t like him to have no anxious minutes while he’s my guest. After that, you can put the cuffs on him any minute - see what I mean? He ain’t no pal of mine. But for the one evening -“

  “I will be discreet,” Chan promised. “No questions, of course.”

  Maxy waved his hand. “Well, have it your own way. Start the murder thing if you want to. They’s no tags to my bids. It’s Liberty Hall when Maxy Minchin is paying the check.”

  Liberty Hall turned out to be the deck cafe, where fourteen people sat down that evening around a lavishly decorated table. Knowing full well his duties as a sea-going host, Mr. Minchin had provided a comic hat for every one. He himself put on a Napoleonic tricorn with a scarlet cockade, and thus equipped, felt that the evening had begun auspiciously.

  “Eat hearty, folks,” he ordered. “And drink the same. It’s all on the house. I told ‘em to put out the best they got.”

  After the coffee, Maxy rose. “Well, here we are,” he began, “near the end of the big hop. We seen the world together, and we had good times, and some not so good. Take it all and all I’ll say it’s been a swell lay-out from the start. And if you’re asking me, we had one dandy guide. Lift your glasses, people. To old Doc Lofton, the grandest guy afloat.”

  There were cries for a speech and Lofton arose, somewhat embarrassed.

  “Thank you, friends,” he said. “I have been conducting parties like this for many years, and I want to say that this has been in many ways one of my more - er - memorable experiences. You have given me very little trouble - this is, of course - most of you have. There have been differences, but they have been amicably settled. You have all been most reasonable, sometimes under great strain, and I am grateful. Of course, I would be foolish to overlook the fact that our tour began under very unusual and trying circumstances. If Miss Pamela will forgive me, I am referring to the unfortunate passing of - er - her grandfather that midnight at Broome’s Hotel in London. That is to say, between midnight and morning - er - an occurrence that I regret more deeply than any of you - with, of course, the exception of the young lady I have mentioned. But that is now long in the past, and it seems best to forget it. If it remains among the unsolved mysteries, we must accept that as the will of fate. I shall land you all in San Francisco very soon, and we shall part” - his manner brightened noticeably - “but I assure you that I shall always treasure memories of our comp
anionship.”

  “Hear, hear,” cried Mr. Minchin, as the doctor sat down amid polite applause. “Well, folks, since the Doc’s brought it up, I may say that we’re all sorry about that kick-off at Broome’s. And that brings me at this time to mention our special guest here tonight - the Chinese dick from Hawaii. Believe me, people, I seen all kinds, but this is a new one on me. Mr. Chan, spill a few words.”

  Charlie rose with dignity, despite his introduction. He glanced calmly about the little room.

  “The drum which makes the most noise is filled with wind,” he said. “I remember this in time so I will not obtrude myself. But I welcome opportunity to bow to my gracious host, and to his delightful lady, obscured with plenty jewels. Fate is capricious stage manager. She has introduced you to policemen round the world. To my distinguished friend from Scotland Yard, to the officers of France and Italy. Now you get sample from melting-pot of Hawaii, you let your gaze for fleeting moment rest on humble Chinese who follows meager clues left behind by the few criminals who infest our paradise.

  “I stand here before you in not entirely happy position. Wise man has said, do not follow on the heels of a sorrow, or it may turn back. Such would by my own advice to Miss Pamela. But while I remain thus in upright posture, old sorrow will not fade from your minds.

  “You must recall that had it not occurred, I would not be here. You see pictures of Broome’s Hotel, old incidents, now long forgotten, come back to you. It can happen they take on new meaning after extensive absence. I am desolate to know I recall these things, and I make haste to erase myself. First I would add - Doctor Lofton has told you that if matter is never solved, it is will of fate. I am Chinese, I accept will of fate, but I have lived so long among American people I feel inclination to give fate small tussle before I offer my meek acceptance. By this time my broad bulk has cast plently shade on this gay feast. I am sitting down.”