Fifty Candles Page 6

  “Fond of him?” repeated Mark Drew. “He ought to be, that’s sure. My father saved his life!”

  The detective stared at Mark Drew in surprise.

  “Saved his life? When? Where?”

  “Twenty years ago in Honolulu. Let’s see—this is the fifth of December … yes, of course, twenty years ago to a day!”

  Barnes sank wearily into a chair.

  “Well, if you can make it short and snappy—I suppose I ought to hear about it,” he said. “Though if the old man saved Hung’s life, it doesn’t stand to reason that the Chinaman would—oh, well, go ahead.”

  Mark Drew leaned against a table and folded his arms.

  “I’ll try to be brief,” he began. “As I say, it happened twenty years ago, in December, 1898. I was a kid of twelve then. I’d gone to the Islands with my father aboard his bark, the Edna-May ; he owned a fleet of sailing vessels that made Honolulu from this port. Every detail of that trip stands out in my memory, clear-cut to this day. And no wonder, for I was an imaginative boy, a great reader, and I was standing for the first time on the threshold of the South Seas.

  “The day of which I speak was to be our last in port. Late in the morning my father invited me to go ashore with him for lunch. We went from the dock to King Street, and I was all eyes, drinking in Honolulu for the last time. Even in those days it was the melting-pot of the Pacific; a dozen races mingled on the pavement. But you don’t want a description of the town. However, the picture returns and thrills me even now. We turned off King Street, into Fort. In front of a building that housed the United States District Court, we met a man named Harry Childs coming out. Childs was a lawyer out there, somewhat shady I imagine, but useful to my father, who traveled much in the shade himself—I make no secret of it. Childs carried a few law books under his arm, as I recall, and he looked warm and depressed and rather sullen.

  “‘Well, Harry,’ my father said, ‘how did your case come out?’

  “‘Lost it, of course,’ said Childs. ‘That man Smith has it in for me. Oh, well, it’s all in the day’s work. But I’m sorry for poor Chang See. Shipped back to China—they’ll put him on the Nile tonight. It’s his death sentence, Mr. Drew!’

  “‘Too bad,’ my father said. ‘As I told you, I could have used him. Hung Chin- chung died on the way over—there’s all his clothes waiting for someone to wear them—and his name too. I could have landed your man in San Francisco with no trouble at all. Too bad.’

  “Childs looked at my father in a queer way.

  “‘When are you sailing?’ he asked.

  “‘About six,’ my father said.

  “‘The Nile sails for China about dusk,’ Childs said. ‘If I were you I’d wait until it goes out. I’d wait—about an hour—or as long as may be necessary.’

  “‘I’ll do that, Harry,’ said my father. He smiled.

  “‘You might have a visitor,’ Childs said and went on his way down the hot street. My father and I went to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and had lunch.

  “Of course, at the time I had no idea what this conversation between Childs and my father meant. I remember standing that evening at the rail of the Edna May just before we sailed. The quick tropic dusk had fallen; Tantalus and Punch Bowl Hill were blotted out. From the row of shacks along the water-front came yellow light and laughter and the voices of men singing. My father happened along and ordered me to bed. He was robbing me of those last precious moments in port, and I resented it, but I dared not disobey. I went to his cabin and climbed to the upper berth, which was mine. In about half an hour the Edna May got under way. My wonderful journey was entering its final stage—”

  “Please,” broke in Detective Barnes, glancing at his watch.

  “I know,” said Mark Drew, smiling. “I’ll hurry on. Pretty soon my father came to the cabin, sat down at his table and began to look over some papers. I dozed off—and woke up with a start. A lean, solemn Chinaman was standing just inside the cabin door. It was my first sight of the man whose birthday my father was celebrating here tonight.

  “‘You are Chang See,’ said my father, ‘and the Nile sailed without you.’”

  “The Chinaman bowed, and something resembling a smile flitted across his impassive face.

  “‘I see you’ve got dry things,’ my father went on. ‘Hung’s clothes suit you all right, eh?’ Again the Chinaman bowed. ‘Well—listen to me,’ said my father. ‘I have called you Chang See for the last time. From now on you are Hung Chin- chung , the same servant I took with me when I left the Gate.’

  “‘I understand,’ said Hung—I may as well call him that, for I have never known him by any other name. He spoke good English, even then. ‘You have saved my worthless life,’ he went on and drifted off into a flowery sentence intended as an expression of gratitude. My father cut him short.

  “‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve saved your life. And I expect something in return.’ Of course he did. I was only twelve, but I knew he would, even then.

  “‘Anything you ask—’ began the Chinaman.

  “‘I want a confidential servant—one I can trust absolutely,’ my father told him. ‘A man who will stick by me day and night, make my interests his, guard my safety. There are certain matters … my life has been threatened. Lie down, Mark, and go to sleep!’ he added sharply, for I was leaning over the side of my bunk, wide-eyed. ‘I’ve given you your life,’ he finished to the Chinaman. ‘Now I ask that you devote it to me.’

  “Hung—or whatever his name was—thought for a moment. To his Oriental mind a promise was a promise and not to be lightly given, even under such extraordinary circumstances. I am trying to be brief, Sergeant Barnes. I’ll sum up the discussion that followed in a few words. Hung was willing to serve my father—but for how long? He said something about returning to China to spend his last days there. There should be a limit, he thought. After a time they set it at twenty years. This was the fifth of December, the anniversary of Hung’s birth at Waikiki thirty years before.

  From that moment on to his fiftieth birthday, he agreed to do as my father wished.

  “I was once again pretending to be asleep. My father came over and shook me. ‘Wake up, Mark,’ he said. ‘This is Hung Chin-chung. He has agreed to act as my servant for the next twenty years, if we both live that long. My friends will be his friends, my enemies his enemies; he will guard my life as his own, and every request I make of him, no matter how trivial, he will comply with. Is that right, Hung?’”

  “Hung promised on his honor and the sacred honor of his ancestors.”

  “‘When he reaches his fiftieth birthday, I will release him from his promise,’ my father said. ‘You are a witness, Mark. Don’t forget.’ He turned to the Chinaman. ‘Now, go to your bunk. I’ll have a talk with you in the morning.’

  “How well Hung kept his word I know probably best of all. He became my father’s shadow. Into what unsavory paths his devotion led him, I don’t know. My father’s activities were many—there was talk of the opium trade in those days. No doubt Hung was a useful go-between. Twice he saved my father’s life when it was attempted by revengeful members of Hung’s own race.

  “Today, on his fiftieth birthday, as you can see, his long period of slavery—there is no other word—was ended. I know my father had grown very fond of Hung, and there was in his nature an odd sentimental streak that no doubt led him to hit on the birthday party as a fitting climax to all those years of devotion. Probably it was not so much to honor Hung that he lit the fifty candles on the cake; he wanted to call the attention of the world to the remarkable loyalty that he had inspired and, in honoring Hung, honor himself.” Mark Drew paused. “That’s all, Sergeant. I’m afraid I haven’t helped you much, at that.”

  “Very interesting, Mr. Drew,” said the detective. “But it gets us nowhere—nowhere at all. It establishes beyond question that Hung was under an obligation to your father, that he was always very devoted to him—”

  “Yes,” said Mark Drew sharply. “Bu
t you forget that the obligation has been paid. Today Hung was released from his promise—he was a free man again. What has been going on in his mind these twenty years? You and I don’t know—we can’t know. What white man could?”

  “You mean to say,” Doctor Parker put in, with what seemed to me a quite hopeful look in his eyes, “that you think Hung’s first act as a free man was to murder his benefactor?”

  “There’s a bare chance of it,” Drew replied. He turned again to the detective. “After all, there is a very thin line dividing gratitude and hate. If you saved my life tonight I should be grateful. Tomorrow, next week, possibly next year, I should still be grateful. But after twenty years—if you had reminded me of it every day—isn’t it quite likely—”

  A door at the rear of the room opened suddenly and Hung Chin-chung came in. Noiselessly, on his padded slippers, he crossed the polished floor to the long table on which Mrs. MacShane had put the coffee. His yellow face might have been hidden behind the curtain of a tule-fog for all the expression one could read there. He gathered up the stray coffee cups and piled them on the tray.

  No one moved or spoke. Deliberately Hung lifted the tray to his shoulder, swung on his heel, and strode to the door through which he had entered.

  “Hung!” said Barnes sharply.

  Hung paused, turned so we could see his face, and waited.

  “This was your birthday, eh, Hung?” said Barnes.

  “Yes.”

  “The fifty candles—the cake—all for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Drew was very fond of you. Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Answer my question!” The detective reddened with anger.

  “I have served Mr. Drew with honor for many years,” said Hung.

  “And you were about to leave his service. Where are you going? What are your plans?”

  “I return to China.”

  “On what boat?”

  “I have not yet decided. That is all? Thank you—”

  “Wait a minute! Tell me—you were very fond of Mr. Drew?”

  “Why not?” Hung’s hand was pushing open the door.

  “I want an answer!” shouted Barnes.

  “For one word,” said Hung, “a man may be adjudged wise. And for one word he may be adjudged foolish. I have spoken enough.”

  “Hold on there!” Barnes cried, for Hung was going out.

  “Let him go,” said Mark Drew quickly, and the Chinaman disappeared.

  Barnes threw up his hands.

  “All right—if you’re handling the case,” he said angrily.

  “I should like to, for a few moments,” said Drew, smiling. “Where the mind of an Oriental is concerned, one man’s efforts are as good as another’s.”

  “I was on the Chinatown squad ten years,” Barnes retorted. “But if you know more than I do—”

  “I know more about Hung, perhaps. Mrs. MacShane—go to the kitchen. If Hung starts to come upstairs by the back way, let Sergeant Barnes know at once. He will pass the word on to me. Now, Sergeant, if you will lend me that flashlight you had in the garden—”

  With surprising meekness Barnes handed it over.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Explore,” smiled Drew. “We all have our pet theories. Yours inclines to this young man.” He nodded toward me. “Mine, up to the time I understood the matter of the candles, favored our friend, Doctor Parker. I’m sorry to say I believe I was mistaken. I’m going up to find out.”

  “Hold on,” said Barnes. “During those twenty years Hung served your father, do you know of anything that occurred … anything that might account for what happened here tonight?”

  “A fair question,” Drew said. “I’ll answer it when I’ve had a look about Hung’s room.”

  He went quickly up the stairs, and again silence fell in that cold and musty room. Mary Will moved closer to me on the sofa. Doctor Parker rose and lighted a cigarette, then with an air of assumed carelessness drifted to the side of Carlotta Drew, who sat near the stairs. They talked eagerly in low tones; evidently they had much that was important to say to each other. Ignoring us all, Barnes sat staring gloomily into space. He seemed for the moment a discouraged man.

  The telephone, which was in a closet under the stairs, rang sharply. Barnes jumped up and entered the closet, shutting the door behind him. We could hear his voice, faint, far away.

  “Hello, Riley! … Yes. What is it? … Yes…. That’s good…. Fine work, Riley…. Better take her to the station. Wait a minute—bring her up here first. Yes. Good-bye.”

  When Barnes emerged from the closet, his face was beaming. He said nothing, but ran up the stairs two at a time.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII

  Mary Will put her hand on my arm. “What now?” she asked, wide- eyed.

  “I wonder—”

  “I’m so worried. That horrid detective still suspects you.”

  “Nonsense! He can’t entangle an innocent man.”

  “Yes, he can,” said Mary Will seriously. “And he will, too, unless he finds the guilty one at once.”

  “Then let’s hope he does. But who is the guilty man? My choice is Doctor Parker.”

  Mary Will’s forehead wrinkled in deep thought.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t believe it was Parker.”

  “Then why did he try so hard to put the thing on me?”

  “For the same reason Carlotta Drew tried to put it on you. They both honestly believe you did it.”

  “Mary Will—you talk like an oracle. How do you know all this?”

  “Oh—I just know it. When Mrs. Drew and I were upstairs and we heard the scream, I’m sure she suspected Doctor Parker. But the minute he reached the house, with you and the policeman, he took her aside and assured her he was innocent. I was watching them and I saw the look of relief on her face.”

  “Well,” I said helplessly, “I’m all at sea. If Parker didn’t do it—”

  “Then Hung did,” said Mary Will firmly. “Can’t you see that?”

  “Hung? Nonsense! Why, there’s not a shred of evidence against him. He was in his room. Much more reason to suspect me. Oh, I certainly got tangled in a pretty mess when I came up here tonight.”

  “I meant to speak about that. You disobeyed me. I told you on the boat—”

  “Tut, tut! Maidenly reserve, and all that sort of thing. I’m mighty glad I didn’t pay any attention to it. Because, however it ends, this evening has taught me one wonderful thing. You love me.”

  “I haven’t said so.”

  “You don’t need to. Your actions have proved it.”

  “Don’t be too sure. Maybe I pitied you. Have you thought of that? And pity—pity isn’t love.”

  I have said that Mary Will could be annoying at times. Loving her, I perceived, would never grow monotonous.

  “If I hear any more about pity,” I said fiercely, “I’ll kiss you.”

  “Then you won’t hear any more about it,” she answered quickly … and added, very softly, “Not just now.”

  At that instant we heard Mark Drew and the detective coming down the stairs.

  Doctor Parker rose and walked to the table; when they came into view he was lighting another cigarette. Sergeant Barnes carried a little bundle of something or other, which he placed beneath the cushion of a chair. Then he walked solemnly up to where I sat.

  “Well, my boy,” he said, “I’m going to arrest you for the murder of Henry Drew!”

  Mary Will gave a little cry, and her hot hand grasped mine. I was stunned.

  “This—this is ridiculous,” I stammered.

  Mark Drew came up and stood by the side of Barnes.

  “The sergeant is a bit crude in his methods,” he remarked. “What he should have said was that, with your permission, he is about to place you under arrest as an experiment. You’ll understand later. Do you mind?”

  “I—can’t say I fancy it…”

  �
��It was my suggestion,” said Mark Drew.

  “Oh, well—in that case,” I agreed, somewhat less alarmed.

  “Call Mrs. MacShane and Hung from the kitchen,” said Barnes. “Get Murphy in from the back and Myers from the front.” Mark Drew began to carry out these orders. “Now, my boy, if you’ll let me put these on you—”

  He held out a pair of handcuffs which glittered wickedly in the dim light. I saw that Mary Will was very pale and frightened, and I wasn’t feeling any too cheery myself. But I held out my hands. The lock clicked shut on my wrists just as Hung came in from the kitchen, and I thought that he stared at me with unusual interest.

  “My investigation is at an end,” said Barnes loudly. “You are free to go, you people. You’ll all be wanted as witnesses, of course.”

  Mrs. MacShane went slowly up the stairs. Doctor Parker had found his overcoat and was putting it on. Hung stepped forward to assist him when Mark Drew spoke.

  “All right, Hung,” he said. “Go to your room. I’ll wait here to look after things. You’ve passed your fiftieth birthday—I’ve not forgotten—you are your own master now. Good night, and good luck!”

  For a long moment Hung looked at him. Then he bowed.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Good night.”

  He went silently up the broad stairs. Mark Drew waited about two minutes, then followed just as silently. I could see him stop in the shadows at the top and stand there as though on guard. Barnes turned to the two patrolmen.

  “Come on,” he whispered hoarsely. “Quick! Don’t make a sound. Come with me.” He led them into the dining room while we waited, completely at sea. In a moment he returned to the hall, where he stamped noisily about for a few moments. He opened and shut the outer door several times.

  “Now follow me,” he directed, still in a whisper. “We’ll all go back to the drawing-room and wait.”

  He led the way. Mrs. Drew, Mary Will, Parker and I followed. As we entered, Barnes turned down the lights.

  Thus I came back to the room I had not seen since I left it to answer Henry Drew’s pitiful cry. The fire had burned low, but the dying logs still sent forth a warm red glow. Again they were staring down on me, those stern Drews on the wall. I was acutely conscious of the handcuffs on my wrists.