The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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here," he said. "Miss Morrow tells me she's had a talk with you, and I won't double back over her tracks. However, I want the name and address of every one of you." He turned to Mrs. Kirk. "I'll start with you."
She stiffened at his tone. "You're very flattering, I'm sure. I am Mrs. Dawson Kirk." She added her address.
"You." Flannery turned to the explorer.
"Colonel John Beetham. I am a visitor in the city, stopping at the Fairmont."
Flannery went on down the list. When he had finished, he added:
"Any one got any light to throw on this affair? If you have, better give it to me now. Things'll be a lot pleasanter all round than if I dig it up for myself later." No one spoke. "Some lady saw a man running down the fire-escape," he prompted.
"Oh—I did," said Eileen Enderby. "I've been all over that with Miss Morrow. I had gone out into the garden-" Again she related her experience.
"What'd this man look like?" demanded Flannery.
"I couldn't say. A very dim figure in the fog."
"All right. You can all go now. I may want to see some of you later." Flannery strode past them into the garden.
One by one they said their strained farewells and departed—Mrs. Kirk and her companion, Miss Gloria Garland, then the Enderbys, and finally the explorer. Charlie Chan also got his hat and coat, while Miss Morrow watched him inquiringly.
"Until dark deed shaded the feast," said Chan, "the evening was an unquestioned joy. Mr. Kirk—"
"Oh, but you're not leaving," cried Miss Morrow. "Please. I want to have a talk with you."
"To-morrow I am sea-going man," Chan reminded her. "The experience weakens me considerably. I have need of sleep, and relaxing—"
"I'll keep you only a moment," she pleaded, and Chan nodded.
Captain Flannery appeared from the garden. "Dark out there," he announced. "But if I'm not mistaken, any one could have reached the floor below by way of the fire-escape. Is that right?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Kirk.
"An important discovery," approved Chan. "On the gown of one of the lady guests were iron rust stains, which might have been suffered by—But who am I to speak thus to keen man like the Captain? You made note of the fact, of course?"
Flannery reddened. "I—I can't say I did. Which lady?"
"That Mrs. Enderby, who witnessed fleeing man. Do not mention it, sir. So happy to be of slightest service."
"Let's go back down-stairs," growled Flannery. On the floor below, he stood for a long moment, looking about. "Well, I got to get busy here."
"I will say farewell," remarked Chan.
"Going, eh?" said Flannery, with marked enthusiasm.
"Going far," smiled Chan. "To-morrow I am directed toward Honolulu. I leave you to the largest problem of your life, Captain. I suffer no envy for you."
"Oh, I'll pull through," replied Flannery.
"Only the witless could doubt it. But you will travel a long road. Consider. Who is great man silent now on couch? A famous detective with a glorious record. The meaning of that? A thousand victories—and a thousand enemies. All over broad world are scattered men who would do him into death with happy hearts. A long road for you, Captain. You have my warmest wishes for bright outcome. May you emerge in the shining garments of success."
"Thanks," said Flannery.
"One last point. You will pardon me if I put in final oar." He took up from the table a little yellow book, and held it out. "Same was at the dead man's elbow when he fell."
Flannery nodded. "I know. The Cosmopolitan Club book. It can't mean a damn thing."
"Maybe. I am stupid Chinese from tiny island. I know nothing. But if this was my case I would think about book, Captain Flannery. I would arouse in the night to think about it. Good-by, and all good wishes already mentioned."
He made a deep bow, and went through the reception-room into the hall. Kirk and the girl followed swiftly. The latter put her hand on Chan's arm.
"Sergeant—you mustn't," she cried despairingly. "You can't desert me now. I need you."
"You rip my heart to fragments," he replied. "However, plans are set."
"But poor Captain Flannery—all this is far beyond him. You know more about the case than he does. Stay, and I'll see that you're given every facility—"
"That's what I say," put in Barry Kirk. "Surely you can't go now. Good lord, man, have you no curiosity?"
"The bluest hills are those farthest away," Chan said. "Bluest of all is Punchbowl Hill, where my little family is gathered, waiting for me—"
"But I was depending on you," pleaded the girl. "I must succeed—I simply must. If you would stay—"
Chan drew away from her. "I am so sorry. Postman on his holiday, they tell me, takes long walk. I have taken same, and I am weary. So very sorry—but I return to Honolulu to-morrow." The elevator door was open. Chan bowed low. "The happiest pleasure to know you both. May we meet again. Good-by."
Like a grim, relentless Buddha he disappeared below. Kirk and the girl reentered the office, Captain Flannery was eagerly on the hunt.
Chan walked briskly through the fog to the Stewart Hotel. At the desk the clerk handed him a cable, which he read with beaming face. He was still smiling when, in his room, the telephone rang. It was Kirk.
"Look here," Kirk said. "We made the most astonishing discovery in the office after you left."
"Pleased to hear it," Chan replied.
"Under the desk—a pearl from Gloria Garland's necklace!"
"Opening up," said Chan, "a new field of wonderment. Hearty congratulations."
"But see here," Kirk cried, "aren't you interested? Won't you stay and help us get at the bottom of this?"
Again that stubborn look in Charlie's eyes. "Not possible. Only a few minutes back I have a cable that calls me home with unbearable force. Nothing holds me on the mainland now."
"A cable? From whom?"
"From my wife. Glorious news. We are now in receipt of our eleventh child—a boy."
Chapter V. The Voice in the Next Room
CHARLIE CHAN rose at eight the next morning, and as he scraped the stubble of black beard from his cheeks, he grinned happily at his reflection in the glass. He was thinking of the small, helpless boy-child who no doubt at this moment lay in the battered old crib on Punchbowl Hill. In a few days, the detective promised himself, he would stand beside that crib, and the latest Chan would look up to see, at last, his father's welcoming smile.
He watched a beetle-browed porter wheel his inexpensive little trunk off on the first leg of its journey to the Matson docks, and then neatly placed his toilet articles in his suitcase. With jaunty step he went down to breakfast.
The first page of the morning paper carried the tragic tale of Sir Frederic's passing, and for a moment Chan's eyes narrowed. A complicated mystery, to be sure. Interesting to go to the bottom of it—but that was the difficult task of others. Had it been his duty, he would have approached it gallantly, but, from his point of view, the thing did not concern him. Home—that alone concerned him now.
He laid the paper down, and his thoughts flew back to the little boy in Honolulu. An American citizen, a future boy scout under the American flag, he should have an American name. Chan had felt himself greatly attracted to his genial host of the night before. Barry Chan—what was the matter with that?
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