The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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I believe I'll write a few letters." He rose with an effort and went to the door. "How's Barbara?" he asked.
Miss Minerva shook her head. "Dan was all the poor child had," she said. "She's taken it rather hard. You won't see her for some time, and when you do—the least said about all this, the better."
"Why, naturally," agreed John Quincy, and went up-stairs.
After he had bathed and put on his whitest, thinnest clothes, he explored the desk that stood near his bed and found it well supplied with note paper. Languidly laying out a sheet, he began to write.
"Dear Agatha: Here I am in Honolulu and outside my window I can hear the lazy swish of waters lapping the famous beach of—"
Lazy, indeed. John Quincy had a feeling for words. He stopped and stared at an agile little cloud flitting swiftly through the sky—got up from his chair to watch it disappear over Diamond Head. On his way back to the desk he had to pass the bed. What inviting beds they had out here! He lifted the mosquito netting and dropped down for a moment—
Haku hammered on the door at one o'clock, and that was how John Quincy happened to be present at lunch. His aunt was already at the table when he staggered in.
"Cheer up," she smiled. "You'll become acclimated soon. Of course, even then you'll want your nap just after lunch every day."
"I will not," he answered, but there was no conviction in his tone.
"Barbara asked me to tell you how sorry she is not to be with you. She's a sweet girl, John Quincy."
"She's all of that. Give her my love, won't you?"
"Your love?" His aunt looked at him. "Do you mean that? Barbara's only a second cousin—"
He laughed. "Don't waste your time match-making, Aunt Minerva. Some one has already spoken for Barbara."
"Really? Who?"
"Jennison. He seems like a fine fellow, too."
"Handsome, at any rate," Miss Minerva admitted. They ate in silence for a time. "The coroner and his friends were here this morning," said Miss Minerva presently.
"That so?" replied John Quincy. "Any verdict?"
"Not yet. I believe they're to settle on that later. By the way, I'm going down-town immediately after lunch to do some shopping for Barbara. Care to come along?"
"No, thanks," John Quincy said. "I must go up-stairs and finish my letters."
But when he left the luncheon table, he decided the letters could wait. He took a heavy volume with a South Sea title from Dan's library, and went out on to the lanai. Presently Miss Minerva appeared, smartly dressed in white linen.
"I'll return as soon as I'm pau," she announced.
"What is this pau?" John Quincy inquired.
"Pau means finished—through."
"Good lord," John Quincy said. "Aren't there enough words in the English language for you?"
"Oh, I don't know," she answered, "a little Hawaiian sprinkled in makes a pleasant change. And when one reaches my age, John Quincy, one is eager for a change. Good-by."
She left him to his book and the somnolent atmosphere of Dan's lanai. Sometimes he read, colorful tales of other islands farther south. Sometimes he sat and thought. Sometimes he just sat. The blazing afternoon wore on; presently the beach beyond Dan's garden was gay with bathers, sunburned men and girls, pretty girls in brief and alluring costumes. Their cries as they dared the surf were exultant, happy. John Quincy was keen to try these notable waters, but it didn't seem quite the thing—not just yet, with Dan Winterslip lying in that room up-stairs.
Miss Minerva reappeared about five, flushed and—though she well knew it was not the thing for one of her standing in the Back Bay—perspiring. She carried an evening paper in her hand.
"Any news?" inquired John Quincy.
She sat down. "Nothing but the coroner's verdict. The usual thing—person or persons unknown. But as I was reading the paper in the car, I had a sudden inspiration."
"Good for you. What was it?"
Haku appeared at the door leading to the living-room. "You ring, miss?" he said.
"I did. Haku, what becomes of the old newspapers in this house?"
"Take and put in a closet beside kitchen," the man told her.
"See if you can find me—no, never mind. I'll look myself."
She followed Haku into the living-room. In a few minutes she returned alone, a newspaper in her hand.
"I have it," she announced triumphantly. "The evening paper of Monday, June sixteenth—the one Dan was reading the night he wrote that letter to Roger. And look, John Quincy—one corner has been torn from the shipping page!"
"Might have been accidental," suggested John Quincy languidly.
"Nonsense!" she said sharply. "It's a clue, that's what it is. The item that disturbed Dan was on that missing corner of the page."
"Might have been, at that," he admitted. "What are you going to do—"
"You're the one that's going to do it," she cut in. "Pull yourself together and go into town. It's two hours until dinner. Give this paper to Captain Hallet—or better still, to Charlie Chan. I am impressed by Mr. Chan's intelligence."
John Quincy laughed. "Damned clever, these Chinese!" he quoted. "You don't mean to say you've fallen for that bunk. They seem clever because they're so different."
"We'll see about that. The chauffeur's gone on an errand for Barbara, but there's a roadster in the garage—"
"Trolley's good enough for me," said John Quincy. "Here, give me the paper."
She explained to him how he was to reach the city, and he got his hat and went. Presently he was on a trolley-car surrounded by representatives of a dozen different races. The melting pot of the Pacific, Carlota Egan had called Honolulu, and the appellation seemed to be correct. John Quincy began to feel a fresh energy, a new interest in life.
The trolley swept over the low swampy land between Waikiki and Honolulu, past rice fields where quaint figures toiled patiently in water to their knees, past taro patches, and finally turned on to King Street. Every few moments it paused to take aboard new immigration problems, Japs, Chinamen, Hawaiians, Portuguese, Philippinos, Koreans, all colors and all creeds. On it went. John Quincy saw great houses set in blooming groves, a Japanese theater flaunting weird posters not far from a Ford service station, then a huge building he recognized as the palace of the monarchy. Finally it entered a district of modern office buildings.
Mr. Kipling was wrong, the boy reflected, East and West could meet. They had.
This impression was confirmed when he left the car at Fort Street and for a moment walked about, a stranger in a strange land. A dusky policeman was directing traffic on the corner, officers of the United States army and navy in spotless duck strolled by, and on the shady side of the street Chinese girls, slim and immaculate in freshly laundered trousers and jackets, were window shopping in the cool of the evening.
"I'm looking for the police station," John Quincy informed a big American with a friendly face.
"Get back on to King Street," the man said. "Go to your right until you come to Bethel, then turn makai—"
"Turn what?"
The man smiled. "A malihini, I take it. Makai means toward the sea. The other direction is mauka—toward the mountains. The police station is at the foot of Bethel, in Kalakaua Hale."
John Quincy thanked him and went on his way. He passed the post-office and was amazed to see that all the lock boxes opened on the street. After a time, he reached the station. A sergeant lounging behind the desk told him that Charlie Chan was at dinner. He suggested the Alexander Young Hotel or possibly the All American Restaurant on King Street.
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