Something more than an hour later, they drove up before the Tavern garage. As they alighted, all rather stiff from the ride, Don Holt looked up at the sky.
“Clouding a bit,” he commented. “Sort of a dampness in the air, too. Perhaps Sing was right, Mr. Ward. Shouldn’t be surprised if we had rain - or maybe snow.”
“Sing’s always right,” Ward answered. “That’s why I took the umbrella. And I felt a little uncomfortable about the arctics, too.”
They stopped for a moment in the big lounge of the hotel, where a welcome fire was blazing. Charlie took Sam Holt by the arm, and led him to a far corner of the room.
“How was the fishin’ down to Reno?” asked the former sheriff.
“A few minnows,” Chan answered. “But as you and I know, Mr. Holt, in our business, most innocent-looking minnow may suddenly enlarge to a whale.”
“True enough,” the old man answered.
“Being somewhat pressed for time,” Charlie continued, “I will leave to your son the pleasure of detailed account. Suffice to say, once more our good friend Sing is clear of suspicion.” He related his conversation with the optician.
Holt slapped his leg with keen delight. “By cricky, I ain’t had so much fun bein’ wrong since I played roulette on a crooked wheel, an’ run the owner out of Angel’s Flats. I sure got off on the wrong foot with this case. Which it served me right - fer I didn’t have no business suspectin’ that boy - the years I’ve knowed him. Well, that’s out. He didn’t mix them lids, nor bungle that scarf business. Who did?”
“At present,” Chan returned, “only echo is on hand to answer.”
“You’ll be answerin’ fer yourself soon enough,” Holt nodded. “I git more confidence in you every time I hear you speak.”
“It will remain one of the triumphs of my life,” Chan replied, “that I stood in such high favor with honorable family of Holt. Should events not justify your esteem, I leave this lovely country in the night.”
Don Holt joined them. “Hello, Dad,” he said. “How about the coroner?”
“Jes’ got here an hour ago,” his father answered. “Slow, as usual. Down at the mortuary now.”
“Reckon we’ll have to get his report later, Mr. Chan,” the young man said. “By the way, I was talking to Dinsdale this mornin’, an’ he agreed to take a few of the suspects off Dudley Ward’s hands. It’ll be a load off your shoulders, too. Cash and me is both down here, en’ between us we can handle ‘em, I reckon. I thought maybe Swan, en’ Romano, an’ Hugh Beaton, an’ - er -“
“Hugh Beaton would not come over here without his sister,” Charlie smiled.
The sheriff blushed. “Well, we could fix her up, too,” he said. “It ain’t fair to Ward, all the trouble he’s had, to load these strangers on him. And it’s so near you could go on investigatin’ as usual. Dinsdale’s all tied up with painters an’ decorators now, an’ he tells me there’s only one room ready tonight. It ain’t a very good one - so I thought I’d bring Swan back with me en’ put him in it.”
Charlie nodded. “I yield him with great pleasure. It will, as you say, narrow my watching.”
“Well, we may as well get goin’,” Don Holt remarked. “It’s comin’ on dusk.”
Chan shook hands with Sam Holt. “Until we meet again,” he said. “Aloha.”
“Same fer you,” Holt replied. “An’ thanks fer that news about Sing. I’ll sleep better tonight.”
Ward and Beaton joined them, and they went down to the sheriff’s launch. The afterglow was fading on tan distant peaks as they swept over the darkening lake. Presently they tied up at Ward’s pier. Dudley Ward and Beaton went on ahead. Charlie waited, and helped with the mooring ropes.
“I’ll just leave Swan’s bag in the boat,” Holt said. “I needn’t have brought it, in the first place. Not much of a thinker, I reckon.”
They were walking up the path. Suddenly Chan put his hand on the young man’s arm. “As resident of semitropic country,” he remarked, “mostly sprinkled with palms, I have vast interest in these lofty pines. Could you give me name of variety?”
“Why - they’re just pines,” said Holt. He sought to move on, but Chan still held him.
“We have a tree resembling the pine on our island of Oahu,” the detective went on. “It is called the ironwood. At one time I knew the Latin name, but - a busy life - those things escape. It was - it was - no use, I can not recall.”
“Too bad,” Holt answered, squirming.
“Fine examples of the ironwood border the road to the Pali,” Charlie continued. “The bark is much less sturdy, less thick, than that of your trees. Do not go, please.” He ran across the snow to pick up a large segment of bark that lay at the foot of a near-by tree. “You behold how thick the bark of your trees is,” he added, and handed the piece to the sheriff. “Shall we continue now to the house?”
At the foot of the steps, Holt suddenly stopped and stared at Chan. “What’ll I do with this?” he asked, indicating the bark.
Charlie grinned. “Toss it away,” he said. “It does not matter.”
Sing admitted them, and they found Leslie Beaton and the resplendent Cash seated before the fire. “Back already?” Cash inquired. “Well, this day sure has gone fast.”
“Not for Miss Beaton, I reckon,” Holt said.
“Oh, indeed it has,” the girl cried. “Mr. Shannon has been telling me the most amazing things -“
“Yeah,” nodded Holt, “I can imagine. He ought to write for the magazines, old Cash.”
“Never do that,” said Cash. “I want my audience where I kin see it. I sure had one nice audience to-day.”
“Yeah,” agreed Holt. “An’ how about the rest of these people? Any of ‘em still around the place?”
“Sure - they’re all here - far as I know.”
“Anything happen?”
“Not a thing. That aviator - Ireland, I guess his name is - dropped in on us a while ago. I reckon he’s in the kitchen now.”
Holt turned to Sing, who was fumbling about the fire. “Look here - Sing - go catch Doctor Swan. Tell him I want to see him.” The old man went out. “Well, Cash - much obliged. I guess I can carry on from this point.”
Cash frowned. “Don’t you think you ought to leave me right here, Chief?” he inquired. “I’d keep my eyes open -“
“Yeah - I know you would,” Holt grinned, “but Mr. Chan will do that - an’ he’ll look in the right direction. Say good night to this kind patient lady that must be nearly dead from the sound of your voice, an’ go out to the boat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
As Cash reluctantly departed, Doctor Swan came downstairs. “Ah, Sheriff,” he said, “back safely, eh? Did you get my bag?”
“I got it. It’s waiting for you out in the launch.”
“Waiting for me?” Swan looked slightly startled.
“Yes - we’re moving a few people down to the Tavern, and you’re the first to push off.”
“Of course - that’s quite all right. I’ll just get my hat and coat, and say good-by to my host.”
Sing had appeared on the stairs. “Boss - he sleep. Say, keep evahbody out. My tell ‘um you say goo’-by. Hat an’ coat light heah.” He removed the latter from a closet. “Goo’-by, Doctah.”
With a somewhat dazed air, Swan got into his coat. Holt led him outside and, calling to Cash, turned the doctor over to him. When the sheriff returned to the living-room, he found Leslie Beaton alone.
“Why - where’s Mr. Chan?” he asked.
“He just ran out the back way,” the girl explained. “He told me to tell you to be sure to wait. And he asked me - as a favor to him - to keep you company.”
“Always thinking of others. Fine fellow,” the sheriff said.
Silence fell. “Nice day,” said the sheriff.
“Lovely.”
“Not so nice tonight.”
“No?”
“Looks like rain.”
“Really?”
“Sure do
es.”
More silence.
“Wish I could talk like Cash,” the sheriff remarked.
“It’s a gift,” smiled the girl.
“I know. I wasn’t there when they passed it.”
“Don’t you care.”
“I - I never did. Before.”
“Are you moving the rest of us to the Tavern?”
“Yes. There’ll be a nice room for you tomorrow. Do you mind?”
“I think it’s a grand idea.”
“Yeah. Cash’ll be there.”
“Where will you be?”
“Oh - I’ll be around, too.”
“I still think it’s a grand idea.”
“That’s - that’s great,” said the sheriff.
In the meantime, Charlie Chan had hurried to the kitchen. Cecile was alone there, with Trouble. “Your husband?” Charlie cried.
“He’s just gone,” Cecile answered. “Did you wish to see him?”
“I wanted him to do an errand for me,” Chan explained. “I desired that he convey Trouble back to Miss Meecher, in Reno.”
“You can catch him, I think,” Cecile answered. She snatched up the startled dog, and thrust it into Chan’s arms, “Michael will be glad to do it, I’m sure.”
“Thank you so much,” Chan cried and rushed out the door. As he approached the field, the hum of a motor rose on the still evening air. At the first sound of the engine Trouble leaped to life. He trembled with excitement, threw back his head, and time after time he barked a short happy bark. He was almost overcome with joyous anticipation.
As Charlie ran on to the field, he saw that the aviator was about to take off. Near the whirring propeller stood Dudley Ward’s boatman. Chan shouted as loudly as he could and hastening to the side of the plane, he held up the dog and explained what he wanted.
“Sure, I’ll take him,” Ireland answered. “We’re buddies, ain’t we, Trouble? Crazy about flyin’, this dog is.”
The detective handed over the excited little terrier, and fell back to a safe distance. He stood and watched the machine taxi across the snowy field, then rise against the green splendor of the pines, and finally melt away into the fast-darkening sky. Deep in thought, he turned and walked back to the house.
When Charlie entered the living-room, the sheriff looked up with an expression that was almost one of relief. “Oh, there you are,” he cried, rising hastily. “I was waitin’ for you.”
“The wait, I trust, was not unpleasant,” Chan smiled.
“No - but, of course - I got to get back now. Well, Miss Beaton, I’ll be seein’ you. I hope your brother got all the things you wanted.”
“If he got half of them,” smiled the girl, “I’ll be in luck. Poor Hugh - he’s so artistic.” She said good-by and ascended the stairs.
“I also will say good-by,” remarked Charlie, and walked with the sheriff out the door and across the veranda. When they reached the path, he added: “Also, I desire to tell you that I just turned Trouble over to Michael Ireland. He is taking the little fellow back to Reno by plane.”
“A great idea,” said Holt heartily. “Saves time.”
Chan lowered his voice. “It was not to save time that I did it.”
“No?”
“No. I would like to call to your attention the fact that Trouble was wild with joy at sound of the motor. He was not afraid of the plane tonight.”
“Does that mean anything?” asked Don Holt.
“It might. I incline to think it does. In fact, I believe that in this case Trouble is what my old friend, Inspector Duff of Scotland Yard, would call the essential clue.”
Chapter X
ROMANO’S LUCKY BREAK
The young sheriff stood for a moment, staring across the lake at the last flickering of white on Genoa Peak. He removed his two-gallon hat, as though to give his mind a better chance.
“Trouble,” he said, “a clue? I ain’t gettin’ it, Inspector.”
Charlie shrugged. “Nevertheless,” he replied, “such statement is based on facts equally well known to you.”
Don Holt restored his hat. “Ain’t any use, I reckon,” he remarked. “You jes’ go your way, an’ I’ll go mine, an’ when you get to the top of the hill, drop a rope for me. By the way, when the coroner finishes, maybe you’d like to have a talk with him?”
“Very much indeed.”
“Can you run a motor-boat?”
“Sometimes I have been permitted to drive the one belonging to my son, Henry - as a generous recognition of the fact that I paid for same.”
“Good. I may give you a ring tonight. I’ll send Cash up to spell you here.” The sheriff paused. “I wish I had a good sensible deputy in this neighborhood,” he added sadly. “A married man.”
Chan smiled. “I could bring Miss Beaton to the Tavern with me. Pleasant spin over lake would do her vast good.”
“A great idea,” agreed the sheriff heartily. “Keep it in mind. Well, good luck. I’m sorry I ain’t any use to you.”
“Nonsense - you must not be discouraged. I remember well the first important case which came to me. Could I make distinguished progress? Can an ant shake a tree?”
“That’s about the way I feel - like an ant.”
“But you are indispensable. These are, as my cousin Willie Chan, baseball player, would say, your home grounds. I am only stranger, passing through, and it has been well said, the traveling dragon can not crush the local snake.” They walked together toward the pier. “Do not believe, however,” Chan continued, “that I consider myself dragon. I lack, I fear, the figure.”
“And you don’t breathe much fire,” Holt laughed. “But I guess you’ll get there, jes’ the same.”
Cash and Doctor Swan were standing near the launch. The latter held out his hand to Charlie.
“Inspector,” he remarked, “I fear we must separate for a time. But we shall meet again, no doubt.”
“Such is my hope,” the detective answered politely.
“I - I don’t wish to seem overly curious - but was your visit to Reno successful?”
“In many ways - amazingly so.”
“Splendid! I realize it’s none of my affair, but Romano has been speculating on the matter all day, so I am moved to ask - does it happen that Landini signed the will - the one leaving her property to Beaton?”
Charlie hesitated but a second. “She did not sign it.”
“Ah,” nodded Swan. “A lucky break for Romano. Good night, Inspector. I shall see you, no doubt, at the Tavern.”
“Good night,” Chan answered thoughtfully.
Cash was already in the launch, Swan followed, and Don Holt took his place at the wheel. In a moment they were off.
Charlie stood watching the little boat as it sped along the brief three miles of shore-line that separated Pineview from the Tavern. Swan, he reflected, would not be far away if he wanted him, and Swan was the sort of man who might be wanted at any moment.
Walking slowly up the path, Chan paused at the foot of the steps. There he stood for a moment, staring up into the branches of the lofty pines. His glance moved thoughtfully from the lowest branch of the tree nearest the house to the balcony outside the study. He retreated a few steps to obtain a better view of the study window. Suddenly a light flashed on inside. Sing appeared and drew the curtains.
Deep in meditation, Chan proceeded, not up the steps, but around to the rear of the house. There were various sheds and a good-sized garage between him and the hangar. From one of the sheds, a man emerged.
“Good evening,” said Chan. “It was you, I believe, who brought us down in the launch last night?”
The man came closer. “Oh - good evenin’. Yes - I’m Mr. Ward’s boatman.”
“You do not live on the place?”
“No, not now. I’m here jes’ July an’ August. Other times, when Mr. Ward wants me, he telephones my home down t’ Tahoe.”
“Ah, yes. You just now assisted Mr. Ireland in the starting of his plane. Did you by
any chance do the same here last night?”
“Lord, no, mister. I wasn’t here last night. Soon’s I landed you all at the pier, I scurried back home. Mr. Ward said I wouldn’t be needed no more, an’ we was havin’ the weekly meetin’ of the contract bridge club at our house.”
Charlie smiled. “Thank you. I will not detain you further.”
“Terrible thing, this murder,” the boatman ventured. “Ain’t had one o’ them round here in years.”
“Terrible, indeed,” Chan nodded.
“Well - I guess I better be hurryin’ back to supper. The wife ain’t none too pleased with me to-day, anyhow. Say, mister - you don’t happen to know anything about a psychic bid, do you?”
“Psychic?” Chan frowned. “Ah, you refer to bridge. I don’t play it.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” replied the boatman, and hastened round the house, evidently bound for the pier.
The door of the garage was open, and Chan stepped inside. Only a flivver there at present, he noted - perhaps a larger car could not as yet make its way up the road from the Tavern. For a while the detective explored the place as well as he could in that dim light. He had just come upon a long ladder Iying at the rear, when one of the doors banged shut, and he had to hurry to make the opening in time. Sing stood just outside, about to adjust a padlock.
“Hello,” cried the old man, startled. “Wha’s mallah you? You no b’long this place.”
“Merely taking look-see,” Chan explained.
“You look-see too much,” grumbled Sing. “Some day, some place, you get in, no can get out. Why you no min’ own business, hey?”
“So sorry,” Chan replied humbly. “I go now and buy a fan to hide my face.”
“Allight. Plenty time you do,” Sing nodded.
Feeling decidedly embarrassed, Charlie walked toward the house. Always, he reflected, he seemed to be coming off second-best in encounters with Sing. He stamped the snow from his shoes, entered the rear door and heard at once the voice of Mrs. O’Ferrell.
Charlie Chan [6] The Keeper of the Keys Page 13
