“Take that out iv here,” she was saying in a loud voice. “I won’t have it in me kitchen.”
“It will not injure you.” It was Cecile who answered.
“That’s as may be,” replied Mrs. O’Ferrell, “but I’ve cooked f’r thirty year without - ah, Mr. Chan - is it you?” she added, as Charlie appeared in the doorway.
“Indubitably,” replied Charlie, “and deeply sorry to interrupt.”
“Sure, ‘tis nothing,” Mrs. O’Ferrell replied. “I was just tellin’ this Frinch girl that I’ve cooked f’r thirty year without guns in me kitchen, an’ I ain’t goin’ to start now.”
Cecile produced a small revolver from the folds of her skirt. “I am so nervous,” she explained to Chan. “All the time, since last night, I am so jumpy and nervous. So I ask Michael to bring me this - from Reno.”
“An’ now we can all be nervous, an’ with good reason, too,” the cook added.
“There is no cause for alarm,” Cecile assured her, “Michael has taught me -” she paused.
“Mr. Ireland taught you to use it,” Chan finished for her.
“Yes. He - he was in the war, you understand.”
“An aviator, it may be.”
“Ah - he wished so much to be an aviator. But no - that did not happen. He was sergeant of infantry.” Cecile started for the door. “Do not fret, Mrs. O’Ferrell. I will take this to my room.”
“An’ look which way ye point it, even there,” admonished Mrs. O’Ferrell. “Thim walls on the third floor is none too thick.” She turned to Chan, as Cecile went out. “I don’t hold with guns,” she said. “The way I see it, the fewer guns they is, the fewer people gets killed.”
“You are exponent of disarmament,” smiled Chan.
“I am that,” she replied firmly. “An’ it’s a lonely thing to be - among the Irish.”
“Among any people, I fear,” Chan replied gravely. “I have paused here, Mrs. O’Ferrell, to offer most humble apologies. It was not possible to retain the little dog at Pineview. It was not even possible, under the circumstances, that you should bid him farewell.”
The woman nodded. “I know. Cecile was tellin’ me. It’s sorry I am to lose him - but if there was thim had a better claim -“
“There was one who had such claim,” Chan assured her. “I am so very sorry. I trust I am forgiven.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Mrs. O’Ferrell.
Charlie bowed. “He who keeps the friendship of a prince,” he said, “wins honors. But he who keeps that of a cook, wins food. My preference runs to the latter - when the cooking is as superlative as yours.”
“Ye have a nice way of talking, Mr. Chan. Thank ye so much.”
As he spoke with Mrs. O’Ferrell, Charlie had been conscious of music in the distant living-room. Walking down the passageway and pushing open the door, he saw that Romano was seated at the piano, and that Hugh Beaton stood beside him. Only a few lights were on in the big room; the reflection of firelight was on the paneled walls, the scene was one of peace and harmony. Romano played well, and Beaton’s voice was surprisingly good as he sang, not very loudly, words in a language Chan did not recognize. The detective tiptoed toward the fire and dropped into a chair.
Presently the music stopped and Romano, leaping to his feet, began to pace the floor excitedly.
“Excellent,” he cried. “You have a really excellent voice.”
“Do you think so?” Beaton asked eagerly.
“Ah - you lack confidence - you lack courage. You need the proper push - the proper management. Who has arranged your concerts?”
“Why - the Adolfi Musical Bureau - mostly.”
“Paughl Adolfi - what does he know! A business man - with the heart of a plumber! I - Luis Romano - I could manage you. I could make of you a huge success. Do I know the game? Signor - I invented it. From one end of the country to the other I would make you famous - in Europe, too. For a salary, of course -“
“I have no money,” the boy said.
“Ah - but you forget. You have Landini’s money - and there is plenty believe me. I know. Plenty - though mostly now in real estate. Times will change - the real estate will sell. A house in Washington Square - an apartment building on Park Avenue - a summer place at Magnolia -“
“I don’t want them,” Hugh Beaton said.
“But you should leap at the chance. I tell you, you need confidence. A voice like yours - all this money to exploit it - I will assist, gladly.”
“I gave a concert in New York,” the boy told him. “The reviews weren’t very good.”
“The reviews! Bah! Critics are sheep - they never lead. They follow. The path must be pointed out to them. I could arrange it. But first - you must believe in yourself. I tell you - you can sing.” Suddenly Romano walked over to the chair where Charlie was seated. “Mr. Chan, will you kindly give this foolish boy your opinion of his voice?”
“To me,” Charlie answered, “it sounded most beautiful.”
“You see?” Romano turned to Beaton, gesturing violently. “What have I told you? A layman - an outsider - one who knows little of music - even he says so. Then will you believe me - Luis Romano - born with music in the very soul? I tell you that with Landini’s money -“
“But I won’t take Landini’s money,” the boy repeated stubbornly.
Charlie rose. “Do not worry,” he said. “You will not be called upon to take it. It was not left to you.”
Romano leaped forward, his dark eyes glowing. “Then the will was never signed?” he almost shouted.
“It was not signed,” Chan told him.
Romano turned to Beaton. “I am sorry,” he said. “I will not be able to accept the position you have so kindly offered me. I will be otherwise engaged. But I repeat - you have a wonderful organ. You must believe. Confidence, my boy, confidence. Mr. Chan, if Landini died intestate, her property is left -“
“To her son, perhaps,” Chan answered, keenly regarding the Italian.
Romano paled suddenly. “You mean - she had a son?”
“You yourself said so, last night.”
“No, no - I had no real knowledge on that point. I was -“
“Lying?”
“I was desperate - I explained that. Any chance that offered - have you ever been hungry, Mr. Chan?”
“You were telling the truth, unconsciously, Mr. Romano. Landini had a son - but he died three years ago.”
“Ah - poor Landini! That was just before our marriage. I would not know.”
“So I fancy her property is yours, Mr. Romano.”
“Thank heaven for that,” remarked Hugh Beaton, and started up the stairs.
Romano sat, staring into the fire. “Ah, Landini,” he said softly, “she would never listen to me. Time after time, I tell her - you must cease to procrastinate. You must not for ever put things off. You say, I will do this, I would tell her, and you never do it. Where will it finish? It has finished in fortune for me. She never took to heart what I said - and now that means fortune for me.”
For a time Charlie stood gazing down at this temperamental man whose sudden changes from one mood to another presented him with one of the greatest puzzles of his life.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “the murder of Landini means fortune for you.”
Romano looked up suddenly. “You will think I killed her,” he cried. “For the love of God, don’t think that! Landini - she was dear to me - I worshipped her - I adored her marvelous voice - do not think I would silence that -“
Chan shrugged. “For the present, I do not think at all,” he answered, and turning, went upstairs to his room.
His last words to Romano were not quite accurate. Seated in a chair before his fire, he thought very hard indeed. Could Romano have known that the will was unsigned? In that case, would he have made the determined effort to become the manager of Hugh Beaton? To acquire some portion of Landini’s estate, by way of Beaton’s pocket? No - hardly. And yet - ah, yes - his suggestion of the mana
gership had been made with Charlie in the room, listening.
Might that not have been, then, a sly trick - for the man was undoubtedly sly. To make Chan think that he expected nothing, that he had resigned himself to the idea of Landini’s money going to Beaton. When an the time, he knew only too well -
Charlie sighed ponderously. A problem, that was. And Cecile? Sending for a pistol - would a guilty person, who had already fired one pistol in that house, openly parade another? Probably not. But - might that not be a gesture of innocence, staged for his special benefit? Cecile was another sly one - her eyes betrayed her.
Leaning back in his chair, Chan considered the situation. About time, he reflected, that something definite, something a little less hazy and preposterous in the line of a clue, offered itself. Suddenly remembering, he rose and took the galley proofs of Landini’s autobiography from the table where he had laid them a moment ago. Adjusting a floor lamp, he read the first three chapters of the woman’s story. They were well written, he thought, with a touch of wistful nostalgia for the days of her youth that rather touched him. Especially since the scene of those days was his own beloved Honolulu.
A glance at the wristwatch which his daughter Rose had given him on his latest birthday told him it was time to prepare for dinner. As he left his room, at a few minutes before seven, he saw Dudley Ward in the study at the front of the house. He went there at once.
“Ah, Mr. Ward,” he said as he entered. “We are to have your company at dinner. You are brave man.”
“Sit down, Mr. Chan,” Ward answered. “Yes - I’m coming to dinner. I have had many sorrows in my life, but I have never yet tried to share them with my guests.”
Chan bowed. “A true definition of hospitality,” he replied. “Mr. Ward - if I could find proper words - but such, alas, evade me.”
“I understand,” Ward said gently. “You’re very kind.”
“And speaking of kindness,” Charlie went on, “I am telling myself that I must not impose upon yours. I was brought here for a certain task. That task, I am sorry to say, is now accomplished.”
“And you should have your check,” said Ward, reaching toward a drawer of his desk.
“Please,” cried Chan. “That idea had not occurred to me. What I meant was that I should no longer impose upon you in the role of guest -“
“That idea,” Ward interrupted, “had not occurred to me. My dear sir, the sheriff has asked you to stay. I demand that you stay - at least as long as you see a chance of solving this unhappy puzzle.”
“I had no doubt of your feeling. But have you thought of this - embarrassment might arise.”
Ward shook his head. “How so?”
Charlie got up and closed the door. “At moment of murder,” he remarked, “five persons were wandering alone in house. In Swan, Romano, Miss Beaton and Cecile I presume you have no great personal interest. There was one other.”
“One other? Pardon me - but I have been so terribly upset.”
“The last person to see Landini alive.”
“Sing! You can’t mean Sing?”
“Who else?”
For a long moment Ward was silent. On his face was an expression that Charlie had seen before. Where? Ah, yes, on the face of Sam Holt whenever the matter of Sing’s possible guilt came up. The old Chinese, Chan thought, was a man who was much beloved.
“Surely you haven’t found anything -” Ward said at last.
“So far, nothing,” Charlie answered. “We have been combing the hair of an iron donkey.”
“Just as I thought,” Ward nodded. “Mr. Chan, I have known Sing since I was a child, and no kinder soul ever lived. I appreciate your speaking to me about the matter - but I’ll take a chance on Sing.” He rose. “Perhaps we’d better go down to dinner. I don’t like to keep Mrs. O’Ferrell waiting -” He stopped suddenly. “Five persons, you said, unaccounted for.”
“I said five,” Charlie admitted.
“Six, Mr. Chan. Haven’t you forgot Mrs. O’Ferrell?”
“Indubitably. But what interest could that lady have had in Landini?”
“None whatever, that I know of,” Ward replied. “But accuracy, Mr. Chan - accuracy. I should have thought you would be a stickler for that.”
“It is true, I always have been” Chan assured him. “We will, in the future, call it six.”
He opened the door into the hall. Sing was standing very close to it.
“You hully up, Boss,” the old man cried, “or mebbe bimeby you no catch ‘um dinnah.”
“Coming right along,” Ward said. He insisted on Charlie’s going first and they stepped into the hall. Sing went limping ahead of them and, still limping, disappeared in the direction of the back stairs.
Chapter XI
A BALCONY IN STRESA
The rest of the party awaited them in the living-room: Leslie Beaton, a charming picture in a blue gown by the fire, her silent brother, Romano, looking undeniably cheerful, and Ryder, grim and dour as always.
“Are we all here?” Ward asked. “I don’t see Doctor Swan.”
Evidently Sing had not kept his promise to pass on Swan’s farewell. Chan explained the matter.
“Indeed,” Ward answered. “Miss Beaton - may I have the honor? I trust I am not to lose any more of my guests -“
As they moved into the dining-room, the girl said something about leaving on the morrow, and Ward murmured his regrets. When they were an seated, their host remarked: “Some one was singing down here this evening. Rather well, too.”
“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” Hugh Beaton said.
“Disturb me? I enjoyed it. You have a remarkably fine voice.”
“What did I say to you, Mr. Beaton?” Romano cried. “You would not believe me. Yet my opinion is highly regarded in some quarters. Even Mr. Chan agreed -“
“Ah, yes,” Charlie said. “But I am glad to have the corroboration of Mr. Ward and yourself. For I am no expert. The croaking raven thinks the owl can sing. However, in this case, it was no owl I heard.”
Beaton smiled at last. “Thanks, Mr. Chan,” he remarked.
“What is wrong with this brother of yours?” Romano demanded of the girl. “He has a great gift, and does not trust himself.”
“The artistic temperament, I’m afraid,” Leslie Beaton remarked. “Of late, Hugh has lost faith in himself. One of his reviews in New York was bad, and he can’t seem to recover.”
“One of them!” Romano shrugged. “Ah, he knows nothing of life. He needs a manager - a man of intelligence and musical taste -“
“Yourself,” smiled the girl.
“I would be ideal,” Romano admitted.
“You could at least teach him self-confidence.”
“That - yes. A bold front - it is vital to success in the modern world. And I could teach him more. At present, I do not believe I am available. But I would be glad to find a substitute.”
“That’s good of you,” the Beaton girl replied.
Her brother stared morosely at his plate. A silence fell.
“I am so sorry you’re leaving Pineview,” Ward said presently to the girl. “But then, I realize there is little entertainment here.”
“It’s a charming place,” she murmured, and in the silence that again fell upon the company, Charlie realized the strain it must be on the host to keep up the conversation. Modestly, he sought to help.
“There is vast entertainment here,” he said. “Particularly for me. At home, I am amateur student of trees. I know the palms - the coconut, the royal, all of them. But I must confess myself shamefully ignorant of the coniferous trees.”
“The what?” asked Leslie Beaton.
“The coniferous trees. Those bearing cones, you understand.”
She smiled. “I’ve learned something to-day.”
“That is good,” he told her. “Learning which does not daily advance, daily decreases. Myself, I am fond admirer of study. He who listens to the chatter outside the window, and neglects his books, is
but a donkey in clothes.”
“That sounds very sensible,” she assured him.
“I believe so. For that reason, I shall, if I can find leisure, study the pines, the firs and the cedars. I am slightly familiar - in books - with the Scottish, the Corsican, the umbrella pine. The Austrian, too. Mr. Romano, when you fought so bravely on the northern front, you must have come in contact with Austrian pines.”
“With many things I came in contact,” Romano told him. “Maybe an Austrian pine. Who shall say?”
“No doubt. I am at a loss to classify the local variety. Perhaps, Mr. Ryder, you can help me?”
“What should I know about it?” Ryder demanded.
“But you have been mining man in these parts. You have been snowed in among these very trees.” Ryder gave him a startled look. “Is it too much to hope that you are interested in this subject?”
“It certainly is,” the other told him.
“Ah,” Chan shrugged, “then perhaps I must pursue my studies alone. In a certain family of pine, the bark grows much thicker near the ground, and becomes more fragile as one ascends. Are these pines of that family? I must investigate. Alas - I have not much of the figure for tree climbing.” He gazed blandly about the table. “I envy you an your delectable slenderness.”
Sing appeared at that moment with the main course, and as the conversation again lagged after his departure, Charlie deserted the pines, a subject which did not seem to interest his hearers to any extent, and launched into a little talk on the flora of the Hawaiian islands. Miss Beaton, at least, became an ardent listener. She asked many questions, and the dinner hour slipped by.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii,” she told him.
“Save it” he advised, “for honeymoon. Any husband seems possible under Waikiki sky. And the kind you will achieve - he will appear Greek god.”
The dinner presently ended, and they returned to the living-room, where Sing served coffee, and cordials from Dudley Ward’s precious stock. For a time they sat and smoked, but before very long, Charlie arose.
“If you will pardon me,” he said, “I go to my room.”
“More study?” asked the girl.
Charlie Chan [6] The Keeper of the Keys Page 14
