Charlie Chan [6] The Keeper of the Keys

by Earl Derr Biggers

  “Yes, Miss Beaton.” His eyes narrowed. “I am reading very interesting work.”

  “Would I enjoy it?”

  “Not, perhaps, so much as I. Some day, we will allow you to decide.” He paused for a moment beside John Ryder’s chair. “Excuse, sir, that I intrude my business on this pleasant scene, but I would be greatly obliged if you would grant me an interview above.”

  Ryder looked out from the cloud of cigar smoke that enveloped him - an unfriendly look. “What about?”

  “Need I tell you that?”

  “If you wish me to come.”

  Chan’s usually kind face hardened. “He who acts for the emperor, is the emperor,” he remarked. “And he who acts for the sheriff - is the sheriff.”

  “Even if he’s a Chinaman?” sneered Ryder, but rose to go.

  As Chan followed him up the stairs, hot anger burned in his heart. Many men had called him a Chinaman, but he had realized they did so from ignorance, and good-naturedly forgave them. With Ryder, however, he knew the case was otherwise, the man was a native of the West coast, he lived in San Francisco, and he understood only too well that this term applied to a Chinese gentleman was an insult. So, no doubt, he had intended it.

  It was, therefore, in a mood far less amiable than was his wont, that the plump Chinese followed the long lean figure of Ryder into the latter’s room. The door, as he closed it after him, might have almost been said to slam.

  Ryder turned on him at once. “So,” he remarked, “judging from the conversation at dinner, you have been prying into my private affairs.”

  “I have been asked by the sheriff of this county to assist in important case,” Charlie retorted. “For that reason I must examine the past of Madame Landini. It is with no glow of self-congratulation, my dear sir, that I find you lurking there.”

  “I lurked there, as you put it, very briefly.”

  “One winter only?”

  “Just about that long.”

  “In a cabin - up the ravine.” Charlie removed a bit of paper from his pocket, and passed it to Ryder. “I found this among Landini’s clippings,” he explained.

  Ryder took it and read it. “Ah, yes - she would save that - among her souvenirs. To her, I suppose, it was a mere passing incident. To me, it was much more.” He handed back the clipping and Chan took it, staring silently at the mining man. “What else do you want to know? Everything, I fancy. Good Lord - what a profession yours is! You may as well sit down.”

  Charlie accepted this grudging invitation, and Ryder took a chair on the opposite side of the fire.

  “I’d always admired Landini,” the latter began, “and when she split up with Dudley I followed her, after a decent interval, to New York. I found her in a rather discouraged mood. She said she’d marry me - give up her career - it was a case of whither thou goest - you know. A grand overpowering love. And it lasted - nearly a month.

  “You see, I was bound for the mine, and she came along - a great lark, she thought it. Then it started to snow - and she couldn’t get out. So she began to think. Night after night, with only the candles burning, she talked of Paris, New York, Berlin - what she’d given up for me. After a time, I talked of what I’d given up for her - my peace of mind, my freedom. And our hatred for each other grew.

  “Toward the end of the winter, I fell ill - desperately ill - but she scarcely looked at me. She left me there in my bunk, at the mercy of a stupid old man who worked for us. When the first sled went out in the spring, she was on it, with scarcely a good-by to me. I told her to go - and be damned. She got a divorce in Reno - incompatibility - God knows I couldn’t argue that.”

  He was silent for a moment - staring into the fire. “That’s the whole story - a winter of hate - what a winter! There is no hate in the world such as comes to two people who are shut up together in a prison like that. Can you wonder that I have never forgotten - that I never wanted to see her again - that I did not want to see her last night, when Dudley foolishly invited her here? Can you wonder that I loathed the very mention of her name?”

  “Mr. Ryder,” Chan said slowly, “what was in that letter Landini wrote to you just before she died? The letter you tore open, read and then burned in the study fireplace?”

  “I have told you,” the man replied, “that I did not receive the letter. I couldn’t, therefore, have opened it, read it or burned it.”

  “That is your final statement?” Charlie asked gently.

  “My only statement - and the truth. I did not go to the study. I remained in this room from the time you left me until you saw me again on the stairs.”

  Chan got slowly to his feet, walked to one of the windows and stared out toward the empty flying field. “One more question, only,” he continued. “This morning, at breakfast, you remark to Mr. Ward that you have noticed Sing’s eyes are bad - that he requires glasses. When did you notice that?”

  “Last night, just after I came,” Ryder answered. “You see, years ago, when I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time at this house. One summer I taught Sing to read. English, I mean. I asked him, when we came in here last night, if he’d kept it up. I couldn’t quite gather whether he had, or hadn’t, so I picked up a book from the table and told him to read me the first paragraph. He held it very close to his eyes - couldn’t seem to see very well. I made up my mind I’d mention the matter to Dudley.”

  Chan bowed. “It was most kind of you - to teach him the art of reading. But then - you are very fond of him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? A grand character, Sing. One of the real Chinese.”

  The implication was not lost on Charlie, but he ignored it. “I, too, have great admiration for Sing,” he replied amiably. He moved to the door. “Thank you so much. You have been very helpful.”

  Slowly he walked back along the hall to his own room, passing as he did so the spot where, only a few hours before, he had found Sing unconscious from a brutal blow to the face. So much had happened since, he had almost forgotten that incident. Among his many puzzles, he reflected, the assault on Sing was one of the most perplexing.

  He entered his room, closed the door and took up again the galley proofs of Ellen Landini’s story. Seated in the chair beside the floor lamp, he read two more chapters. The spell of the woman’s personality, as it crept from these inanimate sheets, began to take hold of his imagination. Warm, glowing, alive, she wrote gaily and with increasing charm. Her earliest marriage, those glorious days in Paris when first she was told that she was one of the gifted, would walk among the great. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

  Chapter Six. As he stared at this caption, it came to him to wonder how many chapters there were in all. He turned to the final galley, and worked back from there to the beginning of the final chapter. Twenty-eight, it was. Well, in twenty-eight chapters, perhaps he could find something that would help him.

  His eyes fell casually on the beginning of that last chapter. The names of foreign far-off places - always they intrigued and held him. Almost unconsciously he began to read:

  “After my marvelously successful season in Berlin, I came for a rest to Stresa, on lovely Lago Maggiore. It is here, on a balcony of the Grand Hotel et des Iles Borromees that I write the concluding chapters of my book. Where could I have found a more beautiful setting? I gaze in turn at the aquamarine waters, the fierce blue sky, the snowcapped Alps. Not far away, I am enraptured by Isola Bella, with its fantastic palace, its green terraces of orange and lemon trees rising a hundred feet above the lake. The thing that has always made life worth while for me -“

  Charlie’s small black eyes opened wide as he read on. His breath came faster; he uttered a little cry of satisfaction.

  Twice he read the opening paragraph from start to finish, then rose and paced the floor, overwhelmed with an excitement he could not suppress. Finally he came back and lifted that particular galley from the company of its fellows. Galley one hundred and ten, he noticed. He folded it carefully, placed it safely in the inner pocket of his coa
t, and patted affectionately the spot where it reposed.

  He must show this to the young sheriff. That was the fair thing to do - no clues should be concealed. And he had now, he thought exultantly, the clue he had been looking for, the clue that would ultimately lead them to success.

  Chapter XII

  SO YOU’RE GOING TO TRUCKEE?

  Charlie had sat down again and was plunging with renewed hope into the sixth chapter of Landini’s story when Sing knocked on his door. Cash Shannon, the old Chinese announced, was below, and desired to speak with the detective at once. Recalling his conversation with the sheriff, Chan went immediately downstairs. Ryder and Ward were smoking by the fire, Miss Beaton and her brother had evidently been reading, and Romano sat at the piano, his playing suspended for the moment. The resplendent Cash stood in the center of the room, smiling his confident smile.

  “Hello, Mr. Chan,” he remarked. “Don wants you to run down to the Tavern fer a while. He says to take his boat. I come up in her, an’ she’s out there now, rarin’ to go.”

  “Thank you so much,” Charlie answered. “Miss Beaton, would you perhaps enjoy brief spin on lake?”

  She leaped to her feet. “I’d love it.”

  “Air ain’t so good tonight,” suggested Cash, his smile vanishing. “Kinda damp. Rain or snow, mebbe.”

  “I’d love that, too,” Leslie Beaton added.

  “Things is pretty dull down to the Tavern,” Mr Shannon persisted. “Couldn’t recommend it as no gay party.”

  “I’ll be ready in a moment,” the girl called to Chan from the stairs.

  Cash continued to stand, gazing sadly at his hat. “Sit down, Shannon,” Dudley Ward suggested. “You’re to stay here until they return, I take it.”

  “Seems to have worked out that way.” Cash admitted. He looked at Charlie. “What ideas you do git,” he added.

  Chan laughed. “Sheriff’s orders,” he remarked.

  “Oh - I begin to see it now,” Cash replied. “An’ I broke a date with a blonde to come down here.”

  Leslie Beaton reappeared, her face flushed and eager above the collar of a fur coat. “Hope you won’t be long,” Cash said to her.

  “There’s no telling,” she smiled. “You mustn’t worry, Mr. Shannon. I’ll be in the best possible company. Are you ready, Mr. Chan?” Out on the path, she looked aloft. “What - no moon?” she cried. “And not even a star. But plenty of sky. And such a joy to get a breath of fresh air.”

  “I fear our friend Cash does not approve our plans,” Chan ventured.

  She laughed. “Oh, one afternoon of Cash is sufficient unto the day. You know, I think there’s a lot to be said for the strong silent men.”

  She got into the launch, and Chan took his place at her side. “Trust my avoirdupois is not too obnoxious,” he remarked.

  “Plenty of room,” she assured him. He started the motor, and swung in a wide circle out on to the lake. “It is a bit damp and chilly, isn’t it?” the girl said.

  “Some day,” he replied, “I should enjoy privilege of escorting you along Honolulu water-front, accompanied perhaps by lunar rainbow.”

  “It sounds gorgeous,” she sighed. “But I’ll never make it. Too poor. Always too poor.”

  “Poverty has its advantages,” Chan smiled. “The rats avoid the rice boiler of the lowly man.”

  “And so does the rice,” nodded the girl. “Don’t forget that.”

  They sped along the shore, great black houses, bleak and uninhabited, at their left. “You have learned, I take it, that your brother is not to inherit the estate of Landini,” Charlie said.

  “Yes - and it’s the best news I’ve had in years. Money that came that way wouldn’t have done Hugh any good. In fact, it would probably have ruined his career.”

  Chan nodded. “But now - his precious career is safe. You must not be offended, but Landini’s death is, I suspect, a great relief to you.”

  “I try not to think of it as such. It was, of course, a terrible thing. And yet - we’re frank in these days, aren’t we, Mr. Chan? - it has released my brother. Even he, I believe, feels that.”

  “You have talked with him about it?”

  “Oh, no. But I knew, without being told, that he was heart-sick over his predicament. He never really intended to become engaged to her. She sort of - well, jollied him into it. She had a way with her, you know.”

  “I know,” Chan agreed.

  “Somehow, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her at times, in spite of everything. She was still seeking romance - she needed it, you might say, in her business. And she was thirty-eight years old!”

  “Incredible!” cried Chan, with a secret smile at the young girl beside him. “Poor foolish Landini.” The lights of the Tavern popped up ahead. “One question I would like to ask, if I may,” he continued. “You said last night you had met Doctor Swan before. Could you tell me the circumstances?”

  “Surely. It was over in Reno. Some people had taken me to a gambling place - just for a lark, you know. Doctor Swan was there, playing roulette.”

  “Did he have aspect of confirmed gambler, please?”

  “He seemed pretty excited, if that’s what you mean. One of our party knew him, and introduced us. Later, he joined us at supper. He sat beside me, and I talked to him about Landini. I wish now I hadn’t.”

  “You still believe he placed your scarf in Landini’s hands?”

  “He must have.”

  Chan nodded. “He may have. I can not say. But should you meet him tonight, please do me one vast favor. Assume that he did not try to involve you, and be cordial to him.”

  “Cordial to him? Why, of course - if you ask it.”

  “That is so good of you. It happens that I have small plan forming in rear of my mind, and I shall require your help. This much alone I need tell you now - I am eager to watch Doctor Swan while he gambles.”

  “I don’t know what it’s all about,” the girl smiled. “But rely on me.”

  They were now beside the pier. Chan tied up the launch, and walked with the girl up the steps of the terrace to the Tavern. The lights were blazing in the big lounge, Charlie pushed open the door and followed the girl inside.

  Don Holt at once came forward and took charge of Leslie Beaton, with that shy manner of his which was at the same time full of authority. Moving on to the fireplace, Chan encountered Dinsdale, the manager, Doctor Swan, Sam Holt and a small nervous man in a black suit.

  “I don’t know as this is any picnic for you,” the young sheriff was saying to the girl. “Jes’ thought maybe you’d like to come for the boat ride.”

  “That part of it was fine,” she assured him.

  “But this don’t look so gay, does it?” he said, his eager look fading.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Who’s the little man in black?”

  “Well - he’s the coroner.”

  “Good. I’ve never met a coroner. Having new experiences all the time. Up to last night, I’d never met a sheriff. And I got through that all right.”

  “You sure did, as far as the sheriff’s concerned,” Don Holt said. “Now - er - Mr. Chan an’ I got a little business, an’ then I guess I’ll be free for - the rest of the evening. I’m afraid that’s about all that’s goin’ to happen - jes’ the rest of the evening.”

  “That sounds exciting enough for me,” she smiled.

  He left her with Dinsdale and Swan before the fire and walked down to the far end of the big room, whither Charlie had already led Sam Holt and the coroner. “Well, Inspector,” he said, “I reckon you’ve already met Doctor Price?”

  “I have had that pleasure,” Chan returned. “He assures me that Landini was murdered by person or persons unknown. He has, you will observe, caught up with us in our search.”

  “The usual verdict, of course,” the physician remarked. “Unless you gentlemen have some evidence of which I am not aware.” He waited for an answer.

  Chan shook his head. “It is now less than twenty-four hours
since the killing,” he remarked, looking at his watch. “Our researches in that time have been amazingly extensive, but lack definite results. It is the same old story. Like pumpkins in a tub of water, we push one suspect down, and another pops up. However, we do not despair. Tell me, Doctor - what of the course of the bullet?”

  Doctor Price cleared his throat. “Ah - er - the bullet, which was of thirty-eight caliber and obviously from the revolver of the deceased, entered the person of the deceased four inches below the left shoulder, and after that pursued a downward course -“

  “Then it was fired from above?”

  “Undoubtedly. The deceased may have been struggling with her assailant, she may have fallen to her knees, and the assailant, standing above her, fired -“

  “How close was weapon held?”

  “I can not say. Not very, I believe. At least, there were no powder marks.”

  “Ah, yes,” Chan nodded. “One thing more interests me. Could the dec - I mean, the lady, have taken any step after the wound was received?”

  “Which I asked him myself,” put in Sam Holt. “He don’t know.”

  “There might be two schools of thought on that problem,” the doctor said. “You see, the human heart is a hollow muscular organ, more or less conical in shape, situated in the thorax between the two lungs. It is enclosed in a strong membranous sac, called the pericardium -“

  “He jes’ runs on like that,” Sam Holt explained. “The sum of it all is, he don’t know.”

  Charlie smiled. “At least, you have the bullet?” he inquired of the sheriff.

  “Yes - Doc gave it to me. I got it over there in Jim Dinsdale’s safe, along with Landini’s revolver.”

  “Excellent,” Chan nodded. “And who would have the combination to this safe?”

  “Why - nobody but Dinsdale and his bookkeeper.”

  “Ah, yes. Dinsdale and his bookkeeper. Presently we may give more thought to the safe. Mr. Coroner, I thank you so much.”

  “Don’t mention it,” returned Doctor Price briskly. “I am staying here with Jim overnight - anything more I can tell you, you have only to ask. Glad to have met you. I’m turning in now - want to get an early start in the morning.”