“My velly much obliged.”
“That is better. It still appears inadequate, but it is slightly better.”
They traveled along the wet road in silence. Chan’s face was grim and determined. This next hour, he reflected, was not to be the happiest of his career. All those years on the Honolulu force, beset with temptations, but always honest, always irreproachable. And now - to come to the mainland, to do what he was doing - would his conscience ever be clear again? Ah - thank the gods - the lights of Truckee were twinkling just ahead.
Chan drove at once to the station. “Train for San Francisco arrives in twenty minutes,” he announced. “I have consulted time table.” They entered the waiting-room, Sing carrying his small bag. “You got money, Ah Sing?” Charlie asked.
“My got ‘um,” the old man answered.
“Then purchase for yourself a ticket,” Chan ordered. “I am sorry, but we do not also furnish fare.”
As Sing returned from the ticket window, the detective noted that he was limping.
“Your knee still troubles you?” Chan inquired.
“Velly bad knock,” Sing admitted. He put his foot on a bench, and rolling up his wide trousers, exhibited a considerable expanse of black and blue.
“Ah, yes,” Chan said. “The wound you acquired when you bumped into dressing-table bench in Landini’s old sitting-room?”
“Tha’s when. Aftah my shoot -“
“Enough!” Charlie cried. He glanced uneasily around at the other people in the room and spoke in Cantonese. “Do not poke your finger through your own paper lantern. The luck is running high for you tonight, ancient one. Be cautious, lest the heart of the law yet harden against you.”
Sing appeared to be properly impressed. They sat down side by side on the narrow bench, and for a time, neither spoke.
“The government has fallen upon evil times,” Chan said at last. “You understand, it can not even afford to squander small piece of rope on man like you. Old man who will die soon, in any case. So it says - return to China -“
“I will go,” Sing remarked in his native tongue.
“I envy you. You will walk again the streets of the village where you were born. You will supervise the selection of your own burial place. I myself will see that your trunk is prepared and sent to you while you await the boat. Where shall I send it?”
“To the establishment of my brother, Sing Gow, in Jackson Street. The Fish Shop of the Delicious Odors.”
“It shall be done. For you, the past died this afternoon. The future is born tonight. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“I am the bearer of an affectionate message for you, ancient one. Mr. Sam Holt has sent it. He is proud to have known you.”
Sing’s face softened. “An honorable man. May the four nails of his coffin be of purest gold.”
“To match his heart,” Chan agreed. His own heart stirred with relief as he heard the approach of the train. “Come,” he said, rising. “Your vehicle draws near.”
They stepped on to the platform. In another moment the train thundered up to the station. Charlie held out his hand.
“I am saying good-by,” he shouted in Sing’s ear. “May your entire journey be on the sunny side of the road.”
“Goo’-by,” Sing answered. He took a few steps toward the train, but turned and came back. Removing something from his pocket, he handed it to Chan. “You give ‘em Boss,” he directed. “My fo’get. Tell ‘um Boss too much woik that house. Sing go away.”
“I will tell him,” Charlie agreed. He led Sing back to the steps of a day coach and helped him aboard.
Retiring to the shadows close to the station, Chan stood watching. He saw the old man drop into a seat and remove his hat. In the dim gas-light the wizened face was stolid, emotionless. The train gathered momentum, and Ah Sing was swept quickly from view. Still Chan hesitated, deep in thought. For the first time in his life - but this was the mainland, strange things happened here. And after all, Inspector Chan had no real authority.
When he got back to Tahoe, Chan again turned in at the Tavern gate. The stables were dark and deserted, and leaving the Pineview flivver parked in the drive, Charlie entered the hotel. Dinsdale was alone beside the office desk.
“Good evening, Mr. Chan,” he said. “Warming up a bit after the rain, isn’t it?”
“That may be,” Charlie replied. “I fear I had not noticed.”
“No - I suppose you’re a pretty busy man,” Dinsdale returned. “By the way - of course it’s none of my business, but - er - are you getting anywhere?”
“So sorry. There is nothing yet able to be announced.”
‘Well, of course, I didn’t mean to butt in.”
“Ah, but you are naturally interested. You were old-time friend of poor Madame Landini, I believe?”
“Yes. I knew her even before her first marriage. A beautiful girl - and a fine woman. I hope you haven’t been judging her entirely from the view-point of her discarded husbands.”
“For a time, I made that error,” Chan replied. “Then I read Madame’s own life-story, and my opinion changed. I agree with you - a splendid woman.”
“Good!” cried Dinsdale with unexpected vehemence. “I’m glad you feel that way. Because if you do, you’ll be almost as eager to see her murderer hang as I am. By the way, well be having dinner in half an hour. Please stay, as my guest.”
“I will be only too happy,” Chan bowed. He indicated a youth who had just come in and taken his place behind the desk. “Would you be so kind as to have this young man call Pineview, and inform whoever answers that I will not dine there tonight?”
“With pleasure,” Dinsdale answered.
“And now - if you can tell me the number of Mr. Sam Holt’s room?”
“It’s number nineteen - at the end of that corridor over there.”
At Charlie’s knock, Sam Holt called for him to come in. He entered to find the old sheriff standing in the middle of the room, adjusting his necktie.
“Hello, Mr. Chan,” he said, as he reached unerringly for his coat, which lay on the bed.
“Ah, you know my step,” Charlie remarked. “It indicates, I fear, the heaviness of my person.”
“Nothin’ o’ the sort,” Holt replied. “It’s the lightest step in the whole shebang, except mebbe that Miss Beaton’s.”
“But my weight -” Chan protested.
“I don’t keer about yer weight. You step like the tiger, Inspector Chan.”
“Yes?” sighed Charlie. “But a tiger who lets his prey escape.”
“Then I take it ye’ve gone an’ done that errand?”
“I have done it - yes.”
“Ye ain’t regrettin’ it, are ye?”
“Not unless you are, Mr. Holt.”
“Which I reckon I’m never goin’ to do, Mr. Chan. Howsomever, I’m glad to see ye first - before ye’ve talked to Don. I ain’t told Don anything yit.”
“The wisest course, no doubt,” Charlie agreed.
“It sure is. Ye know, Don really is in authority here. ‘Taint with him like it was with you an’ me. He’s took the oath, an’ he’s honest, the boy is. Reckon he’d feel he’d jest have to go after a certain party, an’ bring him back. An’ ye kain’t depend on juries no more, Inspector.”
“I fear you are right.”
“In the old days - wa’al, it would ha’ been different. But - they’s women on the juries now, Mr. Chan. An’ women ain’t got no sentiment. They’re hard, women are - since they took to runnin’ the world.”
“I have noticed that myself,” Charlie nodded.
“Yes, I jes’ figured we better give that certain party all the start we could.” The door of the room beyond the bath opened, then slammed. “It’s Don,” Sam Holt whispered.
“I will await you both in the lobby,” Chan whispered back. “It happens I am dining here tonight.”
He made a guilty sort of exit, aided by old Sam Holt, who was looking rather guilty
himself. Reaching the lounge, he selected a chair and sat down by the fire. In a few moments, a door from the terrace opened and Leslie Beaton entered.
“Hello, Mr. Chan,” she cried. “Glad to see you again. I’ve been out admiring the view. It’s marvelous.”
“You like this mountain country?” Chan asked.
“I love it.” She urged him back to his chair, and took the one beside it. “You know - sometimes I believe I’ll stay here. Would that be a good idea, do you think?”
“Happiness,” Charlie told her, “is not a matter of geography.”
“I suppose not.”
“Wherever we are, life is the same. The sweet, the sour, the pungent and the bitter - we must taste them all. To the contented, even the cabbage roots are fragrant.”
“I know,” she nodded. “Would I be contented here?”
Chan shrugged. “I seek to win reputation as philosopher, not as fortune-teller,” he reminded her. “If I were assaying latter role, I would say it would depend on whether you have a companion or not. You can not applaud with one hand.”
“Oh, well - I’m sorry I brought the matter up,” laughed the girl. “Let’s change the subject - shall we? Looking around for a new topic my eye lights - inevitably - on your necktie, Mr. Chan. I’m not accustomed to making personal remarks, but somehow that’s the sort of necktie one just can’t ignore.”
“Ah - one might call it red,” he replied.
“One couldn’t very well call it anything else,” she admitted.
“It was present from my young daughter, Evelyn, on recent Christmas,” he told her. “I had forgot I was so brilliantly adorned. But I remember now - I put it on this morning. For a purpose.”
Young Hugh Beaton came up at that moment, in a rather cheerful mood for him. Even one day at the Tavern seemed to have proved good medicine. He greeted Charlie in friendly fashion, and led his sister off to the dining-room. Presently Romano appeared, arrayed in evening clothes as though he were about to conduct an opera.
“Mr. Romano - how do you do,” Charlie remarked. “You quite confound me by your formal attire. When I - I must disgrace dining-room with necktie such as this.”
“What is wrong with the necktie?” Romano responded. “Me, I dress not for others, but for myself. You should do the same. Attired as I am now, I feel I am already back in some metropolitan center, such as New York. The thought - it gives me great happiness. The reality - it will be sublime.”
“Patience,” Chan counseled. “In time, the mulberry leaf becomes silk.”
Romano frowned. “Not so comforting, that. The process sounds complicated. But in the meantime, one may still eat.” He moved away.
Don Holt and his father appeared. “Hear you’re staying for dinner,” the former said. “Fine. You’ll sit with us, of course.”
“But I am Mr. Dinsdale’s guest,” Charlie protested.
“That’s all right - we’ll take a table for four,” Dinsdale said briskly, coming up just then. He led them into the dining-room. Don Holt looked a bit disappointed, for he knew discussion of the case must now be postponed until later. Chan, however, was deeply relieved. He had no desire for such a discussion with the sheriff of the county at the moment. Indeed, he did not look forward to it at any moment.
Toward the close of the dinner, Dinsdale was called away. Don Holt lost no time.
“I reckon Dad’s told you about my talk with Miss Beaton this afternoon,” he began. “The way I see it, that puts the murder of Landini right in old Sing’s lap. It’s like I told you at the first - I’ve knowed Sing ever since I was a kid. Always been fond of him, too. But when I took the oath of office, there wasn’t anything in it about protecting my friends. I got my job to do, and -“
He was interrupted by the arrival of the amiable Bill Rankin, who leaned suddenly above the table. Chan sighed with relief.
“Hello,” cried the reporter. “All the forces of the law, breaking bread together. Gosh - think of the poor criminals on a night like this. Well, what’s the good word to send down to the yawning presses?”
“You must find your own words,” Charlie told him. “Has your day disclosed nothing?”
Rankin dropped into Dinsdale’s empty chair. “We had a nice time in Reno. Called on Miss Meecher. I suppose you know this sleek boy named Romano stands in line for all Landini’s property?”
“We do,” said Don shortly.
“Well, Romano was at Pineview the night of the murder,” Rankin went on cheerily. “Sort of puts the lad in the running, doesn’t it? He knew the singer - and the money - was slipping away from him in a couple of weeks. He knew Landini had a pistol in her hand-bag. Need I say more?”
“Thank you so much,” grinned Chan. “Gentlemen, our case is solved. Odd we did not think of this ourselves.”
“Oh, you thought of it all right,” Rankin laughed. “But what I’m getting at is - wouldn’t you like to think of it all over again, just for tomorrow morning’s paper?”
“Has libel law been repealed?” Charlie asked blandly.
“Libel? Innuendo, Mr. Chan. A game at which I am probably the most expert player west of the Rockies. Well, if that little point doesn’t interest you, maybe you’ll answer me a question.”
“I must hear it before I can answer it,” Charlie replied.
“You’ll hear it, all right. Why did you take that old Chinese servant, Sing, over to Truckee this evening in a flivver, and put him on a train for San Francisco?”
Charlie Chan had known a long and active career, but never before had he encountered such an embarrassing moment as this. In the dead silence that followed the innocent dropping of Rankin’s bomb, Chan looked across and saw the fine eyes of Don Holt ablaze with sudden anger. Old Sam Holt’s hand trembled as he hastily set down his water glass. Charlie did not speak.
“You can’t keep that dark,” Rankin went on. “Gleason ran over to file a couple of stories with the telegrapher at the station, and he saw you. What was the big idea?”
The reporter looked directly at Chan, and was amazed at the answering look he received from one who had, a few moments ago, appeared so glad to see him.
“I took Sing to Truckee as a favor - from one Chinese to another,” Charlie said slowly. He rose to his feet. “Sing desired to make a visit to San Francisco, and as there were several points I wanted investigated down there, I decided to permit that he go. The matter means little, one way or the other, but I prefer that for the present you write nothing about it.”
“Why, sure - if you say so,” Rankin returned pleasantly. “It just seemed rather queer, that’s all.”
But Charlie was already walking rapidly away from the table. Don Holt and the old sheriff followed closely at his heels. He moved on, straight through the lobby and into Dinsdale’s small private office. As he expected, the others did the same.
Don Holt came in last and slammed the door shut behind him. His face was white, his eyes dangerously narrowed.
“So,” he said, through his teeth, “you took him there as a favor - from one Chinese to another? Some favor - if you’re asking me!”
“Hold yer horses, Don,” his father cried.
“I’ve been double-crossed,” the boy went on. “I’ve been made a fool of -“
“Wa-al, ef ye have, son - I done it. I told Mr. Chan to take Sing to Truckee. I told him to help him git away - to China.”
“You!” cried Holt. “To China! An’ all the time ye knew he was guilty as hell. You knew he went into that room - you knew he fired that shot -“
“I knew all that, son.”
“Then how could you let me down like this? Get out o’ my way!”
“Where you goin’?”
“Goin’? I’m goin’ after him, of course. Am I sheriff of this county, or ain’t I? You two sure have took a lot on yourselves -“
Dinsdale opened the door. “Telegram for you, Don,” he said. “They’re phoning it from Truckee. I’ve switched it in here.” He looked in a puzzled way a
t the young sheriff’s face, then withdrew and closed the door.
Don Holt sat down at the desk and took up the receiver. Chan looked at his watch and smiled.
“Hello! Hello! This is Don Holt. What! What! Say that again. All right. Thanks. Mail it up to me here, if you will.”
Slowly the young man swung around in the swivel chair, and his eyes met Charlie’s. “What was it you asked that bird down in Berkeley about them pistols?” he inquired.
“It was a simple question concerning the bullets,” Chan replied calmly. “What does he say?”
“He - he says both them bullets came from the gun that killed Swan,” Don Holt answered perplexedly. “He says neither one of ‘em came from Landini’s gun.”
“Wa-al,” drawled Sam Holt, “them scientists kain’t always be wrong. Now an’ then one of ‘em’s bound to strike the right lead.”
Don Holt stood up, and gradually the puzzled look faded from his face. He smiled suddenly at Charlie.
“By the Lord Harry!” he said. “Now I know why you was always talkin’ about the pine trees.”
Chapter XIX
CHAN CLIMBS A LADDER
Don Holt walked up and down the small room excitedly. “It’s beginning to straighten out,” he continued. “The dog - I’m gettin’ that, too.”
Charlie nodded. “Good little Trouble. It was he who set me on correct trail that very first night. Already I had experienced my first doubts. Of the five unaccounted for at time of killing, not one offered alibi. You will recall I commented to you on that. Strange, I thought. The guilty, at least, usually has alibi ready and waiting. I wondered. Could it be that the guilty was not among those five? Could it be he was among those standing in my sight when supposedly fatal shot was fired?”
“Then we went out and talked with Mrs. O’Ferrell,” the young sheriff said.
“Correct. Landini had remarked she would take dog with her in the plane. ‘He loves it,’ she had said. But according to story of Mrs. O’Ferrell, Trouble had wailed and cried most pitifully when plane arrived over house. No happy barks of anticipation such as I reported to you when, on subsequent evening, he heard sound of plane. Instead, every evidence of grief. Why did he grieve? I considered. As all those who know me have learned to their distress, Chinese have proverb to fit every possible situation. There is one - I recalled it as I talked to Mrs. O’Ferrell.”
Charlie Chan [6] The Keeper of the Keys Page 22
