“Yes - and it’ll take just one minute - see?” Mr. Minchin fondled an expensive, half-smoked cigar, from which he had failed to remove a shining gold band. “Me and Sadie - that’s the wife - was doing the town, in the rain. Well, the evening wasn’t so much on the up and up with me, so I dragged the frau into a pitcher show. But we seen that filum a year ago in Chi., and Sadie was itching to get back to the stores, so we made our get-away quick. After that, just buying right and left. We didn’t have no truck with us, and when we couldn’t handle no more, Sadie agreed to quit. We staggered back to the ship. I didn’t have no gat on me, and I wasn’t carrying no Malacca stick. When I carry a cane, it’ll mean my dogs ain’t no good no more - I told Sadie that in Singapore.”
Charlie smiled. “Mr. Benbow?” he suggested.
“Same story as the Minchins,” that gentleman replied. “We did the stores, though they’re not much after those Oriental bazaars. Sat a while in the Young lobby and watched it rain. I said I wished I was back in Akron, and Nettie practically agreed with me. First time we’ve been in accord on that point since the tour started. But we were on good old U.S. soil, even if it was pretty sloppy, and we came back to the ship walking high, wide and handsome. I think we stepped aboard about nine-fifteen. I was dead tired - I’d bought a motion picture projector in Honolulu, and the weight of one of those things is nobody’s business.”
“Miss Pamela,” said Chan. “I already know how your evening was spent. Leaving, I think only two yet to be inquisitioned. This gentleman - Captain Keane, I believe.”
Keane leaned back, stifled a yawn, and clasped his hands behind his head. “I watched the bridge for a while,” he replied. “Not as a kibitzer, you understand.” He glanced at Vivian. “I never interfere in affairs that don’t concern me.”
Recalling the captain’s record outside various doors, Charlie felt the remark was somewhat lacking in sincerity. “And after the bridge -” he prompted.
“When the battle broke,” Keane went on, “I took to the open air. Thought some of getting my own little Malacca stick and going ashore, but the rain gave me pause. Never did care for rain, especially the tropical kind. So I went to my cabin, got a book, and returned here to the smoking-room.”
“Ah,” remarked Chan. “You now possess a book.”
“What are you trying to do, razz me?” said the captain. “I sat here reading for a while, and about the time the boat sailed, I went to bed.”
“Was any one else in this room while you were?”
“Nobody at all. Everybody ashore, including the stewards.”
Charlie turned to the man whom he had purposely saved until the last. Ross was sitting not far away, staring down at his injured foot. His stick, innocent of its rubber tip, lay beside him on the floor.
“Mr. Ross, I believe you will complete the roster,” Chan remarked. “You went ashore last evening, I have heard.”
Ross looked up in surprise. “Why, no, Inspector,” he replied. “I didn’t.”
“Indeed? Yet you were seen to come aboard ship at nine-fifteen.”
“Really?” Ross lifted his eyebrows.
“On authority not to be impeached.”
“But - I am sorry to say - in this case quite mistaken.”
“You are sure you did not leave the ship?”
“Naturally I’m sure. It’s the sort of thing I ought to know about, you must admit.” He remained entirely amiable. “I dined aboard, and sat in the lounge for a while after dinner. I’d had a rather hard day - a lot of walking, and that tires me. My leg was aching, so I retired at eight o’clock. I was sound asleep when Mr. Vivian, who shares my cabin, came in. That was in the neighborhood of ten, he told me this morning. He was careful not to wake me. He is always most considerate.”
Chan regarded him thoughtfully. “Yet at nine-fifteen, as I have said, Mr. Ross, two people of unreproachable honesty saw you come up the plank, and you passed them on deck.”
“May I ask how they recognized me, Inspector?”
“You carried stick, of course.”
“A Malacca stick,” nodded Ross. “You have seen what that amounts to.”
“But more, Mr. Ross. You were walking with customary difficulty, owing to unhappy accident which is so deeply deplored by all.”
For a moment Ross regarded the detective. “Inspector,” he remarked at last, “I’ve watched you here. You’re a clever man.”
“You exaggerate shamelessly,” Charlie told him.
“No, I don’t,” smiled Ross. “I say you’re clever, and I believe that all I need do now is to tell you about a queer little incident that happened on this ship late yesterday afternoon.” He picked up his stick. “This was not bought in Singapore, but in Tacoma some months ago just after I had my accident. After I bought it, I looked around until I found a rubber tip - a shoe, I believe it is sometimes called - to fit over the end of it. This made walking easier for me, and it did not scratch hardwood floors. About five yesterday afternoon, I returned to the ship and took a brief nap in my cabin. When I rose and went down to dinner, I was conscious of something - something wrong - at first I didn’t know just what. But presently I realized as I walked, my stick was tapping on the deck. I looked down in amazement. The rubber tip was gone. Some one had taken it.” He stopped. “I remember Mr. Kennaway came along at that moment, and I told him what had happened.”
“That’s right,” Kennaway agreed. “We puzzled over the matter. I suggested somebody was playing a joke.”
“It was no joke,” remarked Ross gravely. “Some one, I now believe, was planning to impersonate me for the evening. Some one who was clever enough to recall that my stick made no sound when it touched a hard surface.”
No one spoke. Mrs. Luce appeared in the distant doorway, and came swiftly to Chan’s side. The detective leaped to his feet.
“What’s this I hear?” she cried. “Poor Inspector Duff!”
“Not badly injured,” Charlie assured her. “Recovering.”
“Thank heaven,” she replied. “The aim is wavering. The arm is getting weak. Well, too much shooting is bad for anybody. I take it you are with us in Inspector Duff’s place, Mr. Chan?”
“I am unworthy substitute,” he bowed.
“Unworthy fiddlesticks! You can’t put that over on me. Known Chinese most of my life - lived among ‘em. At last we’re going to get somewhere. I’m sure of it.” She glanced belligerently around the circle. “And about time, if you ask me.”
“You arrive at good moment,” Charlie said. “I will request your testimony, please. Last night, after I brought you to dock, you and Miss Pamela sat on deck near top of gangplank. You beheld several members of party return to ship. Among them, Mr. Ross here?”
The old lady stood for a moment staring at Ross. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered.
Chan was surprised. “You don’t know whether you saw Mr. Ross or not?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But, my dear,” said Pamela Potter, “surely you remember. We were sitting near the rail, and Mr. Ross came up the plank, and passed us -“
Again Mrs. Luce shook her head. “A man who walked with a stick, and limped, passed us - yes. I spoke to him, but he didn’t answer. Mr. Ross is a polite man. Besides -“
“Yes?” Charlie said eagerly.
“Besides, Mr. Ross carries his stick in his left hand, whereas that man last night was carrying his in the right. I noticed it at the time. That’s why I say I don’t know whether it was Mr. Ross or not. My own feeling at the moment was that it was not.”
Silence followed. Finally Ross looked up at Charlie. “What did I tell you, Inspector?” he remarked. “I did not leave the ship last evening. I had rather a hunch the matter would be proved in time, though I didn’t expect the proof so soon.”
“Your right leg is injured one,” Charlie said.
“Yes - and any one who has never suffered such an injury might suppose that I would naturally carry my stick in the rig
ht hand. But as my doctor pointed out to me, the left is better. I am more securely balanced, and I can move much faster.”
“That’s O.K., Officer,” put in Maxy Minchin. “A few years back an old pal of mine winged me in the left calf. I found out then the dope was to carry the cane on the opposite side. It gives you better support - get me?”
Ross smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Minchin,” he said. He glanced at Chan. “These clever lads always slip up somewhere, don’t they?” he added. “Here is one who had brains enough to want my rubber shoe so his stick couldn’t be distinguished on that score - and then, in his haste, forgot to notice in which hand I carried mine. Well, all I can say is, I’m very glad he did.” His eyes traveled questioningly about the little circle.
Charlie stood up. “Meeting now adjourns for time being,” he announced. “I am very grateful to you all for kind cooperating.”
They filed out, until Tait alone remained with the detective. He strolled over to Chan with a grim smile on his face.
“You didn’t get much out of that session,” he remarked.
“You believe not?” Chan inquired.
“No, but you did your best. And on one point, at least, you showed unusual acumen. That about the watch, I mean.”
“Ah, yes - the watch,” Charlie nodded.
“A man who has been accustomed all his life to carrying a watch in his vest pocket, and then switches to a wristwatch is inclined to put his hand to the old location when suddenly asked the time.”
“So I noticed,” the detective replied.
“I thought you did. What a pity you wasted that experiment on an innocent man.”
“There will be more experiments,” Chan assured him.
“I hope so. I may tell you that I purchased a wristwatch just before I came on this tour.”
“Before you came on the tour.” The first word was accented ever so slightly.
“Exactly. I can prove that by Mr. Kennaway. Any time at all.”
“For the present, I accept your word,” Charlie replied.
“Thank you. I trust I shall be present when you attempt those other experiments.”
“Do not worry. You are plenty sure to be there.”
“Good. I like to watch you work.” And Tait strode debonairly from the room, while Chan stood looking after him.
The investigation was young yet, Charlie thought, as he walked toward his cabin to prepare for lunch. No great progress this morning, but a good beginning. At least he had now a pretty shrewd idea as to the character and capabilities of the people with whom he had to deal. Know them better tomorrow. No place like a ship for getting acquainted.
A boy appeared with a radiogram. Chan opened it and read:
“Charlie, as a friend, I implore you to drop the whole matter. I am getting on beautifully and can take up the trail soon myself. Situation is far too dangerous for me to ask such a service of you. Believe me, I was quite delirious when I suggested you carry on. Duff.”
Charlie smiled to himself, and sat down at a desk in the library. After due deliberation, he composed an answering message:
“You were not delirious last night, but I have deep pain to note you are in such state now. How else could you think I would not pursue to very frontier of my ability this interesting affair? Remain calm, get back health promptly, and meantime I am willing replacement. Hoping you soon regain reason I remain your solid friend, C. Chan.”
After lunch, Charlie spent several hours meditating in his cabin. This was a case after his own heart, six long days to ponder it, while the person he sought must stay within easy reach of his hand.
That evening after dinner the detective came upon Pamela Potter and Mark Kennaway having coffee in a corner of the lounge. At the girl’s invitation, he joined them.
“Well, Mr. Chan,” she remarked, “one of your precious six days is gone.”
“Yes, and where are you?” Kennaway inquired.
“Two hundred and fifty miles from Honolulu, and moving comfortably along,” Chan smiled.
“You didn’t learn much this morning?” the young man suggested.
“I learned that my friend the murderer still seeks to entangle the innocent, as he did when he stole Doctor Lofton’s luggage strap in London.”
“You mean that about Ross?” the girl asked.
Charlie nodded. “Tell me - you agree now with Mrs. Luce?”
“I do,” she answered. “I thought at the time that person was limping very weirdly - much more than Mr. Ross ever had. Who could it have been?”
“It might have been any of us,” said Kennaway, looking at Chan over his cup.
“How right you are,” returned the detective. “Any of you who wandered about rainy town, assisted on way by Malacca stick.”
“Or it might even have been the lad who couldn’t tear himself away from his book,” the young man suggested. “Or claims he couldn’t. I refer to jolly old Captain Keane, the irrepressible reader.”
“Ah, yes - Keane,” Chan said. “Has any one ever determined cause of Keane’s fondness for loitering outside wrong doors?”
“Not so far as I know,” Pamela Potter replied. “As a matter of fact, he hasn’t been doing it much lately. Mr. Vivian caught him at it just after we left Yokohama, and the row could be heard for blocks. If there’d been any blocks, I mean.”
“Mr. Vivian has special talent for rows,” Charlie noted.
“I’ll say he has,” Kennaway agreed. “That last night made bridge look like one of the more hazardous occupations. I thought Vivian started it with very little reason. It almost looked as though he wanted to break up the game.”
Chan’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Kennaway, I understand your employer, Mr. Tait, bought a wristwatch just before he left New York?”
The young man laughed. “Yes - he warned me you were going to ask that. He did. Thought it would be more convenient on a long tour. He has his old watch and chain in his trunk, I believe. Get him to show them to you.”
“Chain is intact, of course?”
“Oh, naturally. Or was when I saw it last - in Cairo.”
Tait came up to them. “Mrs. Luce and I are getting up a bridge game,” he announced. “You young people are elected.”
“But I’m a terrible player,” the girl protested.
“I know you are,” the lawyer replied. “That’s why I’m going to assign you to Mark as a partner. I feel I’m going to win. I love to win.”
Kennaway and the girl got up. “Sorry to leave you, Mr. Chan,” the latter said.
“I would not interfere with your pleasure,” he returned.
“Pleasure?” she repeated. “You’ve heard about the slaughter of the innocents. Haven’t you an old Chinese proverb to comfort me?”
“I have one which might have warned you,” Charlie told her. “The deer should not play with the tiger.”
“That’s the best bridge rule I ever heard,” the girl answered.
After a time, Charlie rose and walked out on to the deck. He was standing in a dark corner by the rail when he heard a stealthy hiss out of the night. He had completely forgotten Kashimo.
His slim little assistant came close. Even in the dark it was evident that he bubbled over with mystery and excitement.
“Search all over,” he whispered breathlessly.
“What!” breathed Charlie.
“I have discovered the key,” the Japanese replied.
Chan’s heart leaped at the words. Welby, he recalled, had also discovered the key.
“You are quick worker, Kashimo,” the Chinese said. “Where is it?”
“Follow me,” directed Kashimo. He led the way into the corridor, and to a de luxe cabin on the same deck. At the door, he paused.
“Who occupies this room?” Charlie asked anxiously.
“Mr. Tait and Mr. Kennaway,” the Japanese told him, and pushing open the door, flooded the cabin with light. Remembering the bridge game with relief, Charlie followed, closing the door behind him. He noticed
that the port-holes, which opened on the promenade deck, were safely shuttered.
Kashimo knelt, and dragged from beneath one of the beds a battered old bag. It was plastered with the labels of foreign hotels. The Japanese made no effort to open it but lovingly ran his fingers over a particularly gorgeous label - that of the Great Eastern Hotel, Calcutta. “You do same,” he suggested to Charlie.
Charlie touched the label. Underneath he felt the faint outline of a key, about the size of the one Duff had shown him.
“Good work, Kashimo,” he murmured.
In gold letters near the bag’s lock, he saw the initials “M.K.”
Chapter XVIII
MAXY MINCHIN’S PARTY
After a few whispered instructions to Kashimo, Charlie returned to the deck and stood by the rail, staring thoughtfully out at the silver path of the moon on the dark waters. His chief feeling at the moment was one of admiration for his assistant. An ingenious place to hide an object like a key - it had made but the slightest protuberance on the rough leather of the case. The eye would never have detected it - only the fingers. Yes, Kashimo was undoubtedly a blunderer, but in this matter of searching, of meddling with the property of others, the boy was touched with genius.
Gradually Chan began to consider the larger aspects of the matter. How came this key, duplicate of the one found in the dead hand of Hugh Morris Drake that morning in a London hotel, to be on Kennaway’s bag? Of course he had not seen it, but Charlie felt it safe to assume that it was the duplicate. The one Welby had located the night he told Pamela Potter: “The fun’s all over.” The fun had indeed been over for poor Welby. A dangerous object to discover.
Where had Welby found it? In the same place where it was now? He must have. For it was under the label of the Great Eastern Hotel, Calcutta, and the natural inference must be that it had been put there in the Indian city. A man couldn’t pick up a Calcutta label anywhere save in Calcutta. Yes, it must have been in its present position in Yokohama, where Welby found it -
Wait a minute. Welby had spoken of this key to the girl as though he had actually seen it. Number and all. But had he? Perhaps he was merely assuming, as Chan was doing, that this was the duplicate key. It would have been a natural assumption. It might be that he had only run his fingers over the outline, as Chan had done. And some one had learned of his discovery, had followed him ashore and murdered him.
Charlie Chan [5] Charlie Chan Carries On Page 20
