“I’ll say it is.”
“You have trunk with good strong lock?”
“Why, yes.” Benbow nodded toward a wardrobe trunk in the corner.
“Making humble suggestion, would you be good enough to bestow all reels of film in that, and fasten lock securely?”
“Of course. But why? Surely nobody -“
Chan’s little eyes narrowed. “Person never knows,” he remarked. “It would grieve me greatly if you arrived in beloved home town lacking important reel. The reel, for example, that includes pictures taken at Nice.”
“What is all this, Mr. Chan?” Benbow asked.
“You noticed nothing about those particular pictures?”
“No, I can’t say I did.”
“Others were perhaps more observant. Please do not distress yourself. Merely lock pictures all away. They have told their story to me, and may never be required by Scotland Yard -“
“Scotland Yard!” cried Benbow. “I’d like to see them try to -“
“Pardon that I interrupt. I must ask just one question. Do you now recall exact date when the photographs of street in Nice were taken?”
“You mean of the Promenade des Anglais?” Removing a worn bit of paper from his pocket, Benbow studied it. “That film was exposed on the morning of February twenty-first,” he announced.
“An excellent system,” Chan approved. “I am grateful. Now, you will stow away all reels, and I will assist. This is snap lock, I perceive. There - it has nice strong appearance.” He turned to go. “Mr. Benbow, I am much in your debt, first, for taking so many pictures, second, for showing them to me.”
“Why - why, that’s all right,” returned the dazed Benbow.
Chan departed. He went at once to the topmost deck and entered the radio room. For a moment he thought deeply, then he wrote a message:
“Sergeant Wales, care Captain Flannery, Hall of Justice, San Francisco: Without delay request Scotland Yard authorities obtain from Jimmy Breen, English Tailor, Promenade des Anglais, Nice, France, full description man who had work performed on or about February twenty-first, calling for same on morning of that date, also nature of work done. Expecting you without fail on dock tomorrow morning.
“Charlie Chan, Inspector.”
With light heart, Charlie descended to a lower deck and began a thoughtful turn about it. Damp, dripping, clammy fog surrounded the ship on all sides. In marked contrast to previous nights he walked a deserted path, the passengers had with one accord sought the brightly lighted public rooms. Twice he made the circle, well pleased with himself and the world.
For the third time he was crossing the after deck, which was shrouded in darkness. Suddenly, amid the shadows at his right, he saw a black figure moving, caught the faint glint of steel. It must be set down for ever to his credit that he was rushing in that direction when the shot was fired. Charlie dropped to the deck and lay there, motionless.
There followed the stealthy sound of quickly retreating footsteps, then a moment of grim silence. It was broken by the voice of the purser, leaning over Chan.
“In heaven’s name, Inspector,” he cried. “What has happened?”
Charlie sat up. “For a moment I found the recumbent position more comfortable,” he remarked. “I am, you will observe, conservative by nature.”
“Somebody shot at you?” the purser said.
“Briefly,” replied the Chinese. “And missed - by one inch.”
“I say - we can’t have this sort of thing here,” the officer objected plaintively.
Chan got slowly to his feet. “Do not fret,” he advised. “The man who fired that shot will repose in arms of police tomorrow morning, moment ship docks.”
“But tonight -“
“There is no occasion for alarm. Something tells me there was no real effort to hit target. Kindly note size of same. And that aim has never failed before.”
“Just a warning, eh?” remarked the purser, relieved.
“Something of that nature,” Charlie returned, and strolled away. As he reached the door leading to the main companionway, Mark Kennaway ran up to him. The young man’s face was pale, his hair sadly rumpled.
“Mr. Chan,” he cried. “You must come with me at once.”
Silently Charlie followed. Kennaway led the way to the stateroom he shared with Tait, and pushed open the door. Tait was lying, apparently lifeless, on his bed.
“Ah - the poor gentleman has had one of his attacks,” Chan said.
“Evidently,” Kennaway replied. “I came in here a moment ago and found him like this. But see - what does this mean? I heard that somebody had taken a shot at you - and look!”
He pointed to the floor beside the bed. A pistol was lying there.
“It’s still warm,” the young man added hoarsely. “I touched it, and it’s still warm.”
Charlie stooped and carelessly picked up the weapon. “Ah, yes,” he remarked, “it remains overheated. And for good reason. It was only a moment ago discharged at my plentiful person.”
Kennaway sat on the edge of his own bed, and put his face in his hands. “Tait,” he muttered. “Good lord - Tait!”
“Yes,” Charlie nodded. “Mr. Tait’s fingerprints will indubitably be found on bright surface of pistol.” He stooped again, and drew Kennaway’s bag from beneath the bed. For a moment he stared at that innocent-seeming Calcutta label. Then he felt it with his fingers. There was a slit little more than the length of a key just above the center, but the heavy paper was pasted back into place. One spot was still rather damp. “Plenty neat job,” the detective commented. “It is just as I thought. The key is gone.”
Kennaway looked wildly about. “Where is it?” he asked.
“It is where I want it to be,” Charlie answered. “On the person of the man who fired this revolver a moment ago.”
The young man stared at the other bed. “You mean he’s got it?”
“No,” replied Charlie, shaking his head. “It is not on Mr. Tait. It is on the person of a ruthless killer - a man who was not above putting to his own uses the misfortune of our poor friend there on the bed. A man who came here tonight for his key, found Mr. Tait unconscious, saw his chance. A man who rushed out, fired at me, then returned here and after pressing Tait’s hand about revolver to attend to fingerprints, dropped weapon suggestively on floor. A clever criminal if ever I met one. I shall experience great joy in handing him over to my old friend Flannery in the morning.”
Chapter XXII
TIME TO FISH
Kennaway stood up, a look of immense relief on his face. Charlie was putting the revolver away in his pocket.
“Thank heaven,” the young man said. “That’s a load off my shoulders.” He glanced down at Tait, who was stirring slightly. “I think he’s coming out of it now. Poor chap. All evening I’ve been wondering - asking myself - but I just couldn’t believe it. He’s a kind man, underneath his bluster. I couldn’t believe him capable of - all those terrible things.”
Chan was moving toward the door. “Your lips, I trust, are sealed,” he remarked. “You will repeat no word of what I have told you, of course. We have yet to make our capture, but I am certain our quarry is unsuspecting. Should he feel that his little stratagem here has succeeded, I think maybe our future path becomes even smoother.”
“I understand,” Kennaway answered. “You may rely on me.” He put his hand over the lawyer’s heart. “It begins to look as though I’m going to get poor Mr. Tait safely home, after all. And from then on - no more jobs like this for me.”
Charlie nodded. “To supervise his own destiny is task enough for any man,” he suggested.
“I’ll say it is,” Kennaway agreed warmly. Chan opened the door. “Er - just a moment, Inspector. If you should happen to run across Miss Potter, will you kindly ask her to wait up for me? I may be here for a half-hour or so, but as soon as Mr. Tait falls asleep -“
“Ah, yes,” smiled Chan. “I shall be happy to take that message.”
&n
bsp; “Oh - please don’t go out of your way to find her. I merely thought - it’s our last night, you know. I really ought to say good-by to her.”
“Good-by?” Charlie repeated.
“Yes - and nothing more. What was that you just told me? To supervise his own destiny is task enough -“
“For the timid man,” finished Chan quickly. “Mind is so filled with other matters, regret to say I stupidly misquoted the passage when I spoke before.”
“Oh,” said Kennaway blankly. Chan stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
The ship’s captain was waiting for him in the main companionway. “I’ve just heard what has happened,” he remarked. “I have an extra berth in my cabin and I want you to sleep there tonight.”
“I am immensely honored,” Charlie bowed. “But there is no need for such sacrifice -“
“What do you mean, sacrifice? I’m doing this for myself, not for you. I don’t want any accidents on my ship. I’ll be expecting you. Captain’s orders.”
“Which must, of course, be obeyed,” Chan agreed.
He found Pamela Potter reading in a corner of the lounge. She put down her book and looked at him with deep concern.
“What’s all this about your being shot at?” she wanted to know.
Charlie shrugged. “The matter is of no consequence,” he assured her. “I am recipient of slight attention from a shipmate. Do not give it thought. I arrive with message for you. Mr. Kennaway requests you loiter up for him.”
“Well, that’s an offer,” the girl replied.
“Mr. Tait has suffered bad attack -“
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“He is improving. When chance offers, Mr. Kennaway will seek you out.” The girl said nothing. “He is plenty fine young man,” Charlie added.
“He still irritates me,” she replied firmly.
Charlie smiled. “I can understand feeling. But as favor to me, please wait up and let him irritate you for final time.”
“I might,” she answered. “But only as a favor to you.”
When Chan had gone, she picked up her book again. Presently she laid it aside, put on a wrap, and stepped out on to the deck. Tonight the Pacific belied its name, it was dark angry and tempestuous. The girl went over to the rail and stared into the mist. The fog horn somewhere above her head spoke at frequent intervals in a voice that seemed hoarse with anxiety.
Kennaway appeared suddenly at her side. “Hello,” he remarked. “Mr. Chan gave you my message, I see.”
“Oh, it didn’t matter,” she replied. “I had no intention of going to my cabin. Never be able to sleep with that thing blowing.”
They waited until the end of a particularly insistent blast.
“Jolly old horn, isn’t it?” Kennaway went on. “Once when I was a kid I got a horn for Christmas. It’s a pretty good world.”
“Why the sudden cheerfulness?” asked the girl.
“Oh, lots of reasons. I’ve been worried about something all evening, and I’ve just found out there was nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine. Going ashore in the morning - Mr. Tait’s son will be waiting - after that, freedom for me. I tell you, I -“
The horn broke in again.
“What were you saying?” asked the girl, when it stopped.
“What was I? Oh, yes. Only myself to take care of, beginning tomorrow.”
“It will be a glorious feeling, won’t it?”
“I’ll say it will. If I shouldn’t see you in the morning -“
“Oh, you’ll see me.”
“Just wanted to tell you that it’s been fun knowing you - you’re awfully nice, you know. Charming. Don’t know what I’d have done without you on this tour. I’ll think of you a lot - but no letters, remember -“
The horn shrieked above them. Kennaway continued to shout indistinguishable words. The girl was looking up at him, she seemed suddenly very lovely and appealing. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
“All right,” she said. “If you insist.”
“All right what?” he inquired.
“I’ll marry you, if you want me to. That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it?”
“Not exactly.”
“My mistake. I couldn’t hear very well. But I did think I caught the word ‘marry’ -“
“I was saying I hoped you’d marry some nice boy, and be very happy.”
“Oh. Excuse it, please.”
“But look here. Do you mean you’d actually marry me?”
“Why bring that up? You haven’t asked me.”
“But I will. I do. I am.”
The horn again. Kennaway wasted no time in words. He released her when the blast was over.
“You really do care for me, after all?” she asked.
“I’m crazy about you. But I was sure you’d turn me down. That’s why I didn’t like to ask you. You’re not going to turn me down, I take it?”
“What a ridiculous idea,” she answered.
“Wonderful night,” the young man said, and so it seemed, to him. “I know where there are a couple of chairs - in a dark corner of the after deck.”
“They’ve been there ever since Hong Kong,” the girl replied. They went to find them.
As they walked along through the dripping fog, the horn blared forth again. “The lad who’s working that,” Kennaway remarked, “is going to get a big surprise in the morning. I intend to tip him within an inch of his life.”
Meanwhile, amid the unfamiliar surroundings of the captain’s cabin, Charlie Chan lay wide awake. He wondered if all old sea-dogs snored as loudly as this one.
He was aroused next morning by a knock at the door, and leaping up, he discovered that his cabin-mate was already about and dressed for the day. The captain took a radiogram from a rather flustered boy, and handed it to Chan.
“From Captain Flannery, of the San Francisco police,” Charlie announced when he had read it. “He and Sergeant Wales of Scotland Yard will be aboard immigration launch.”
“Good,” said the other. “The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been wondering, Inspector. Hadn’t I better put our friend under restraint until they come?”
Chan shook his head. “Not necessary, thank you. I prefer he remain unsuspecting to the end. Mr. Tait will no doubt spend morning in cabin, and I shall spread underground word among Lofton party we have our man in him. Believe real quarry will assume extra carelessness when he hears that.”
“Just as you say,” the captain nodded. “I’m not keen about taking action myself, as you know, though after what you told me last night, I’d gamble a year’s pay that you’re right. I will instruct the second officer not to lose sight of your man until he’s in the hands of the police. People have been known to disappear from boats, you know.”
“A wise suggestion,” Charlie agreed. “I am grateful for your help.” He had been rapidly dressing while they talked, and now moved toward the door with his bag. “I will continue toilet in my own room, please. Many hearty thanks for lodging of the night.”
“Not at all. By gad, Inspector, you’ve been on the job this time. Ought to get a lot of kudos for your work on this case.”
Chan shrugged. “When the dinner is ended, who values the spoon?” he replied, and went out on to the bridge. The fog was rapidly dispersing, and a hint of sun was in the eastern sky.
Back in his own cabin, he went about his preparations for the day with characteristic deliberation. On his way to breakfast, he stopped at the stateroom occupied by Tait and Kennaway. Both were awake, and the lawyer looked to be much improved.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, in answer to Chan’s query. “I promised you I’d make San Francisco, didn’t I? And I’ll make a lot of other towns, too, before I’m through. Mark thinks I’d better stay in bed until we’re ready to land. It’s all nonsense, but I’ve agreed to do it.”
“A splendid idea,” nodded Chan. “Has Mr. Kennaway told you of last night’s happenings?”
&
nbsp; Tait frowned. “He has. There’s one criminal I wouldn’t defend - not for a million dollars.”
Charlie outlined his plan for the morning, and the lawyer readily agreed.
“All right with me,” he said. “Anything to get him. But of course, you’ll let the members of the party know the truth before we land?”
“Naturally,” Chan answered.
“Then go to it. You say you’ve got your man? I don’t suppose -“
“Later, please,” smiled Charlie as he left.
After breakfast, he met the purser on the deck. “I’ve got a landing card for you,” that gentleman said. “But as for Kashimo - well, I don’t know. He’s never been over here before and of course he has no record of his birth in the islands. He came as a stowaway - he’s admitted as much to me - and he’d better go back at once. One of our boats will be at the same pier, due to sail at two o’clock to-day, and I’ll simply turn him over to her purser with instructions to return him to Honolulu.”
Chan nodded. “I approve of plan, and so, no doubt, will Kashimo. His work is done - it was good work, too - and already he shows signs of yearning for home. I know he will be glad to hurry back and face the plaudits of his chief. Kindly arrange he goes as passenger. I will supply the money.” The busy purser nodded, and hurried away.
Further down the deck, the detective came upon Stuart Vivian. The San Franciscan stood at the rail, a pair of glasses in his hand, the empty case from which they had been taken hanging from his shoulder.
“Good morning,” he said. “Just had a glimpse of Russian Hill. By heaven, I was never so glad to see it before.”
“There is no vision so restful to weary eyes as that of home,” Charlie remarked.
“You’ve said it. And I’ve been fed up with this tour for weeks. I’d have dropped out long ago, but I was afraid you policemen might think - By the way, I hear a rumor that you’ve found out who the killer is?”
Charlie nodded. “A very distressing affair.”
“It is, indeed. Ah - er - I presume the man’s name is a secret?”
“Not at all. Mr. Tait has granted full permission to make the matter public.”
“Tait!” cried Vivian. He was silent for a moment. “That’s interesting, isn’t it?” He looked at his watch. “We’re having a farewell meeting in the library in ten minutes. Lofton’s giving out the tickets to those who travel beyond San Francisco - and his final blessing, I suppose. What a riot this news will stir up!”
Charlie Chan [5] Charlie Chan Carries On Page 25
