“I think maybe it will,” smiled Chan, and went on down the deck.
Twenty minutes later the ship’s engines were stilled at last, and they waited on the gray, rolling sea for the launch bearing the customs men and the immigration officials.
When the small motor-boat arrived, Charlie was at the top of the ladder. Presently the crimson face and broad shoulders of Flannery hove in sight.
“Hello, there,” the officer cried. “It’s my old pal! Sergeant Chan, as I live.”
They shook hands. “So happy to see you again,” Charlie said. “But since the day, long time ago, when I stood by and noted your admirable work on Bruce case, there have been changes. For one thing, I am now promoted to inspector.”
“Is that so?” Flannery answered. “Well, you can’t keep a squirrel on the ground. An old Chinese saying.”
Charlie laughed. “I perceive you have not forgotten me.” Behind Flannery stood a solid mountain of a man. “This, I presume, is -“
“Excuse me,” said Flannery. “Shake hands with Sergeant Wales, of Scotland Yard.”
“Highly honored,” Chan remarked.
“What’s your latest word from Duff?” inquired the sergeant.
“Steady improvement has set in,” Charlie told him. “And speaking of Duff, you have come for his assailant, of course. The murderer of Hugh Morris Drake in your London hotel?”
“I certainly have,” Wales said.
“I am happy to hand him over to you,” Chan replied. “So that the matter may not encounter too much publicity, I fix up little plan. Will you come with me, please?”
He led them to a stateroom, on the door of which was the number 119. Escorting them inside, he indicated a couple of wicker chairs. There were two beds, one on either side of the cabin, and beside each was a pile of luggage.
“If you will wait here, your quarry will come to you,” he announced. He turned to Wales. “One thing I would inquire about. You had message from me last night?”
“Yes, I did,” the sergeant replied. “And I got in touch with the Yard at once. It was morning over there, you know, and within a few hours they had an answer. The news arrived in San Francisco just before we left Captain Flannery’s office. It’s great stuff. Jimmy Breen told our representative your man brought him a coat to be repaired on February twentieth, and called for it the next morning. It was the coat of a gray suit, and the right-hand pocket was torn.”
“Ah, yes,” nodded Charlie. “Torn by hand of aged porter in hallway of Broome’s Hotel on early morning of February seventh. Murderer should have discarded that coat. But it is not his nature to discard, and from the first, he has felt himself so safe. I would wager he shipped it from London to Nice, addressed to himself, and then engaged the able Mr. Breen. It was excellent choice. I behold on many tailors’ signs nowadays the words ‘Invisible Repairing.’ Screen was too small for me to note them on Breen establishment, but they should have been there. Many times I have examined that coat, but Mr. Breen was evidently master of invisibility.” He stepped to the door. “However, talk will not cook rice. You will await guilty man here,” he added, and disappeared.
He found the Lofton party, with the single exception of Tait, gathered in the library, and evidently in a state of great excitement. At the only door leading into the room, Charlie met the second officer. With him the detective held a brief conversation.
“All right, people,” shouted the officer. “The baggage is examined on the ship here, you know. The customs men are now ready. Go to your rooms, please.”
Mark Kennaway and Pamela Potter were the first to emerge. They were both in high spirits.
“Just like Yale tap day,” laughed the young man. “Go to your room. We’ll see you later, Mr. Chan. We’ve news for you.”
“That has happy sound,” Charlie replied, but his face was grave.
Minchin and his wife came out. “Should I fail to see you again,” Charlie remarked, shaking hands, “my kindest regards to little Maxy. Tell him to be good boy and study hard. An idle brain is the devil’s workshop.”
“I’ll tell him, Officer,” the gangster said. “You’re one bull I been glad to meet. So long.”
Mrs. Spicer passed, with a nod and a smile of farewell. Mrs. Luce followed.
“You let me know when you reach southern California,” she said. “The greatest country on God’s footstool -“
“Hold back your judgment on that, Mr. Chan,” broke in Benbow, coming up. “Wait until we’ve shown you Akron -“
“Then forget them both and come and look at the Northwest,” added Ross.
“You’re all wrong,” protested Vivian. “He’ll be in God’s country in half an hour.”
Keane and Lofton were approaching, but Charlie did not wait. Leaving the second officer at the door, he hurried away.
Meanwhile, in cabin 119, Captain Flannery and the man from Scotland Yard were growing a bit restless. The latter got up, and moved anxiously about.
“I hope nothing goes wrong,” he muttered.
“Don’t you worry,” said Flannery generously. “Charlie Chan is the best detective west of the Golden Gate -“
The door opened suddenly, and Flannery leaped to his feet. Vivian was standing in the doorway.
“What’s all this?” he demanded.
“Come in,” the policeman said. “Shut that door - quick - and step inside. Who are you?”
“My name is Vivian, and this is my cabin -“
“Sit down there on the bed.”
“What do you mean - giving me orders -“
“I mean business. Sit down and keep still.”
Vivian reluctantly obeyed. Wales looked at Flannery. “He would be the last, of course,” the sergeant remarked.
“Listen.” Flannery whispered.
Outside, on the hard surface of the alleyway, they heard the “tap-tap-tap” of a cane.
The door opened, and Ross stepped inside. For a moment he looked inquiringly about him. Then he glanced back at the door. Charlie Chan was standing there, and to say he filled the aperture is putting it mildly.
“Mr. Ross,” said Charlie, “you will shake hands with Captain Flannery, of San Francisco police.” The captain seized Ross’s unresisting hand. Stepping forward, Chan made a hasty search. “I perceive,” he added, “that weapon supply, which you have replenished so many times along the way, is exhausted at last.”
“What - what do you mean?” Ross demanded.
“I am sorry to say Captain Flannery has warrant for your arrest.”
“Arrest!”
“He has been asked by Scotland Yard to hold you for the murder of Hugh Morris Drake in Broome’s Hotel, London, on the morning of February seventh, present year.” Ross stared about him defiantly. “There remain other matters,” Chan continued, “but you will never be called upon to answer for those. The murder of Honywood in Nice, the murder of Sybil Conway in San Remo, the murder of Sergeant Welby in Yokohama. The brutal attack on Inspector Duff in Honolulu. Murder round the world, Mr. Ross.”
“It’s not true,” Ross said hoarsely.
“We will see. Kashimo!” Charlie’s voice rose. “You may now emerge from your hiding-place.”
A bedraggled little figure rolled swiftly from beneath one of the beds. The Japanese was covered with lint, stray threads and dust. Chan helped him to his feet.
“Ah, you are somewhat stiff, Kashimo,” he remarked. “I am sorry I could not dig you out sooner. Captain Flannery, the Oriental invasion becomes serious. Meet Officer Kashimo of the Honolulu force.” He turned to the boy. “Is it too much to hope you know present whereabouts of precious key?”
“I know,” the Japanese answered proudly. He dropped to his knees, and from the cuff of Ross’s right trouser leg extracted the key, which he held aloft in triumph.
Charlie took it. “What is this? Looks like plenty good evidence to me, Sergeant Wales. Key to safety-deposit box in some bank, with number 3260. Ah, Mr. Ross, you should have thrown it away. But
I understand. You feared that without it you would not dare approach valuables again.” He handed the key to Wales.
“That’s the stuff to give a jury,” remarked the Britisher, with satisfaction.
“The key was planted there,” cried Ross. “I deny everything.”
“Everything?” Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Last night we sat together, watching Mr. Benbow’s pictures. Flickering film revealed you emerging from doorway of a shop in Nice. Did you think that I failed to notice? I might have - but for days I have known you guilty -“
“What!” Ross was unable to conceal his surprise.
“I will explain in moment. Just now, I speak of Nice. Jimmy Breen, the tailor, remembers. He recalls gray coat with torn right pocket -“
Ross started to speak, but the detective raised his hand.
“Cards lie against you -” Charlie went on. “You are clever man, you have high opinion of yourself, and it is difficult for you to believe that you have failed. Such, however, is the situation. Clever - ah, yes. Clever when you hid that key on Mr. Kennaway’s bag - a bag that would naturally be thrust under bed and forgotten until hour of landing was imminent once more. Clever when you discarded rubber tip from stick, then carried same in wrong hand, hoping some keen eye would notice. So many were under suspicion, you thought to gain by being suspected too, and then extricating yourself in convincing manner - which I must admit you did. You were clever again last night when you fired wild shot at me and dropped smoking revolver beside poor Mr. Tait. It was cruel act - but you are cruel man. And what a useless gesture! For, as I remarked before, I have known for several days that you were guilty person.”
“You don’t tell me,” Ross sneered. “And how did you know it?”
“I knew it because there was one moment when you were not quite so clever, Mr. Ross. That moment arrived at Mr. Minchin’s dinner. You made a speech there. It was brief speech, but it contained one word - one careless little word. That word convicted you.”
“Really? What word was that?”
Charlie took out a card and wrote something on it. He handed it to Ross. “Keep same as souvenir,” he suggested.
The man glanced at it. His face was white, and suddenly very old. He tore the card into shreds and tossed them to the floor.
“Thanks,” he said bitterly, “but I’m not collecting souvenirs. Well - what happens next?”
Chapter XXIII
TIME TO DRY THE NETS
What happened next was that a customs inspector knocked on the door, and in that strained atmosphere made his examination of the hand luggage belonging to both Vivian and Ross. He was followed by a steward who carried the bags below. Vivian slipped out, and Kashimo, after a brief word with Charlie, also departed.
Captain Flannery took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Getting pretty hot down here,” he remarked to Wales. “Let’s take this bird up to the library and hear what he’s got to say for himself.”
“I have nothing to say,” Ross put in grimly.
“Is that so? Well, I’ve seen men in your position change their minds.” Flannery went first, then Ross, and Wales was close behind. Charlie brought up the rear.
They passed Mark Kennaway on the stairs. Chan stopped for a word.
“We have our man,” he announced.
“Ross!” Kennaway cried. “Good lord!”
“I suggest you pass among members of travel party, clearing name of poor Mr. Tait.”
“Watch me,” the young man replied. “I’ll beat the time of Paul Revere - and he had a horse.”
Coming out on to the open deck, Charlie realized for the first time that they were moving again. On the right were the low buildings of the Presidio, and up ahead the fortress of Alcatraz Island. All about him the ship’s passengers were milling, in a last frenzy of farewell.
Flannery and Wales were sitting with their quarry in the otherwise deserted library. Charlie closed the door behind him, and the racket outside subsided to a low murmur.
As the Chinese went over to join the group, Ross gave him a look of bitter hatred. In the man’s eyes there was now a light that recalled to Chan’s mind a luncheon over which he had sat with Duff a week ago. “You seek evidently two men,” he had said to the English detective on that occasion. This was no longer the gentle, mild-mannered Ross the travel party had known; it was the other man, hard, merciless and cruel.
“You’d better come across,” Flannery was saying. Ross’s only reply was a glance of contempt.
“The captain is giving you good advice,” remarked Wales pleasantly. His methods were more suave than those of Flannery. “In all my professional career I never encountered a case in which the evidence was quite so strong as it is here - thanks, of course, to Inspector Chan. It is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be used against you. But my suggestion would be that you plan to plead guilty -“
“To something I didn’t do?” flared Ross.
“Oh, come, come. We have not only the key, but the information from the tailor who -“
“Yes, and how about a motive?” The voice of the accused man rose. “I don’t give a damn for all your keys and your coats - you can’t prove any motive. That’s important, and you know it. I never saw any of these people I’m supposed to have murdered before - I’ve lived on the west coast of the States for years - I -“
“You had a very obvious motive, Mr. Ross,” Wales answered politely. “Or perhaps I should say - Mr. Everhard. Jim Everhard, I believe.”
The man’s face turned a ghastly gray, and for a moment he seemed about to collapse. He was fighting for the strength that had sustained him thus far, but he fought in vain.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Everhard - or Ross, if you prefer,” Wales went on evenly. “Judging by information that came in to the Yard only a few days ago, your motive is only too clear. We haven’t worried recently about motive - we’ve worried only as to your identity. Inspector Chan has cleverly discovered that. When the jury asks for a motive, we have only to tell them of your days in South Africa - of how Honywood stole your girl -“
“And my diamonds,” cried Ross. “My diamonds and my girl. But she was as bad as he was -” He had half risen from his chair, now he fell back, suddenly silent.
Wales glanced at Charlie. Their eyes met, but they were careful to conceal the elation with which they heard those words from Ross.
“You went out to South Africa some fifteen years ago, I believe,” the sergeant continued, “as a violinist in a musical comedy company orchestra. Sybil Conway was leading woman in the troupe, and you fell in love with her. But she was ambitious, she wanted money, stardom, success. You came into a small inheritance, but it wasn’t enough. It was enough, however, to launch you into a business - a shady business - the trade of the I. D. B. Buying diamonds from natives, from thieves. Inside a year you had two bags filled with these stolen stones. Sybil Conway promised to marry you. You went on one last tour to the vicinity of the diamond fields, leaving those two bags with your girl in Capetown. And when you came back to her -“
“I saw him,” Ross finished. “Oh, what’s the use - you’re too much for me - you and this Chinese. I saw him the first night after I got back - Walter Honywood Swan, that was his name. It was in the little parlor of the house where Sybil Conway was living.”
“A younger son,” Wales suggested. “A ne’er-do-well at home - out there a member of the South African police.”
“Yes, I knew he was with the police. After he’d gone, I asked Sybil what it meant. She said the fellow was suspicious, that he was after me, and that I’d better get away at once. She would follow when the show closed. There was a boat leaving at midnight - a boat for Australia. She hurried me aboard - in the dark on the deck just before I sailed, she slipped me the two little bags. I could feel the stones inside. I didn’t dare look at them then. She kissed me good-by - and we parted.
“When the boat was well out, I went to my cabin and examined the bags. The little bags of stones. That’s
what they were - wash leather bags, each filled with about a hundred pebbles of various sizes. I’d been done. She preferred that policeman to me. She’d sold me out.”
“So you went to Australia.” Wales gently urged him on. “You heard there that Sybil Conway and Swan were married, and that he now called himself Walter Honywood. You wrote, promising to kill them both. But you were broke - it wasn’t so easy to reach them. The years went by. Eventually you drifted to the States. You prospered, became a respectable citizen. The old urge for revenge was gone. And then - suddenly - it returned.”
Ross looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. “Yes,” he said slowly, “it returned.”
“How was that?” Wales continued. “Did it happen after you hurt your foot? When you lay there, idle, alone, plenty of time to think -“
“Yes - and something to think about,” Ross cried. “The whole affair came back to me as vividly as yesterday. What they’d done to me - do you wonder I thought? And I’d let them get away with it.” He looked wildly about him. “I tell you, if ever a man was justified -“
“No, no,” Wales protested. “You should have forgotten the past. You’d be a happy man to-day if you had. Don’t expect any mercy on that score. Were you justified in killing Drake -“
“A mistake. I was sorry. It was dark in that room.”
“And Sergeant Welby - as fine a chap as I ever knew?”
“I had to do it.”
“And your attempt to kill Duff -“
“I didn’t attempt to kill him. I’d have done it if I had meant to. No, I only wanted to put him out for the moment -“
“You have been ruthless and cruel, Ross,” Wales said sternly. “And you will have to pay for it.”
“I expect to pay.”
“How much better for you,” Wales went on, “if you had never attempted your belated vengeance. But you did attempt it. When your foot was better, I see you gathering up all your valuables, your savings, and leaving Tacoma for ever. You put all your property in the safety-deposit box of a bank in some strange town. Where? We shall know presently. You set out for New York to find the Honywood pair. Walter Honywood was about to make a tour around the world. You booked for the same party.
Charlie Chan [5] Charlie Chan Carries On Page 26
