Durand took a startled step backward. Then he sadly shook his head. “I wish it were true. You’ve no idea—fifteen years’ anxiety—it rather takes it out of a chap. One stops hoping, after a time. Ah, yes—I wish it were true—but there have been so many disappointments. I can not hope any more.”
“Please wait just a minute,” Flannery said, and went out.
A strained silence followed his exit. The ticking of a tall clock in a corner became suddenly like the strokes of a hammer. Durand began to pace the floor.
“It can’t be,” he cried to Duff. “No—it can’t be Eve. After all these years—in San Francisco—no, no—I can’t believe it.”
“We shall know in a moment, old chap,” Duff said gently.
The moments lengthened horribly. Chan began to wonder. Durand continued to pace back and forth, silently, over the rug. Still the hammer strokes of the clock. Five minutes—ten—
The outer door was flung open and Flannery burst into the room. His face was crimson, his gray hair disheveled.
“She’s gone!” he cried. “Her elevator’s standing at the seventh floor, with the door open. She’s gone, and no one saw her go!”
Durand gave a little cry and sinking into a chair, buried his face in his hands.
Chapter 13
OLD FRIENDS MEET AGAIN
Major Durand was not the only one to whom Flannery’s news came as a shock and a disappointment. On the faces of the four other people in that room dismay was clearly written.
“Gone, and no one saw her go,” Chan repeated. He looked reprovingly at the Captain. “Yet she was under watchful eye of clever mainland police.”
Flannery snorted. “She was, but we’re not supermen. That woman’s as slippery as an eel. There were two of my boys on the job—both keen lads—well, no use crying over spilt milk. I’ll get her. She can’t—”
The door opened and a plainclothes man entered, bringing with him a little old cleaning woman with straggling gray hair.
“Hello, Petersen—what is it?” Flannery asked.
“Listen to this, Chief,” said Petersen. “This woman was working in an office on the seventh door.” He turned to her. “Tell the Captain what you told me.”
The woman twisted her apron nervously. “In 709 I was, sir. They go home early, and I was alone there at my work. The door opens and this red-headed elevator girl runs in. She’s got on a raincoat, and a hat. ‘What’s the matter?’ I says, but she just runs on into the back room, and sort of wondering, I follow her. I’m just in time to see her climb onto the fire-escape. Never a word she said, sir—she just disappeared in the night.”
“The fire-escape,” repeated Flannery. “I thought so. Have you looked at it, Petersen?”
“Yes, sir. It’s one of those—you know—a person’s weight lets down the last flight of steps to the ground. A simple matter to go like that.”
“All right,” Flannery answered. “Some one must have seen her when she came out of the alley. We’ll go down and have a look round.” He turned to the cleaning woman. “That’s all. You can go.”
The woman passed a second plain clothes man in the hall. He came quickly into the living-room.
“I’ve got a lead, Captain,” he said. “Boy in the cigar store on the corner. He says a girl with a Kirk Building uniform under her coat rushed in a few minutes ago and used his telephone.”
“Did he hear the call?”
“No, sir. It’s a booth phone. She was there only a few minutes, and then she hurried out again.”
“Well, that’s something,” Flannery said. “You boys wait for me—I’ve got a car. First of all, I’ll send out the alarm. I’ll have men at the ferries and the railroad stations—she’s a marked woman with that uniform. I’ll pick her up before midnight—”
“On what charge?” asked Miss Morrow gently.
“Oh—oh, well—as a witness. I’ll take her as a witness. Still that will mean a lot of publicity I don’t want at this time. I have it. I’ll take her on a charge of stealing. The uniform is your property, Mr. Kirk?”
“Yes—but I don’t like that,” protested Kirk.
“Oh, it’s just a fake. We won’t press it. I’ve got to get her on some pretext. Now—if I can use your phone—”
Flannery talked to some person at the station house, and the hue and cry after that elusive woman was once more under way. He rose full of energy.
“I’ll get her,” he promised. “It’s a bad set-back to our plans, but it’s only for a minute. She can’t get away—”
“She is one who has had some success at getting away in the past,” Chan reminded him.
“Yeah—but not this time,” answered the Captain. “She’s never had me on her trail before.” He blustered out, followed by his two men.
Major Durand slumped dejectedly in his chair. Inspector Duff was puffing calmly on his well-seasoned pipe.
“It’s a bit of hard luck,” he remarked. “But patience—that’s what counts in this work, eh, Sergeant Chan?”
Charlie beamed. “At last I meet fellow detective who talks same language with me.”
Barry Kirk rose and rang the bell. “How about a cup of tea?” he said. He stepped to the window and looked out. Swords of light marking the streets floated dimly in the mist, far below. The wind howled, rain spattered on the panes, the city was shrouded and lost. “It’s one of those nights—a little something to warm us up—” He was silent. What a night it was—made to order for the man or woman who sought to slip away and never be seen again.
Paradise entered with calm dignity and stood in the brightly lighted room, his shock of snow-white hair lending him an air of stern respectability.
“You rang, sir?” he said.
“Yes,” Kirk replied. “We’ll have tea, Paradise. Five of us here—” He stopped. The butler’s eyes were on Inspector Duff, and his face was suddenly as white as his hair.
There was a moment of silence. “Hello, Paradise,” Duff said quietly.
The butler muttered something, and turned as though to go out.
“Just a moment!” The Inspector’s voice was steely cold. “This is a surprise, my man. A surprise for both of us, I fancy. When I last saw you, you were standing in the dock at Old Bailey.” Paradise bowed his head. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been inclined to give you away, Paradise, if you had behaved yourself. But you’ve been opening mail—haven’t you? You’ve been tampering with a letter addressed to Sir Frederic Bruce?”
“Yes, sir, I have.” The servant’s voice was very low.
“So I understand,” Duff continued. He turned to Barry Kirk. “I’m sorry to distress you, Mr. Kirk. I believe Paradise has been a good servant?”
“The best I ever had,” Kirk told him.
“He was always a good servant,” went on Duff. “As I recall, that fact was brought out clearly at the trial. A competent, faithful man—he had many references to prove it. But unfortunately a few years ago, in England, there was some suspicion that he had put hydrocyanic acid in a lady’s tea.”
“What an odd place for hydrocyanic acid,” said Kirk. “But then, of course, I speak without knowing the lady.”
“The lady was his wife,” Duff explained. “It seemed to some of us that he had rather overstepped a husband’s privileges. He was brought to trial—”
Paradise raised his head. “Nothing was ever proved,” he said firmly. “I was acquitted.”
“Yes, our case collapsed,” admitted Inspector Duff. “That doesn’t often happen, Mr. Kirk, but it did in this instance. Technically, at least, Paradise can not be adjudged guilty. In the eyes of the law, I mean. And for that reason I might have been inclined to keep all this to myself, if I had not heard of his queer work with that letter. Tell me, Paradise—do you know anything about Eve Durand?”
“I have never heard the name before, sir.”
“Have you any information in the matter of an old murder in Ely Place—the murder of Hilary Galt?”
“None wh
atever, sir.”
“But you opened an envelope addressed to Sir Frederic Bruce and substituted a blank sheet for the letter you found inside. I think you had better explain, my man.”
“Yes, sir. I will do so.” The servant turned to Barry Kirk. “This is very painful for me, Mr. Kirk. In the two years I have been with you I have done nothing dishonorable before—before this act. The gentleman has said that I poisoned my wife. I may call attention to the fact that he has some animus in the matter, as he conducted the investigation and was bitterly disappointed when a jury acquitted me. A natural feeling—”
“Never mind that,” said Duff sharply.
“At any rate, sir,” the butler continued to Kirk, “I was acquitted, for the very good reason that I was an innocent man. But I knew that, innocent or not, the fact of my having been tried would not be—er—pleasant news for you.”
“Anything but,” agreed Kirk.
“I thought it would be best if the matter remained in its former oblivion. I have been happy here—it is an excellent post—the very fact of its height above the ground has inspired me. I was always fond of high places. So I was in a bit of a funk, sir, when you told me Sir Frederic Bruce was coming. I had never had the pleasure of his acquaintance, but I’d had my brief moment in the public eye and I feared he might do me the honor to remember me. Well, he arrived and—unfortunately—he recognized me at once. We had a long talk here in this room. I assured him that I had been unjustly accused, that I had never done anything wrong, and that I was living a model life. I begged him to keep my secret. He was a just man. He said he would look into the matter—I presumed he wanted to hear Scotland Yard’s opinion of the evidence—and would let me know his decision later. And there the matter stood, sir, on the night Sir Frederic met his unhappy end.”
“Ah, yes,” said Kirk. “I begin to see.”
“What I did later was done from a misguided wish to retain your respect and confidence, sir. A messenger from Cook’s put into my hand that packet of letters, and I saw on the top what I thought was the dreaded missive from Scotland Yard. If I may be allowed to say so, I went a bit balmy then. I believed that Sir Frederic had cabled about me to the Yard, and that this was the answer. It would no doubt fall into the hands of the police.”
“It was too early for any answer yet,” Kirk told him.
“How could I be sure, sir? In this day of the airmail and other time-saving devices. I determined to have a look at that letter, and if it did not concern me, to put it back in place—”
“But it didn’t concern you, Paradise,” said Kirk.
“Not directly, sir. However, it mentioned that Inspector Duff was in New York. I had enjoyed the honor of Inspector Duff’s personal attention in my—er—my ordeal, and I was panic-stricken. The local police, reading the letter, might send for him, with results that are all too apparent now. So in my madness I slipped a blank sheet of paper into the envelope and resealed it. It was a clumsy subterfuge, sir, and one I deeply regret. Not the clumsiness, but the deceit, sir—that pains me. Everything has always been above the table with us, sir.”
“I should hope it had,” said Kirk.
“I am perhaps going too far when I ask you to overlook my defection, Mr. Kirk. I assure you, however, that it was my fondness for you, my keen desire to remain in your service, that prompted my rash act. If we could only go back to the old basis, sir—of mutual confidence and esteem—”
Kirk laughed. “I don’t know. I shall have to think this over. Are you sure you’re fond of me, Paradise?”
“Very, sir.”
“Have you analyzed your emotions carefully? No little hidden trace of resentment, or disapproval?”
“None whatever, sir. I give you my word.”
Kirk shrugged. “Very well. Then you might go and prepare the—er—the tea. In the usual manner, please.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Paradise, and departed.
“The poor old dear,” said Miss Morrow. “I’m sure he never did it. He was the victim of circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Duff. “Personally, however, I thought the evidence very strong. But I was new to the work at that time, and I may have been mistaken. At any rate, I am happy to have been able to eliminate Paradise from our case. It clears the air a bit.”
“He may be eliminated from the case,” Barry Kirk remarked. “But I’m free to admit that to me he is more important than ever.”
“You don’t believe he had anything to do with killing Sir Frederic?” Miss Morrow inquired.
“No—but I’m afraid he may have something to do with killing me. I’m faced by a private and personal problem—and a very pretty one, too. I’d hate to lose Paradise, but I’d hate to lose myself even more. Imagine taking the glass of good old orange juice every morning from a hand that has been up to tacks with hydrocyanic acid. Not so good. Charlie, as a guest here, you’re interested. What do you say?”
Chan shrugged. “It may be he disliked his wife,” he suggested.
“I should hate to think he was fond of her,” Kirk replied. “But at that, he’s a good old soul. And some wives, no doubt, drive a man too far. I think I’ll let him stay a while. However”—he looked at Miss Morrow—“something tells me I’ll do an awful lot of eating out.”
“Sergeant Chan,” Duff said, “you have not been idle. What discoveries have you made in our case so far?”
“None but the slightest,” Chan told him. “I am very bright in tracking down Paradise here, and we have just seen the value of that. Alas, there are sprouting crops that never ripen into grain.”
“True enough,” agreed the Inspector. “But you must have had ideas along other lines, too. I should be interested to hear them.”
“Some time we have little talk,” Charlie promised. “For the present—I hesitate to speak of it. I am not without tender feeling to my heart, and I know only too well the topic must be one of deep pain to Major Durand. He must pardon my rudeness if I have keen desire to hear something of that far-away night when Eve Durand was lost.”
Durand came out of a deep reverie. “Ah, yes—what’s that? The night when Eve—of course, it was all so long ago.”
“Yet a moment you are not likely to forget,” suggested Chan.
Durand smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid not. I have tried to forget—it seemed the best way. But I have never succeeded.”
“The date was the third of May, in the year 1913,” Chan prompted.
“Precisely. We had been living in Peshawar just six months—I was assigned to a regiment there only a month after our marriage, in England. A God-forsaken place, Peshawar—an outpost of empire, with a vengeance. No place to bring a woman like Eve, who had known nothing save the civilized life of the English countryside.”
He paused, deep in thought. “Yet we were very happy. We were young—Eve was eighteen, I was twenty-four—young and tremendously in love. The discomforts of that far garrison meant nothing—we had each other.”
“And on this night under question,” Chan persisted.
“There was a gay social life at the garrison, and Eve took an important part in it, as was natural. On the evening you ask about, we had arranged a picnic party in the hills. We were to ride our ponies out of the town and up a narrow dirt road to a small plateau from which we could watch the moon rise over the roofs of Peshawar. The plan was rather foolhardy—the hills were full of bandits—I was a bit fearful at the time. But the ladies—they insisted—you know how women are. And there were five men in the party, all fully armed. There seemed no real danger.”
Again he paused. “Eve wore her jewels—a pearl necklace her uncle had given her—I remember protesting against it before we set out. She only laughed at me. Sometimes I have thought—But no, I do not like to think that. Was she killed for her necklace, her rings? I have had to face it.
“At any rate, we packed our supper and rode out of the town. Everything went well until the hour arrived to go home. Then someone suggested a
game of hide-and-seek—”
“You recall who suggested that?” asked Chan.
“Yes—it was Eve. I objected, but—well, one doesn’t like to be a spoilsport, and the party was in a gay humor. The women scattered among the tamarisks—disappeared into the shadows, laughing and chatting. Within the half-hour we had found them all—save one. We have not found her yet.”
“How terrible,” Miss Morrow cried.
“You can scarcely realize the true horror of it,” Durand returned. “Those black hills filled with innumerable dangers—oh, it was a foolish thing, that game. It should never have happened. Of the night that followed—and the long, hot dreadful days after that—I need not go on, I’m sure.” He bowed his head.
“There were five men,” said Chan. “Yourself already counted.”
“Five men, yes,” Durand replied. “And five charming girls.”
“Five men—the other four officers, like yourself?” Charlie continued.
“Three of them were officers. One was not.”
Chan’s face lighted. “One was not?”
“No. The party was given in his honor, in a way. You see, he was a famous man—every one was eager to pay tribute to him. He had just been a guest at the Vice-Regal Lodge, he’d spoken in the throne-room, and they’d pinned medals and things on him. All India was ringing with his praises. He’d recently come back from a beastly perilous journey through Tibet—”
Chan’s eyes narrowed. “He was an explorer?”
“One of the best. A brave man.”
“You are referring to Colonel John Beetham?”
“Yes, of course. Then you knew?”
Kirk and Miss Morrow sat up with sudden interest. Chan nodded. “I had guessed,” he said. He was silent for a moment. “Colonel Beetham is at this moment in San Francisco,” he added.
“Really?” answered the Major. “An odd coincidence. I should like to meet him again. He was most sympathetic.”
“The party was in his honor, you have said?” Charlie went on.
“Yes—a sort of farewell. You see, he was leaving the next day. Leaving for home, but not by the conventional route—not Beetham. He was going by caravan through the wilds of Afghanistan and across the great salt desert of Persia to Teheran.”
Behind That Curtain Page 16
