Mr. Moto Omnibus

by John P. Marquand

  Wilson nodded toward Mr. Wilkie, who had leaned back in his chair.

  “I hope you can give me just a few minutes,” he said, politely. “And then you’ll understand why I’m here, I think. You will if you are a reasonable man.”

  Mr. Chang’s moonlike face curled in an easy smile and he clasped his hands across his stomach.

  “My dear young friend,” he said. “I have always admired the Hitchings family. You will find me very reasonable. It is my hope that we will both be very reasonable tonight. I have come here with the simple purpose of being reasonable. Pay no attention to these fellows. You and I are businessmen. What do you wish to say?”

  At another time the reasonableness of Mr. Chang might have been solid and reassuring, for Mr. Chang was like a solid businessman, and an admirably fat one, from the Chinese point of view. His impassivity gave the impression of conservative reliability. But there was a quality in all that solidness which Wilson Hitchings had never encountered before. There was something adamantine behind the pale-yellow corpulence of Mr. Chang, that was as cool and as hard as the jade which his people loved. Mr. Chang’s cool and emotionless glance was disconcerting. Mr. Chang was like a capable poker player, who had drawn a very good hand and who was willing to back his hand to the limit. The impact of his personality was heavy in the room, so definite that there was no doubt that it was Mr. Chang who was giving orders. When Wilson looked at Mr. Wilkie the latter avoided his glance. Mr. Wilkie was looking hot and tired, no longer cool and dapper.

  “Eva, my dear,” Mr. Wilkie said, “I think I had better take you to some other part of the house. This is something which you do not need to understand—something between Mr. Chang and me and Mr. Hitchings.”

  Eva Hitchings stood up straight.

  “I would rather stay, thank you,” she answered. “I’m afraid I understand everything rather well. You have been lying to me, Uncle Joe. I don’t know that I blame you, but you have been lying.”

  “My dear,” began Mr. Wilkie, “that is very inaccurate.”

  Mr. Chang raised a heavy blunt-fingered hand.

  “That will do, if you please,” he said. “I am negotiating this business, Mr. Wilkie. Miss Eva must stay with us, since she is involved. I hope she will find—pleasantly involved. No one should leave this room until we understand each other. Now, Mr. Hitchings, do not allow yourself to be interrupted, please,” and Mr. Chang placed a hand on either knee and bent his head attentively forward.

  Without being able to ascribe any reason for it, Wilson suddenly had a very definite wish that he was not there. Although he summoned up all his will power and self-control, he felt his confidence evaporating under Mr. Chang’s cool scrutiny; because Mr. Chang was very sure of something, insolently sure of something, and Wilson did not know what. He only knew that he was caught in some combination as intricate and involved as a piece of Chinese carving.

  “First, I want you to understand my reason for being here,” Wilson said. “I want you to understand I am here entirely of my own free will, not because I approve of what you are doing but because I did not know until today that Mr. Wilkie had been extending the interests of Hitchings Brothers, without our advice or consent, Mr. Chang.” He stopped and nodded at the money on the floor.

  “Sergi,” said Mr. Chang, “continue with the money. . . . That is very clearly put, Mr. Hitchings, I knew that you would be logical and reasonable. I was so sure of it that I wished to talk to you, until I found that Mr. Wilkie had been so impetuous as to send you out to sea. You are concerned—and naturally concerned, because you find Hitchings Brothers involved in a transaction which may hurt its reputation. You are quite right. Mr. Wilkie, as Manager, has been helping more than necessary in transferring funds. It does truly involve Hitchings Brothers but I have a very high opinion of your family. You are not here to speak about recriminations and right and wrong. We both have our own interests. I presume you are here to make a proposition. What is your proposition, Mr. Hitchings?”

  Wilson Hitchings kept his eyes on Mr. Chang and tried to speak coolly but there was a tremor in his voice.

  “You are correct, Mr. Chang,” he said. “I have come here to warn you to get this money out of here as quickly as possible and to get yourself and your messenger out with it. I don’t think you have got much time. There is a Japanese agent here, Mr. Chang. He’s found out everything about your methods. There is only one thing he wants. He wants to identify the man who is handling the money.”

  Sergi paused with a handful of currency clasped between his fingers and stared at Wilson unblinkingly.

  “Ah,” he said, in a silky, gentle voice. “So he has got as far as that.”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “He has got as far as that. . . . I do not mind about you, Mr. Sergi, whoever you may be,—I remember that I saw you in Shanghai,—or about you either, Mr. Chang; but I do mind about Mr. Wilkie. I must stop Hitchings Brothers being identified with this. That’s why I’m telling you to pack up quickly and get yourselves and the money on the boat.”

  Mr. Chang’s blunt fingers closed on his knees and relaxed but his face was impassively intent.

  “Your concern is quite natural,” he said. “I had the intuition that we could cooperate with one another. I even suggested it to your uncle in Shanghai. I was sorry he refused, but perhaps he will understand the necessity now. You are speaking of a Mr. Moto, I presume? I have made several attempts to be rid of Mr. Moto. Where did you see this Mr. Moto today? I should like to know, because we have been looking for him.”

  Wilson Hitchings answered deliberately.

  “Mr. Moto had concealed himself in Mr. Wilkie’s boat,” he said. “He was in a great hurry the last time I saw him. That is why I tell you that you haven’t got much time.”

  Mr. Chang leaned forward; his eyes were stony and unblinking.

  “So that is where he was,” he said. “I am deeply obliged to you, Mr. Hitchings. You have been a very great help to a useful cause tonight. Go out quickly, Mr. Maddock. You have men enough, I think. When Mr. Moto comes, bring him here. I want to be sure of everything myself. I want no error this time. Be careful with him, Mr. Maddock.”

  Mr. Maddock grinned and his Adam’s apple moved slowly up and down.

  “You want to see him here,” he said, “before he gets the works?”

  “Exactly,” said Mr. Chang. “No one has seemed to be able to give him what you call ‘the works’—certainly not last night.”

  “Okay, boss,” said Mr. Maddock. He walked noiselessly to the door and closed it softly behind him, and the room was silent for a moment.

  “Chang,” said the pale man named Sergi, looking up from the traveling bag, “you had better not. This is dangerous.”

  “Allow me to attend to this,” said Mr. Chang gently. “It is the only way for business to continue. He would do the same to you.”

  Wilson Hitchings opened his mouth to speak and stopped. He felt the blood drumming hotly in his ears and he heard Eva Hitchings ask the question which he had meant to ask himself.

  “What are you going to do with Mr. Moto?”

  Mr. Chang leaned back in his chair with his hands still on his knees.

  “We will consider that in a moment,” he said. “Please do not worry. Mr. Maddock is very capable in such matters. He will unquestionably bring Mr. Moto here. No doubt Mr. Moto is in the shrubbery at this very minute. You look surprised? Surely you follow me, Mr. Hitchings?”

  Wilson Hitchings cleared his throat. “No,” he said, “I don’t.”

  “Pierre,” said Mr. Chang. “Place a chair for Mr. Hitchings and a chair for the young lady, please. Also one for Mr. Moto—to be ready when he arrives. You know, Mr. Hitchings, really I would prefer that you sat down. Your mind will be more tranquil sitting down. I wish you to realize that we must help each other. Consider me as your elder brother, Mr. Hitchings.”

  In spite of himself, Wilson felt all his concentration was on the face of Mr. Chang. He tried to draw his eyes aw
ay but he could not. “You must realize that we are partners,” said Mr. Chang. “You and Miss Hitchings, Mr. Wilkie and I.”

  Wilson cleared his throat again. He felt the perspiration gathering clammily on his forehead.

  “He’s right, Hitchings,” Mr. Wilkie said. “Now, think and be reasonable, Hitchings.”

  Something inside of Wilson was struggling against his self-control —something as close to panic as anything that he had ever known.

  “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely. “If you mean I am going to be a partner in a murder, you are mistaken, Mr. Chang.”

  “Wait!” Mr. Chang’s voice was very gentle. “Control yourself. You are going too far ahead. Think of yourself, Mr. Hitchings. Relax and allow the current to guide you. You have done the only thing which is reasonable and possible tonight. You have done the only thing that can save your house and that is very admirable. Your business house is very close to ruin if any of this affair is exposed. You have seen that yourself. We are not speaking of murder. We are speaking of continuing a very lucrative and patriotic business.”

  “Go on!” said Wilson Hitchings, and he felt his heart beating in his throat.

  “That is better,” said Mr. Chang, soothingly. “You are thinking of your family now and of the honor of your house. You will go far in the Orient, Mr. Hitchings. It is a good family and a good house. They will both be safe in my hands and Mr. Wilkie’s, Mr. Hitchings. I can promise you that and I do not break a promise.”

  Wilson Hitchings tried to think, but instead he found himself struggling against a will and a determination which was stronger than his own. He tried to speak casually but he knew that he made a very bad attempt.

  “You are not quite clear,” he said, with difficulty. “I am trying to follow you, but you are not quite clear.”

  Mr. Chang nodded brightly, almost sympathetically.

  “I have an admiration for you, Mr. Hitchings,” he said. “You are controlling yourself very well, and so is the young lady. She will be loyal to you and you will be loyal to your house. There are many painful matters which we must face upon the road of life. I was young once myself and I appreciate your qualms. Quite beyond our own intention, we become involved in difficulties, as you are involved tonight. Then a sensible man will go forward with the tide and I know that you are sensible. If this affair becomes public, it will mean ruin to your business. You must help us so that this will not happen. You think this is the last time we shall forward money in this manner, is it not so, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “Yes, I think so.”

  “But your reason, Mr. Hitchings,” Mr. Chang continued smoothly, “will tell you that it is not so. This method of sending money is too valuable and too lucrative for us. We cannot give it up. We shall continue, because your house is so involved that it will allow us to continue.” Mr. Chang paused and Mr. Wilkie spoke, confidently, like a man in a directors’ meeting.

  “There won’t be any complications, Hitchings,” he said. “There won’t be a breath of scandal.”

  “Wait a moment,” said Mr. Chang. “Wait a moment, please. I know the Hitchings family. They are cold and logical and Mr. Hitchings is an excellent representative. He is beginning to understand already. In a few minutes he will see that his own personal interest will be involved also—that we are partners already. I think perhaps you follow me now. I see your mind putting my words together, Mr. Hitchings. Sit quietly and think. Please do not move.”

  “I think you had better go on,” Wilson Hitchings said. His mind was dealing with something so ugly and so sinister, and so far from his anticipations, that it took away his breath. Mr. Chang was nodding his head approvingly.

  “Ah,” he said. “You are a very promising young man. Anyone involved in a business transaction must be personally interested. That is why I have a surprise for you tonight. Be tranquil. Listen to me, please. Your logic must tell you that Mr. Moto must be eliminated. Tonight you and Miss Hitchings will be a party in that elimination indirectly. I see you did not expect it. Quiet, Mr. Hitchings! Think! Think of yourself and the Hitchings Bank. You have been a party to it already. Of your own free will, you told us to expect Mr. Moto, Mr. Hitchings.”

  Wilson Hitchings sat motionless but the words were like a blow across his face. The whole business was as clear as daylight and as ugly as his thoughts.

  “That’s a lie!” he stammered. He was ashamed of himself for stammering. “I hadn’t the least idea—”

  “Of course, it is a lie!” said Eva Hitchings. “You can’t do a thing like that. Do you think I’ll stay here and let you do it—do you think that?”

  “Wait!” said Mr. Chang softly. “One little minute please! Think, I beg you. No matter what the result will be, you will be suspected, always. Think of your family, Mr. Hitchings. And what is this man to you? He is not your affair. He will be got rid of so no one can find him. You must rely on me. Think very carefully, please. The family, Mr. Hitchings—the family.”

  Then Wilson Hitchings was on his feet.

  “Damn the family!” he said hoarsely. “Do you think we would soil our hands with a bunch of crooks like you?”

  “Sergi,” said Mr. Chang, gently. “Pierre . . . ”

  But Wilson scarcely heard him. He had darted toward the door and his hand was on the lock. He was wrenching at the door, when he heard Eva Hitchings scream; and then her scream was choked. Then a coat was over his head and he was tripped backward over the floor.

  “Help!” Wilson shouted. “Murder!”

  Even then he was shocked at the banality of his words. A knee was thrust into the pit of his stomach with all the weight of Mr. Chang behind it. He was gasping, choking for his breath. Someone had his shoulders and was pulling him to his feet.

  “A chair, Sergi,” Mr. Chang was saying. “Tie him to the chair. Adhesive tape for the mouth, please, but I shall let him get his breath.”

  The coat was jerked from his head and he was staring into Mr. Chang’s cool eyes.

  “First a handkerchief,” said Mr. Chang, “and then the tape. Can you hear me, Mr. Hitchings? You will have been here, Mr. Hitchings, and you will not have said a word. I doubt if anyone will believe your story, about being bound and gagged. You are far too much involved—but you are not a fool. Your judgment will come back.”

  Wilson was still struggling for his breath and there was a mist before his eyes, but he could see the room plainly enough. Opposite him, Eva Hitchings was also being tied to a chair and the croupier tied a handkerchief over her mouth. Mr. Wilkie was leaning over her.

  “Eva, my dear,” Mr. Wilkie was saying, “I am very sorry for all this, but it will be over in a very little while.”

  Sergi was tossing the pile of bank notes again into the open bag, and Mr. Chang had seated himself before the desk.

  “I am so sorry,” Mr. Chang said. “I hope you will bear me no ill will, Mr. Hitchings. I think you will thank me in the end. You will come to realize that human life counts far less in the Orient. It may disturb you for a little while but in the end you will forget. When we get back to Shanghai, we shall have a talk about it, over a very good dinner. You will sympathize with my point of view. I am essentially a nationalist. I have no great love or respect for Japan, but Mr. Moto, himself, will understand everything perfectly. You need not have him on your conscience, Mr. Hitchings. No, you need fear nothing. All you need is a little time for quiet consideration. No one will harm you. It is out of the question, of course. Now, simply think of my speech in the nature of a farewell until I return in a few hours. I telephoned a while ago to have the sampan put in order. Sergi and I will leave with the money. There is a vessel outside waiting for us called the Eastern Light. So you knew? I supposed you did. We need not have any secrets any longer.” He paused, and there was a rap on the door. One long—and four short raps.

  “Let them in, Sergi,” said Mr. Chang. “That will be Mr. Moto. We should have caught him in any event, Mr. Hitchings, so do not have it any
too heavily on your conscience.”

  14

  WILSON STARED at the door and felt deathly ill. Sergi had opened the door and stepped aside, revealing Mr. Moto, with his purple necktie awry and with a smudge of black earth on his cheek, walking carefully as though the ground were hot. The reason for his care was supplied by Mr. Maddock who came directly behind him, with the muzzle of a pistol pressed against Mr. Moto’s back.

  “Easy, pal,” said Mr. Maddock. “The boss wants to see you, pal.”

  “Close the door, Sergi,” said Mr. Chang. He paused and examined Mr. Moto, thoughtfully. “It is nice to see you, Mr. Moto,” Mr. Chang said. “You have given us a great deal of trouble.”

  Mr. Moto bowed.

  “Easy, pal,” said Mr. Maddock. “Keep your hands still, pal.”

  “Excuse me,” said Mr. Moto. His voice was as steady as ever. “I did not know you were here, Mr. Chang, though I suppose I should have guessed. Everything has been done so very, very well—except last night you were so clumsy.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Chang, gently. “I felt that circumstances demanded my management.”

  The gold in Mr. Moto’s teeth gleamed. He was looking at Sergi with the lively interest of a professional, who forgets personal discomfort and danger in a pursuit of knowledge. Sergi looked back at him, with a cigarette still drooping from the corner of his mouth.

  “How do you do, Mr. Moto,” Sergi said.

  “How do you do,” said Mr. Moto. “I am so very, very glad to know who it has been. It is so very, very nice to know that a skillful man has been working. I hope you have been well since Mongolia.”

  “Yes,” said Sergi. “Thank you.”

  “I am so very, very glad,” said Mr. Moto politely. “It is such an uncertain life. I have always respected your work so very, very much. Do you remember the code at the Naval Conference?”