Mr. Moto Omnibus

by John P. Marquand

  “What do you think I’d better do with it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “that’s up to you. I can’t do anything, can I, Gates?”

  “Well, what’s so queer about it?” Dr. Gilbreth said. “It’s only a cigarette case, isn’t it?” Dr. Gilbreth did not understand, and there was no necessity to explain. Calvin held the cigarette case, and looked at it, until each detail of the design was clear in his memory. Then he opened it and with a sudden wrench he tore the inlaid cover from its hinges.

  “What are you doing?” he heard Miss Dillaway ask, but instead of answering he bent the silver cover between his hands. It was a delicate but unstable piece of silverwork. The brittle iron of the inlay snapped as he bent it and bits of it fell to the earth floor at his feet.

  “Pick those pieces up,” he said to Miss Dillaway. “Hide them somewhere, each one in a different place. Break them first. Bend them out of shape.”

  He bent the silver in his hands until it broke and then he bent the pieces and broke them again; finally he ground each piece beneath his heel into a shapeless mass. There was nothing left when he had finished.

  “They can’t put that together,” Calvin said, “not if they work a week.”

  “But what are you doing it for?” Miss Dillaway asked.

  “Because I want to get you out of this,” Calvin answered. “And no matter what happens—we’ve got them now, I think.”

  “But I don’t see—” she began, and Calvin Gates stopped her. He was listening to a sound outside.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Don’t speak, don’t say anything.”

  There was a stir outside the door. It was Captain Hamby. Calvin could hear him humming.

  “What’s the use of worrying, it never was worthwhile.”

  The heavy door creaked open and he stepped inside the shed.

  “Hello,” said Captain Hamby. “Everybody comfortable? Now don’t start complaining. You’re all lucky so far.”

  “Look here, Hamby—” Dr. Gilbreth began.

  “Now, now,” said Captain Hamby, “that’s enough from you, Doctor. You’re a secondary problem. You’re wanted at the house, Gates. Come along now, come along. My word, this is quite a night.”

  “So you’re back, are you?” Calvin asked. “I suggest you let us all out, Hamby.”

  Captain Hamby laughed—the laugh of a man in excellent spirits. Whatever the Captain had done since Calvin had seen him last must have been both agreeable and successful.

  “Let everyone out!” Captain Hamby made an exaggerated gesture of surprise. “Now, now, that don’t come into the bargain, Gates. I’m surprised that you should suggest it, an accurate man like you. Maybe my mind’s failing, but I don’t recall of talking of letting Miss Dillaway out. I promised to put her under the care of Dr. Gilbreth. Well, she is under his care, isn’t she? It isn’t my fault if his care don’t amount to much. It isn’t my fault if he’s in trouble with the Prince. Keep your shirt on, Gates.”

  “You’re an Australian, aren’t you?” Calvin said. “I forgot your family came out on a convict ship.”

  Captain Hamby bit his lip and then he smiled again.

  “And who are you to talk?” he said. “I don’t bite the hand that feeds me, Gates, and you turned up Moto good and proper. I’m not yellow dog taking Japanese pay. Stow it, Gates, don’t move.”

  “That’s a lie,” Miss Dillaway called out. “He never did that and you know it.”

  “Never mind it, Dillaway,” Calvin said. “There’s nothing I’m ashamed of.”

  “Isn’t there?” said Captain Hamby. “Well, that’s fine. And there’s nothing I’m ashamed of either, when I deal with a new chum like you. I don’t know what your lay was, Gates, but it don’t make much difference now. You stow it. I’m keeping all of my bargain that I can. I’d promised you you’d talk with Gilbreth, didn’t I? You’ve got a sight more than you deserve, my boy.”

  Calvin measured the distance between himself and Captain Hamby and leaned forward. Captain Hamby put his hands in his coat pocket and took a quick step back.

  “Get some sense in your head, old chum,” Captain Hamby said, “and no more of your bloody insults either. If I finished you off right here, nobody would mind. Instead I’m doing what I can for you. Are you coming with me, or do you want me to call some of my boys to drag you?”

  “Don’t bother,” said Calvin, “I’m coming.”

  Captain Hamby’s irritation vanished.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got nothing against you personally, Gates, upon my word. I’ll do all I can for you. Just smile, smile, smile. Step ahead of me, smartly now.”

  Captain Hamby hummed beneath his breath about the lucifer and the old kit bag, as he walked beside Calvin Gates across the compound with two attendants close behind him.

  “Just take things as they come, Gates,” said Captain Hamby soothingly. “My word, this is none of my doing, it’s only your own tight corner, but I promised you’d see the fun. Yes, it’s quite a night. It isn’t always things work out this neatly. While you’ve got a lucifer to light your fag—”

  “Who wants to see me?” Calvin asked.

  “Just smile, smile, smile,” Captain Hamby said. “A Russian gentleman wants to see you. My word, I’m sorry, Gates. He thinks you murdered a pal of his in that hotel in Mukden. The Prince is allowing him to dispose of you, but I’ll do what I can. My word, Gates.”

  “Never mind your word,” Calvin said.

  “That’s fine,” said Captain Hamby, “that’s the sporting way to take it. I’ll see that Miss Dillaway and the Doctor get back to Ghuru Nor. Maybe they’ll get home sometime if they’re lucky. We can’t suit everybody these days. You’re seeing the beginning of a war. Just between friends, the Prince is near to selling out to Russia, Gates. Just keep smiling. Here we are.”

  Mr. Holtz opened the door of his bungalow.

  “So,” he said to Captain Hamby, “here you are.”

  Everything in Mr. Holtz’s room was much as Calvin had left it. The Prince was back in his chair at one end of the room, beside the table with the lamp upon it. Only when Calvin was in the center of the room was he aware of a strained, hushed sort of expectancy, and then he saw the reason. Seated in a stiff-backed wooden chair near the Prince was Mr. Moto.

  20

  THERE WAS a gash on the side of Mr. Moto’s head and his coat was torn, but his eyes were bright and steady. His eyes turned toward Calvin Gates and then back across the room where he had been gazing before, straight at Major Ahara.

  “Well, well,” said Captain Hamby, “there’s your old friend, Mr. Moto, Gates. Anything you want to say to Mr. Moto?”

  “No,” Calvin answered, “except that I told him to look out for you.”

  “It is all right,” said Mr. Moto gently. “Please believe I do not blame you, Mr. Gates. I am so afraid that there is so much trouble.”

  “Yes,” said Captain Hamby, “so much trouble. Gates, here’s the gentleman who wants a word with you—over by the table. His name is General Shirov.”

  A man at the table close to where the Prince was seated turned around in his chair. He was a pale, youngish man with a sharp, studious face. He was holding some papers in his hand, and in that moment as Calvin watched him he wondered if he had not seen the face before; then he realized what had given him the notion, for the man called General Shirov was like the Russian whom he had first seen on the train. He had the same cut to his clothes and the same high forehead and the same blue, slightly protuberant eyes. He laid his papers carefully on his knee, but he did not speak for a moment.

  In the odd silence which followed everything in the room appeared to be motionless, so that each face was registered photographically on Calvin’s mind. He saw the guards by the door and the strange, barbaric robes of the Prince’s retinue, so completely out of place among the rather ugly modern furnishings. He and Captain Hamby were standing in the center of it all, for Mr. Holtz with a placid grunt ha
d eased himself back into his chair again. On his left hand he could see Mr. Moto looking grayish white and shaken, and straight in front of him the Prince sat, his narrow eyes glittering, his lean hands upon his knees. Near him by the table was General Shirov, and farther to the right he could see Major Ahara. The saber cuts on the Major’s face were livid and his lips moved soundlessly. When General Shirov spoke even his voice was like that of the Russian whom Calvin had first seen on the train, the facile international voice of the born linguist.

  “There are some questions I wish to ask you,” he said to Calvin Gates. “I have heard the answers, but I wish to hear them from yourself.”

  His voice had the impersonal courtesy of a magistrate in court.

  “I am questioning you for personal reasons. I am General Shirov, sir, in charge of the Russian Intelligence in China. I wish to ask you about a certain silver cigarette case. It would be helpful if you answered voluntarily, for time is very pressing.”

  There was another silence, and the General looked at Calvin wearily, and Calvin looked back trying to discover what sort of man it was who was speaking. There was no way to discover, because he was cloaked in a careful, unobtrusive sort of anonymity that revealed no trace of character.

  “Go ahead,” said Calvin Gates, “I’ll answer.”

  “Thank you,” said General Shirov. “Do I understand you are an agent for some government?”

  “No,” said Calvin Gates.

  The General’s pale eyebrows lifted slightly.

  “Do you intend to convey the idea,” he asked, “that you became involved in this matter entirely through accident?”

  “Yes,” said Calvin Gates. The General’s fingers caressed the papers on his knee. His eyes were blue and unblinking.

  “A very serious matter to be involved in just by accident, do you not think?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Calvin Gates.

  “Very serious and very peculiar,” the General said. “You met a Russian upon the train, between Fusan and Mukden, whose name was Boris, who was acting as courier for a young American lady—will you describe him please?”

  The nose, the mouth and the protuberant blue eyes were much the same.

  “He looked like you,” said Calvin Gates.

  The General rustled the papers upon his knee.

  “That is right,” he said, “the gentleman was my brother. Now you may appreciate my interest. My brother approached the American lady upon the train and offered her a cigarette case. You saw her take it, and that same evening my brother called upon you in your room and asked you to take charge of that cigarette case. This seems extraordinary to me, sir. Did it not seem so to you? Why do you suppose he did such a thing?”

  The General’s blue eyes were cool and passionless.

  “He didn’t have time to tell me,” Calvin Gates answered. “He was disturbed about something. I gathered that there was some danger connected with that cigarette case.”

  The General nodded and sighed.

  “Yes,” he said, “some danger, and I understand from Captain Hamby, who is here beside you now, that my brother was killed in your room. For personal reasons I should like to know who killed him. You say you did not, sir.”

  “I didn’t,” said Calvin Gates, and suddenly his mouth felt dry and parched. He was a prisoner undergoing examination at a bar of justice, and he knew that there was no particular reason why he should be believed. “Why should I have wanted to kill him?” he added.

  “I do not know,” the General said. “I am trying to understand your motives, sir.” The General raised his hand from his knee and pointed to Mr. Moto. “Did this man kill him?”

  “No,” said Calvin, “he did not. He came into the room just a moment afterwards. I think he was surprised.” In the silence that followed, Major Ahara drew a deep sibilant breath and stared across the room toward Mr. Moto.

  “We will leave that matter for the moment,” the Russian said. “After this, you went to the lady’s room and she gave you the cigarette case, and you kept it. Why did you do that?”

  Calvin Gates hesitated because it was a hard enough question to answer.

  “I took it because I thought she would be in danger,” he said. “I kept it because I thought we would be in danger anyway, with or without that cigarette case.” He looked at Mr. Moto and Mr. Moto stared back at him stonily. “I thought that she and I might be safer if I kept it.”

  “Yes,” General Shirov said. “Were those the only reasons?”

  “I guess not,” Calvin answered. “I guess I wanted to see what was going to happen. It made me forget some things about myself.”

  “Oh,” said General Shirov, “some things about yourself? And you wished to protect the lady? That is peculiar, sir. When Captain Hamby asked you for this cigarette case you did not give it to him. Why did you not?”

  “Because I didn’t trust him,” Calvin said.

  For the first time in that interview the General’s wide blue eyes left Calvin’s face and turned toward Captain Hamby.

  “That is something which I can believe,” he said. “Captain Hamby promised us delivery and I find a Japanese here dealing with him.”

  Captain Hamby’s face wrinkled into a hard, bright smile. “The Major came here,” he said. “I didn’t ask him. I’m always willing to talk business, Shirov. My word, it’s coming your way, isn’t it?”

  “It is coming my way,” said General Shirov, “because I have confided in you the latest news from Moscow—that is the only reason. Otherwise I would be the one to be marched outside.”

  “Righto,” said Captain Hamby genially. “We have to use the tools at hand, General. Now if you want to talk business with the Prince—”

  “One moment,” said General Shirov, “one moment, please. I wish to ask this man another question. I do not trust you, Captain Hamby, about this cigarette case. I have not seen it yet. Now sir, if you please . . . You did not give that silver case to Captain Hamby, you kept it because you wished to protect the lady, and yet you gave it back to her and left her in Peiping. How did that protect her?”

  Calvin felt his face redden. Instead of being dignified, he had been foolish, and everything he had said sounded like a tissue of falsehood, although it had only been the truth.

  “I quarreled with her,” he answered, “but I came up here to find her.”

  General Shirov’s face relaxed into a pale, thin smile.

  “That will do I think,” he said. “Who is paying you, Captain Hamby or the Japanese?”

  Calvin shrugged his shoulders.

  “No one’s paying me,” he answered. “You can believe what I said or not.”

  “Perhaps,” said General Shirov, “when I see the cigarette case—”

  Captain Hamby took a step forward and his eyes were bright and angry. The Prince leaned backward in his chair and spoke in his high, thin voice.

  “General Shirov,” he said, “Captain Hamby has it in his pocket. You shall make your offer. There is only one thing which I must know first. I am sorry that my English is so slow. I was taught by an Englishman. He was brought by my father from Peiping, but that was long ago. It is the only language that everyone can understand, you and the Japanese.”

  “Excellency,” the General answered, “your English is very good. What is it that you want to know?”

  The Prince looked about him with a serene, cool dignity. “Tonight I am thinking of my people. If I sell to you, Japan will be my enemy. How can I be sure that my people will be protected? That is what I wish to know. Will a strong Russian army move to Ghuru Nor?”

  The Russian agent spoke eagerly.

  “There can be no doubt of it, Your Excellency,” he answered. “I was at the concentration point a week ago. They are only waiting for the message. If Japan begins further pressure on North China, three divisions will move at once into Ghuru Nor.”

  There was another of those strange silences. Calvin Gates could feel his pulses beating. Out of the corner of his eye
he saw Mr. Moto moisten the corner of his lips and heard him sigh.

  “Well, you’ll never have a better chance,” Captain Hamby said. “There’s the man right in front of you who is giving the Japanese troops their orders. My word, he’s your prisoner just as soon as you pay the money. You’ve seen the papers in your pocket, haven’t you?”

  The Russian took the papers from his knee and set them on the table.

  “They would appear correct,” he said. “But I do not understand how he allowed you to take him. There is something that is not right.”

  A sudden noise at the right of the room made Calvin turn. Major Ahara had leapt out of his chair before anyone could lay a hand upon him and in a single bound he had reached the center of the room.

  “It is true that there is something that is not right,” he said. “The man sitting there is a traitor to his country.”

  Mr. Moto moved uneasily in his chair.

  “Please,” he said, “please.”

  “Yes,” said Major Ahara, “a traitor to your emperor. You meant that message to be delivered. You allowed yourself to be brought here with the orders on you. Answer me if that is not so. You cannot answer.”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto, “that will be enough.”

  “Yes,” said Captain Hamby. “My word, it will. Windy little beggars, you Japanese,” and he seized Major Ahara’s shoulders.

  At the same instant the Major struck at Captain Hamby’s arm and the Captain staggered backward with a choking cry of amazement. The room was filled with a confused clamor that sounded like the yelping from a kennel. A dark-gowned man lunged at the Major and missed him. An instant later the Japanese had tripped up the guard by the door and snatched it open. Then he sprang outside with Captain Hamby just behind him. The report of a pistol sounded in the compound, and then a second shot. Mr. Holtz pushed past the crowd at the door. The Prince called out a high, sharp order, but he had not risen from his chair.