Think Fast, Mr. Moto

by John P. Marquand

  Wilson Hitchings was still seated on the couch.

  “Of course, I meant to drink it,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto again. “Excuse me, I have been so very, very stupid. Please, let me explain. That whisky, I left it on my bureau. I nearly always take a little before my bedtime. Excuse me; this evening, I came home to find that the whisky was poisoned with cyanide of potassium. Please, you may smell a little, if you like. The odor is so very distinctive; one has to be so careful, always. Now, I know that you know nothing, Mr. Hitchings—and I must apologize to you very, very much. Now, I can believe anything you say.”

  Wilson Hitchings felt that his forehead was growing moist.

  “You mean,” he said—“you mean, you thought that I had done that?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “Not you, but I thought, perhaps, you knew who did. Please, Mr. Hitchings, I am so very, very sorry.”

  Then Eva Hitchings was speaking to him and he saw that her face was pale.

  “You were going to drink it,” she said, almost mechanically. “You were really going to drink it. I didn’t know about it, I swear I didn’t know.” She reached out her hand and placed it gently on his knee. “I’m awfully sorry for anything I have said,” she added. “I guess I have been an awful fool. Will you forgive me? I’d have believed anything out of a Hitchings.”

  Wilson Hitchings smiled but he felt very cold inside. The significance of everything was dawning on him, slowly.

  “So you take back what you said?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered steadily, “I take back everything.”

  Wilson Hitchings sat up straighter.

  “Well,” he said stiffly, “I’m glad you do. And now I’ll tell you something, and you too, Mr. Moto. The Hitchingses mean what they say. We’re pretty honest on the whole. I should have been glad to have swallowed that whole glass, if it could have helped the family.”

  Mr. Moto rubbed his hands. “That is very nice,” he said. “It is so very Japanese. It is very, very nice.”

  Eva Hitchings drew her hand away.

  “Can’t you ever get away from your family, even for a minute?” she asked. “Don’t be such a prig! Who cares about your family?”

  Mr. Moto was on his knee picking up the bits of broken glass.

  “I do,” said Wilson. “I care.”

  “Well, I don’t,” said Eva Hitchings. “I don’t care a button. I only know you nearly killed yourself.”

  “Oh, no,” said Mr. Moto. “Please. I was watching carefully. I was watching all the time. Poison is so common sometimes, that one must be very, very careful. Now I think we had better talk quite quickly, if you please, because I think whoever fixed that whisky will be coming here and I want to know who it is so very, very much. That was why I was waiting outside when you came in to call.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or aren’t you?” Wilson asked. “You’ll excuse me, Mr. Moto, but I’m getting very much confused.”

  Mr. Moto was pouring some soda water over his fingers and was rubbing them dry with his handkerchief. “Yes,” said Mr. Moto, “I should be so pleased to tell you everything, now that everything is so very nice. You’re quite right, Mr. Hitchings, I have come here to do a little work for my country. I shall be so very pleased to tell you but I must think a moment. Someone will be coming here, coming very soon, I think. There must not be too much noise. I must speak very softly, so that I can listen. Let me listen, please.”

  Wilson Hitchings could hear nothing but the sound of the wind outside and if Mr. Moto heard more than that, it could have been nothing to disturb him.

  “I think,” said Mr. Moto, softly, “it would be well to keep our voices down, for things are a little bit mixed up. Just answer me softly if you do not mind. Please tell me why you came to Honolulu when I did, Mr. Hitchings? That is what made me think wrong things. Did you know that I was coming?”

  Wilson Hitchings shook his head.

  “I hadn’t the least idea,” he answered; “and I don’t mind telling you my reason. I was sent here because Miss Hitchings was running Hitchings Plantation. Its name, being the same name as Hitchings Brothers, was interfering with the reputation of the firm. I was sent to try to buy Miss Hitchings out, and to have the establishment closed.”

  Mr. Moto raised his eyebrows slightly and his forehead wrinkled.

  “You actually wish the place closed?” he repeated. “You had no other reason to come here?”

  “Absolutely none,” said Wilson. “Don’t you believe me, Mr. Moto?”

  Mr. Moto rubbed his hands together and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened.

  “Then there must be someone else,” he said. “Yes, there must be someone else. I thought it might be Miss Hitchings, but since she is here with you, I do not think so. It did not seem right from the first. I should have known Hitchings Brothers was too old a house, that it could not afford to take such a risk, that it would not. I am very, very sorry.”

  Wilson Hitchings leaned forward, impatiently.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that you are either very glad or sorry about something, all the time. Is it possible for you to be direct? I don’t know who you are, Mr. Moto, and I don’t much care, but I would like to know what you are sorry about.”

  The wrinkles left Mr. Moto’s forehead and his cheeks creased in another smile.

  “I am beginning to be very, very sorry for you, Mr. Hitchings. They would be anxious to liquidate me, of course, under the circumstances; and now, if you wish to buy the place, they may wish to kill you also. It is very, very funny how things sometimes grow confused.”

  It seemed to Wilson Hitchings that the room had grown hot and close. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. He was surprised that Mr. Moto’s remark had no great effect on him, rather it confirmed something which he had been suspecting.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  Mr. Moto looked at him rather sharply and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Certain persons who are not very nice, I’m afraid,” he said. “Excuse me; when I saw you first, I could not believe that you knew so little. You are, without knowing it, in a situation which is not very nice. I do not mind telling you frankly, and perhaps you will understand. I speak for my country, Mr. Hitchings, and I am here for it. You know of the new nation of Manchukuo, in which my own country has been so much interested?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, “everyone knows that; but it seems to me you are getting a little far away.”

  “That is just it.” Mr. Moto rubbed his hands again. “This is so far away that one might not connect the two. Manchukuo is a nice country. It is very, very beautiful and I have had many pleasant times there. It is too bad that there is so much trouble in it. There are still a good many bandits in the mountains. Certain persons have been causing factions to make trouble lately. Certain Chinese and certain persons of another power. Am I being too vague, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “You certainly are, Mr. Moto.”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “I shall try to be more clear. It has been known for some time that large amounts of money are being passed from China to certain insurgent leaders in the mountains. It has been my duty for some months now to try to trace the paths through which that money goes. It has been my duty to try to block those paths. It has been very, very hard. Do you understand me better, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “No, I don’t,” Wilson Hitchings told him.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto, “I hope that you will in just a moment. The channel through which the money first passed was stopped six months ago. I do not think it will be reopened again.” Mr. Moto paused and smiled. “At least not by the same person. Fortunately such matters can be arranged very easily over there. Here it is so much more difficult. When that channel was stopped, I and my associates were much surprised to find that sums of money were still coming in. This time American dollars were appear
ing. We did not know from where. Then I began looking into the affairs of a Chinese gentleman, named Chang Lo-Shih. Do you remember that I mentioned him, Mr. Hitchings, in Shanghai?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “I remember.”

  “He is not a very nice gentleman,” Mr. Moto said. “He does not appreciate my country or understand its aims. He has been handling a great deal of that money.” Mr. Moto paused and sighed. “Just a little while ago, I found that this Mr. Chang has been sending large sums of money to an account in the Hitchings office here.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Wilson. “I don’t quite see the connection.”

  Mr. Moto bobbed his shining black head in a polite gesture of assent.

  “Please,” he said, “that is what I am looking for. That is what I am hoping to find: the exact connection. Perhaps you do not understand. These matters are so misleading, so intricate, so very, very difficult. In your own great country, Mr. Hitchings, perhaps you have read of the investigations into the bank accounts of gangsters and unworthy politicians. It is so very, very interesting the way a clever man can cover the trail of money. Sometimes it seems to be thrown like water upon the desert sand. It evaporates and, yet somewhere it condenses back again into money. As I say, I am looking for the connection. I and my associates have been looking for it very, very hard. Now here is one thing we have noticed. We have noticed American dollars in many sections of the nation of Manchukuo. They drift into the banks for exchange, a little here and there. This has struck us as being a little odd. There is no reason, of course, why a Chinese in Shanghai should not have banking connections here. Mr. Chang is a businessman and there are many Chinese businessmen in Honolulu. It is such an interesting city. Now, let me tell you something else.”

  “I wish you would,” said Wilson.

  “We have found,” said Mr. Moto, slowly and softly, “that this money which Mr. Chang is sending here is being employed for a purpose which is a little unusual. It represents the capital of a gambling syndicate. A representative of this gambling syndicate has been drawing upon it for gambling purposes at Hitchings Plantation. I hope I am being clearer now, Mr. Hitchings. We know through our sources of information that American money comes to Manchuria through Japan from vessels which have touched at this port. I do not need to go into the details or the methods. They would not be very interesting. But what is very interesting to me is that Mr. Chang has been sending money here. It goes to Hitchings Plantation. Where does it go from there? That is what I should like so very much to know?”

  “If that’s all you know,” Wilson Hitchings said, “it seems to me you’re only guessing, Mr. Moto. It seems to me you’re only shooting in the dark.”

  Mr. Moto bobbed his head and smiled.

  “Ha-ha,” he said, “that is a very nice joke, shooting in the dark. So much has to be done by guessing, Mr. Hitchings, the way things are to-day. I guess and guess and then sometimes I guess right, and can you think how I know?”

  “How?” asked Wilson. “By your native intuition?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “There is something more than that. I am sure that I am right; very, very sure, when someone starts shooting at me in the dark. Please, do you remember? Someone did to-night when I called at Miss Hitchings’ lovely place. Did someone, Miss Hitchings?”

  Eva Hitchings did not answer but she nodded. Mr. Moto’s expressionless eyes were on her and Wilson watched their glances meet and saw her look away.

  “Don’t you think that is a rather dangerous way of finding out things?” Wilson Hitchings inquired.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto, “So many things I do are dangerous. Besides, if I found out what I wish, I should be very, very pleased to die. If I do not find out, I am afraid that I must kill myself, so that all is very much the same.”

  “You don’t look like a fanatic,” Wilson Hitchings said.

  “I am not,” said Mr. Moto. “The day before you arrived, Mr. Hitchings, for I traveled very fast to get here, I called on the lady who is with you. She asked me to come back to-night. She said that she would tell me something that would interest me. She said that she did not like your family, Mr. Hitchings.”

  “That’s true, I don’t,” Eva Hitchings said.

  “You were present at the interview to-night,” Mr. Moto continued, “and now I think you can understand my line of thought. You arrived quite suddenly, Mr. Hitchings. Mr. Chang had an account at Hitchings Brothers here. His money was used at that very nice gambling table and I was shot at in the dark. Please excuse me for suspecting you, Mr. Hitchings. Perhaps you will agree that it was natural. Hitchings Brothers and Hitchings Plantation seemed quite the same to me and very, very clever. Now I know that I was wrong. Nevertheless, the only thing I need to know now, I am very, very sure, is how Mr. Chang’s money disappears at Hitchings Plantation and appears in Manchukuo.

  “It has been a very clever and a very unusual device, that way of passing money, and a difficult method to trace. That is its great advantage. Please, may I make myself clearer? Usually in such cases, a sum of money is passed from one person to another. The person who receives it may be identified eventually by suitable police methods, but here it is like water thrown on sand. These funds disappear across the table to a number of different persons or to the house. I do not quite know how the method is worked. It is not perhaps important, but there is one thing of which I am now very sure. The money which is lost from Mr. Chang’s account is collected all together and is given to a single individual who comes here at intervals and takes it away. I believe he is coming quite soon. When I find who that person is, the whole plan will break down. A few simple words over the cable to suitable authorities will make it possible to have him stopped. The person who finally takes the money—his identity is all that I wish to know.”

  Mr. Moto paused and rubbed his hands.

  “Please,” he said, “Miss Hitchings, will you tell me now what you were going to say to-night?”

  Eva Hitchings clasped her hands together in her lap and sat up straight, then she shook her head.

  “I think you know enough already, Mr. Moto,” she answered. Her voice was cool and hard. “And I think you’re so clever that I don’t need to tell you anything. I was almost taken in by your trick about the whisky. I think you’ll be able to manage Mr. Hitchings very well by yourself and perhaps I had better leave you, so that you won’t be embarrassed. I think I’ll be going now.”

  For a moment Wilson Hitchings found it difficult to speak.

  “Don’t you believe me?” he said. “Don’t you believe me at all?”

  Eva Hitchings’ glance was cold and self-possessed. She pushed a strand of hair from her forehead, folded her hands again.

  “If you really want to know what I think,” she said, “I think you’re the smoothest liar since Ananias. I think you can tell Mr. Moto exactly what’s happening to that money, and I rather think that Mr. Moto knows that you can tell him. I still believe what I told you on the beach, Mr. Hitchings. You never meant to touch that drink on the table—did you?”

  For the first time that day Wilson Hitchings realized that he was very tired. He felt a weariness which numbed his ability to reason and it placed him beyond surprise and beyond incredulity.

  “I don’t exactly understand you,” he said.

  Eva Hitchings shrugged her bare, brown shoulders.

  “I’ve noticed that you don’t understand anything,” she remarked. “You’re quite attractive when you are naïve. I imagine Mr. Moto understands you. I don’t think you’ve fooled either of us.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Moto. “Thank you very much.” He seemed about to continue, and then he stopped and lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “Be quiet, please,” he whispered. “Do not say a word, please. Sit just as you are. Someone is coming up the path.”

  Then Wilson knew that Mr. Moto must have been listening all the time and that his ears were very keen. For several seconds Wilson could hear nothing except that
soft, ceaseless, tropical trade wind which seemed to form a background to all life, and then he heard a footstep; a quick, decisive footstep. The sound made him move uneasily.

  “Quiet,” hissed Mr. Moto. “Quiet, please!” There was an insistence in Mr. Moto’s whisper which made him absolutely still and Eva Hitchings’ face made him even quieter. Her face was a little pale. Her lips were half-parted and her self-confidence and irony were gone with the sound of the footsteps. They were coming nearer. They stopped and Wilson knew that someone was pausing before the window of the cottage. Then there was another sound. Whoever it was outside was walking up the porch steps directly to the door.

  The back of Wilson’s neck was cold and his mouth was dry, and if he had tried, he could not have moved just then. Mr. Moto was standing on the palm mat in the center of the room, still with a faint mechanical smile. Softly but deliberately, Mr. Moto thrust his right hand into the side pocket of his coat. The steps had stopped by the door and again there was not a sound except for the wind. Then there was a rapping on the door. The sound seemed very loud in the stillness of the room but Mr. Moto did not move or speak. Then the knob of the door turned and the door was opened briskly.

  Wilson could not have said what he expected to see, but the actual sight was a complete anticlimax. A man stood in the doorway, dressed in a light linen suit and wearing a panama hat that had a band of feathers around it, a peculiar product of the islands which Wilson had already noticed. A thin, oldish man, with a close-cropped mustache and a lean, tan face.… Wilson remembered the droop of the mouth, half good-natured, half querulous, and the benign, rather lazy cast of the eyes. It was Mr. Wilkie, the Office Manager of Hitchings Brothers, standing in the door. Mr. Wilkie stood for a moment, quite motionless, as though the light confused him.

  “Excuse me,” he said quickly. “I was looking for—” and then he saw Eva Hitchings. It was plain that he had not noticed her at first, because his voice changed.