West of Guam

by Raoul Whitfield

  When he stood with his back against the poles that supported the little house, he sucked in deep breaths of air. His eyes stared towards the rear of the larger house, but no figures came into sight. It had been a very narrow escape. Perhaps he had been a fool. But he had felt that Howker and Deming would try to deal with him. He had thought that they would make a bargain for the pearls.

  Instead, knives had been flung. Only the fact that he had noticed the vanishing of the Japanese who had posed as Toyen’s servant had saved him. Perhaps they had intended to search him, after the knives had struck into his body.

  Jo Gar shook his head slightly. He didn’t think that Howker would believe he would bring the pearls to Toyen. And yet, the yacht captain might have thought that. And the man was a killer.

  A shape moved faintly in the darkness, near the rear of the larger house. Jo Gar stood motionless; his diminutive body was tense. He held the automatic low in his right hand fingers. For several seconds the figure near the rear of the bamboo shack was motionless. And then it moved, directly towards Jo. A voice said shakily:

  “Señor Gar—Señor Gar—”

  It was the voice of the Japanese who had run along behind the rickshaw. Jo raised his right hand slightly, spoke in a low tone:

  “I am here—I hold a gun in my right hand. Come forward, please.” The Japanese sucked in his breath sharply. He moved towards the Island detective. He said softly:

  “The rickshaw was attacked—by thieves. I was pulled off the road. You are not hurt?”

  Jo Gar smiled a little in the darkness. He said steadily:

  “Stop there—do not come closer. I shall kill you—very soon.”

  The Japanese cried out thickly: “I am the servant of Ichito Toyen—I come to—”

  “You are a liar,” Jo Gar interrupted very softly. “Keep your voice low, and answer my questions. You have tricked me and I—”

  Something rustled behind the little house of bamboo.

  The Island detective hesitated, then went on.

  “And I shall kill you, unless you talk the truth to me. You understand?”

  The Japanese was breathing heavily. There was a faint sound from Jo Gar’s right. Someone was moving from the rear of the small house—creeping around towards him. And the Japanese was talking again.

  “I did not trick you—it was the thieves. They thought you were a wealthy American, perhaps—”

  Jo Gar said: “Do I appear to be an American?”

  The Japanese was silent for several seconds. The rustling sound had died. Jo Gar said:

  “You have tricked me—I will kill you!”

  He squeezed the trigger of the gun. There was a sharp crack!—the Japanese screamed shrilly. Jo whirled around, moved swiftly to the right, close to the bamboo poles of the small house. He saw the figure crouched close to the curve of the rear wall, five feet from him—saw the upraised arm. As he dropped to his knees he fired twice.

  The human groaned, leaned against the poles beside him, slipped to the earth. Jo Gar turned his head and looked towards the spot where he had left the Japanese. He could see no dim figure.

  He crawled towards the man who lay on the earth, then rose to his feet. A voice said huskily:

  “You got me—in the stomach—damn Howker!”

  Jo Gar said softly: “Deming—it is you. Where is—Howker?”

  The man on the ground groaned. His face showed white in the darkness. He gritted out the words:

  “He bribed that red-haired deckhand—to get us loose. We got ashore in a boat. He said we had to get—you. Or we’d go back to Manila—for murder.”

  Jo Gar stood motionless, looking down at the figure of the second officer. He said slowly:

  “You helped him—on the yacht. He murdered Randonn. But he does not care—about you. Where is he—now?”

  Deming started to say something, stopped. Jo Gar said softly:

  “If you talk—I will send someone here to you. If you do not talk—I will use another bullet—”

  The second officer swore thickly. He muttered in a voice that was barely audible:

  “He’s at—the hotel—the pearls—”

  His voice broke. Faint light caught the blade of the knife that lay on the earth beside him. Voices were shrilling, towards the road.

  Jo Gar leaned down and lifted the knife. It was long-bladed, with a short hilt. The voices were growing louder. He leaned towards the body of the second officer.

  “Help will reach you—do not talk about—the pearls—”

  He stopped. The second officer was unconscious. There was faint heart action. Jo straightened, moved towards the terraces beyond the small house, keeping the structure between him and the road. When he reached the first of the rice ditches he turned sharply to his right and moved forward slowly, his body bent low.

  He heard voices, raised and borne to him on the wind. One sounded like that of the Jap who had posed as Toyen’s servant. He had not fired at the man, but into the earth near the spot where he had stood. He moved on steadily. After a few minutes the voices did not reach him. Once, looking back, he saw the flare of many torches. He guessed that Deming had been discovered.

  After a short time he reached a dirt road. It converged with another, a quarter of a mile or so beyond. Jo turned his collar high, bent his head low. The streets were crowded; he came suddenly into a section where there was a celebration. Fire crackers were being set off—there were banners and serpent designs hung and streaming from long poles.

  Jo Gar moved through the crowded streets of the section. He found a rickshaw, got into it. The driver grinned at him, showing yellow, broken teeth. Jo smiled wearily at him.

  “Hotel Oriental,” he instructed, and was forced to repeat the words twice before the man understood.

  As the rickshaw moved slowly from the crowded section of the city the Island detective relaxed in the seat and touched the hilt of the knife he had found beside Deming, with his left hand fingers. He murmured to himself:

  “Howker—he is not a fool. How difficult it would be for the officials to prove that he or Deming would murder a Filipino with—Nagasaki knives.”

  The one who pulled the rickshaw was not so young or so strong as the other man had been. It took almost ten minutes to reach the street on which the Oriental Hotel faced. There was a curio shop a half block from the steps that led to the hotel porch. Jo stopped the rickshaw in front of the shop, descended and paid the one with the yellow teeth.

  When the man moved off Jo went slowly towards the hotel. He ascended the stairs to the porch and thought to himself: Seven more bullets—in the gun. That is good.

  He went inside; the hotel was dimly lighted, though the hour was not late. The Island detective climbed the wide stairs almost silently. His muscles ached; he was tired. His body was not accustomed to such effort. As he approached the door of his room he moved slowly. He reached into his pocket for the key—tried the knob before he inserted it. The door opened under slight pressure.

  Jo drew in a deep breath, sighed. He did not use the key, but opened the door cautiously. The room was dark—he snapped the switch near the door, his right hand holding the material of the pocket forward. The one electric bulb glowed not too brightly.

  The Island detective moved forward, stared down at the figure lying on the floor, not far from the small bed. He said slowly:

  “Toyen!”

  The pearl expert was lying face downward, but his dress and clothing identified him. Jo moved rapidly to his side, turned him over. The dark eyes of Ichito Toyen stared at him unseeingly. One glance was sufficient. The Japanese was dead.

  Jo Gar narrowed his eyes on the hilt of the knife, the blade of which was buried just below Toyen’s heart. The hilt was crimson stained; it was of wood that looked old. The Island detective fingered Toyen’s left wrist; he straightened, stared about the room. There was no disorder.

  The shutters were drawn; the few chairs were in the same position as when he had left the room, lockin
g the door after him. And yet Ichito Toyen had returned to that room—and was lying dead, knifed through the heart.

  The Island detective went to the edge of the bed and seated himself. He faced the window. He said in a whisper:

  “There was the Hollander, Vandeer. And there was a man who has murdered once—Howker. Which of the two—”

  A voice said very quietly: “You will keep your hands at your sides—and you will not turn! You will make no sound, Gar. It is very important that you obey me—for you!”

  Jo’s body had tensed—it relaxed now. He narrowed his eyes on the shutters of the windows, listened to the distant crackling of fireworks. He said in a voice that was very soft:

  “I am not a fool, Captain Howker—I shall do exactly as—you say.”

  The closet door closed with a faint clicking sound. There were light footfalls behind the Island detective. In the corridor beyond the room there was the patter of sandled feet. The murderer, Howker, whistled a little as he moved around to one side. The footfalls beyond the room died away.

  After a few seconds Howker moved to a spot near the shutters. He stood with his back to them and smiled down at Jo Gar. His brown-gray eyes held little expression—the smile was on his lips. It was a hard smile. The man’s short, thick-set body was relaxed. Howker wore no hat—he was dressed in a cheap suit of dark material. He spoke with little emotion.

  “More than ever, now—I need the pearls. You have them. I did not expect you to return here—Deming has failed. That is done. You have returned. I came here to search the room. This Japanese surprised me. I suppose he was—Toyen.”

  Jo Gar said nothing. Howker narrowed his eyes a little and said:

  “I killed Randonn for the pearls—and I’m not a fool. They will take me back to Bilibid, or perhaps to England—and hang me. That, is, they will if I’m caught.”

  He paused, and Jo Gar said slowly: “You did not have to murder Toyen. He was not involved in this. He was my friend—”

  There was a weary tone in the Island detective’s voice. Howker smiled with his eyes. He moved his right hand a little and Jo looked at the gun. It was an Army weapon—it looked like one of the Colts that Randonn had kept aboard the yacht.

  Howker said grimly: “I turned my back on him for a second—he drew the knife you see there. I knocked it out of his hands, and used it on him. He cut me—”

  With a quick movement he pulled back the sleeve of his left arm.

  The skin was stained with red. He said bitterly:

  “I’ve got to get away—and I’ll need money. The pearls will bring me the money. You have the pearls. I can kill you, Gar. You trapped me, on the yacht. But I will—make a bargain with you.”

  Jo Gar sat motionless, his eyes on the eyes of the one who had twice murdered. He said slowly:

  “I am not a fool—I do not care to die. It was my business to find the murderer of Randonn. It is not my business to find the murderer of Toyen, even though he was my friend.”

  Howker slitted his brown-gray eyes on Jo’s and said grimly:

  “You are tricky—and cold. When a man born in the tropics is cold—he’s dangerous. I hate to deal with you.”

  Jo Gar said quietly: “As you say, I have the pearls. There are six of them—and they are worth much money. If you kill me—you will not have them.”

  The murderer swore softly. “You are cold,” he repeated. “Colder than death.”

  The Island detective said slowly: “I will show you that I am honest with you. My life is worth much to me. You are wasting time. I have shot Deming—and the police will find him. Perhaps there will be a description of me. Deming will not talk, perhaps—but the rickshaw man may. Or the one you sent to pose as Toyen’s servant. If the police come here seeking me—”

  He broke off, shrugged. Howker moved his gun hand a little and said grimly:

  “You brought the pearls ashore—you would not leave them on the yacht. You wanted to get them to Toyen. If they are not on you, or in this room, they are somewhere near. I will give you your life—for them. That is my offer.”

  Jo said simply: “My life is of more value than the pearls. You have killed twice—”

  Howker widened his eyes a little and smiled disagreeably.

  “As you know, I am not an expert! You will bring the pearls to a man I know. He is Japanese and his judgment is quite good. For years he lived in the South Seas—I met him down there.”

  The Island detective said slowly: “There will be risk, for you. On the streets—”

  Howker interrupted grimly. “There will be risk for you, too, Gar! They will want you before they want me, perhaps. You have shot Deming. If they have your description—”

  Jo Gar nodded. “It is so,” he agreed. “They do not care so much about murder that occurred on a yacht at sea. An English yacht. And they do not know as yet that you have killed a Japanese.”

  Howker swore softly, looking down at the body of Toyen.

  “It was self defense,” he stated harshly. “I took his own knife from him.”

  Jo Gar said nothing. Howker took his eyes away from the figure on the floor, lowered his gun arm a little.

  “You have the pearls here?” he asked in a voice that was too calm to please the Island detective.

  Jo nodded. Howker questioned him with his eyes. After a little silence he said:

  “Raise your hands—and get up. Stand very still.”

  The Island detective obeyed. Howker pressed the muzzle of the gun against his left side and searched him carefully. He grunted as he took the knife and automatic from Jo. Backing towards the shutters of the windows again, he spoke in a steady voice.

  “I don’t think you’ll be foolish. If anything goes wrong I’ll use this gun. You know that. Get the pearls, but use your left hand doing it—and keep the right where I can see it.”

  Jo Gar nodded, lowered his left hand. He went to a small piece of luggage he had brought from the yacht, snapped the bag open. It was not locked. He fumbled among a few objects, lifted out a bottle containing a blue liquid. He said quietly:

  “The pearls are here—the liquid is colored water.”

  Howker smiled grimly. “Yes?” he said. “All right—but let me see the pearls.”

  There was a small sink at one end of the room. Jo went towards it, with Howker following. The distant cracking of fireworks had ceased; at intervals there were gongs sounding. The interior of the hotel was quiet—very quiet.

  The Island detective poured the liquid to a glass—strained the pearls into the palm of his left hand, on which was a towel from a rack, and wiped them. They gleamed dully in the poor light of the room. There were six of them. Back of him he heard Howker’s breath sucked in sharply. Jo said slowly:

  “They are worth killing for?”

  Howker swore at him. He said sharply:

  “Set them on the towel on the sink.”

  Jo did as he was instructed. Howker took up the pearls into a handkerchief, keeping the gun in his right hand, and his eyes on Jo. He said slowly:

  “Turn your back.”

  Jo Gar turned. He stood motionlessly, his body relaxed. Then Howker was speaking again.

  “We go out—you lock the door. We go down the stairs, but not out the front entrance. There are steps in the rear—into the tea garden. You will be at my right, and my gun will be ready for action. The place to which I’m taking the pearls is only a few squares. We will walk.”

  Jo Gar nodded. He moved towards the door, opened it, stepped into the corridor. Howker followed him. He said in a quiet voice:

  “Snap the switch off!”

  The Island detective obeyed. He closed the door, locked it. They moved towards the wide stairs, went down. A sleepy looking clerk was back of the big, dark-wooded desk. He smiled a little as they turned towards the rear of the hotel. They went down a corridor, reached narrow steps that led to a small tea garden. Howker chuckled a little. His body was pressed close to Jo’s—they went through an alley, over an old
arched bridge that spanned a bad odored stream.

  Suddenly they reached a narrow street that was well lighted. Rickshaws were moving in both directions. Howker got his body close to the wood of a tea house and said sharply:

  “Wait—stay here!”

  They stood in a dark spot and watched the narrow street. Suddenly Howker’s body stiffened at Jo’s side. He swore softly. A rickshaw was moving slowly into sight; there was a jam of humans ahead of it. The driver was shouting shrilly. In the rickshaw were two men. One was short and thick-set, brown-faced. He was in the uniform of a police official. The other man was the Hollander, Vandeer. Vandeer was talking, gesturing excitedly.

  The humans moved away from the rickshaw—the vehicle went on. Howker said grimly:

  “That might have been bad—yes?”

  Jo shrugged. “I left Vandeer at the hotel, with Toyen,” he said simply. “Toyen must have returned. But I don’t see—”

  “Perhaps he, too, was after the pearls,” Howker said mockingly. “Anyway, he was in the room when I entered.”

  Jo said quietly: “I do not think he was outside the door—and you forced him to enter. You thought he might have the pearls.”

  Howker narrowed his eyes on Jo’s. He said slowly:

  “That doesn’t matter—cross the street now. Keep your head low—and don’t look in either direction.”

  They crossed the crowded street; Howker swearing harshly at a coolie who got in his path as they had almost reached the far side. They were in another alley; it wound to the right. The wooden houses on either side were in bad shape—rotted and broken down. Oriental music sounded from them; sharp odors reached the Island detective’s nostrils.

  Howker said sharply: “Here—to your right!”

  They passed through swinging doors. Beyond was a charcoal burner. The place seemed to be a small curio store—near faded, jade curtains stood the squat figure of a Japanese. His face seemed like a mask in the dull light of the evil smelling store.

  Howker said quietly: “I have brought a friend, Matu—there is something of value he has given me. Will you look at the objects for me?”

  The Japanese made no sound. He bowed his head slightly, spread his hands in a gesture of consent. He turned, moved beyond the faded, jade curtain. Jo could hear his footfalls as he climbed stairs.