West of Guam

by Raoul Whitfield

  “It wasn’t much. Ten years old, maybe. I got it for the equivalent of a couple of American dollars, at Bangkop, the capital of Java. It was a dance mask, made of wood. Pretty good sculpture, but not important. Painted red and black—and gold color. A demon mask.”

  The Island detective said: “A demon mask?”

  Lemere frowned. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It was a dance mask, but not a ceremonial dance mask. They use them in their plays—the good spirits wear masks and do sort of a fighting dance with the bad spirits, the demons. It usually ends up with the good spirits winning. This missing mask had staring eyes and a wide mouth with gold, long teeth. It was held between the teeth of the dancer, by the bamboo mouthpiece. There are many of them in Java. But where could it—”

  He broke off. Jo Gar said: “If it wasn’t important, why did you buy it?”

  The Frenchman shrugged. “It was cheap—I got it just before we left. Had some Dutch money I didn’t want to bother changing. And anyway, there’s a nice profit in that stuff. I can sell it in the States for around fifty dollars.”

  Jo Gar said a little grimly: “You mean that you could sell it for that price, if you had it.”

  Lemere said hoarsely: “But where did it go?”

  The Island detective smiled a little. “And why did it go?” he asked in return. “Was Señor Delancey with you when it was bought?”

  Lemere shook his head. “No,” he said. “He’s never cared much about it—no reason why he should. He glanced at it when I showed it to him, that’s all. I don’t think he ever spoke of it.”

  Jo spoke quietly: “Is there any chance that you might be mistaken as to the mask’s value? Any chance that someone might have demanded the mask and on being refused—”

  The Frenchman said: “Not a bit,” very decisively.

  Jo Gar sighed. He went over and looked down at the body of Gerald Delancey. Then he turned away and said thoughtfully:

  “You left Delancey after a quarrel, leaving him alone in this house. You were gone two hours and forty minutes, and the front door was not locked. When you returned Delancey was dead. Apparently from bullets in the brain and throat—the autopsy will clear that up. The gun used was missing, and also a Javanese dance mask that you had noticed hanging here on the wall during your last quarrel.”

  Lemere ran his tongue over moist lips and said: “Yes—and the mask was of little value.”

  Jo Gar nodded slowly. “Of little value, apparently,” he said. “Now, will you please send the three servants to me here? And then send for the police.”

  Lemere said softly: “Damn the police.”

  The Island detective went to the small window that faced the Pasig. It was growing quite dark. The screen was very securely fastened.

  “I’m afraid damning the police would do little good,” he suggested. “Please send for them and tell them the truth. They will do interesting things.”

  Lemere said grimly: “All right—and what will you do, Señor Gar?”

  The Island detective spoke tonelessly: “I shall talk and think,” he replied. “Counteracting a bad habit with a good one.”

  The Frenchman moved towards the door of the long, narrow room.

  “You’ve got to help me, Señor Gar,” he said huskily. “I will pay you well. This is a terrible thing.”

  The Island detective watched a banca move down-stream, lanterns lighted. He did not reply to the Frenchman and Lemere spoke again, hoarsely.

  “I’ll telephone the police.”

  He went from the room and his footfalls made sound on the stairs that led to the floor below. Jo Gar moved away from the small window and looked with half closed eyes at the nail which had held the object that was gone. He said very softly:

  “A Javanese mask—of little value—”

  Sadi Ratan stood in the living room, downstairs, looking more handsome than ever. His drill uniform fit his fine figure very perfectly. He spoke in his usual, loud voice.

  “Major Kelvey is at Baguio; I will handle this murder myself—I have the authority. Your cook and house-boy were with you during the time you were absent from this house—they are therefore exonerated. The murdered man’s house-boy I am not through with. He is shifty and uncertain, and I have already caught him in one lie.”

  Jo Gar widened his eyes and Lemere said in a surprised tone:

  “He lied, eh?” He was silent for several seconds, then spoke thoughtfully: “Well, he could have been here while we were away.”

  Jo Gar looked at the lieutenant of Manila police and then inhaled smoke from his brown-paper cigarette. Sadi Ratan frowned at him. “Doctor Renan states that the bullet in the brain of the dead man would have caused instant death. There is no chance of this being suicide—because the gun has not been found. The screens of both windows are secure, and it would not have been possible for the Americano to have tossed the gun out, in any case.”

  Jo Gar said: “Lieutenant—you have learned a motive for the murder? His servant had reason to kill him?”

  Lieutenant Ratan said sneeringly. “Chinese servants do not always need motives for murder. A sudden rage—”

  The Island detective smiled. “You are correct, of course,” he said.

  The Frenchman spoke in an excited tone. “My ——! I’d almost forgotten that! Gerry struck this Chink Gao, several days ago. Struck him with his walking stick. Hit him twice.”

  Sadi Ratan said: “Ah! He did that, Monsieur Lemere?”

  The big Frenchman frowned. “Of course, that doesn’t mean—”

  He broke off. Jo said: “In the Islands many masters strike their servants, unfortunately.”

  Sadi Ratan said loudly. “Why did he strike Gao?”

  Lemere hesitated. He looked at Jo and then at the lieutenant of Manila police. He shrugged.

  “I suppose you should know the truth,” he said. “It doesn’t mean that Gao is guilty of murder. He’s been wailing ever since he learned that Delancey was dead. But he was caught in the curio room, upstairs—by Gerry. Or rather, he was caught just outside the room. He had one of those carved Igorrote spoons on him. The handle shaped into a head. Not very valuable, but Gerry was pretty sore. He called him a thief and hit him a few cracks.”

  Sadi Ratan said: “Ah! His servant was a thief. But why did he not inform the police?”

  Lemere shrugged again. “The spoon had no great value. We’ve got a drawer full of them in one of those tables up there. You know how servants are-they take a fancy to something, and just want it. Gerry thought the cane blows would cure him from petty theft like that.”

  Jo said slowly: “The Chinese are usually quite honest, Monsieur Lemere. They give the least trouble—”

  The police lieutenant said sharply: “There are some forty Chinese serving terms in Bilibid prison, Señor Gar.”

  The Island detective bowed slightly. “You are undoubtedly correct, Lieutenant,” he stated.

  The Frenchman spoke softly but hoarsely. “I don’t think Gao did it,” he said. “He may be a petty thief, but he isn’t a killer. He’s never had a gun, and I don’t think he can shoot.”

  The lieutenant of police spoke grimly. “That can very easily be determined. But first we will go to his quarters and search for the mask that is missing. I think we will find it.”

  A clock struck ten. There was a breeze blowing across the Pasig, but it was not a very cool one. The Frenchman blinked at the police lieutenant.

  “You think we will find—the Javanese mask?” he breathed. “You think—Gao stole it?”

  Sadi Ratan shrugged, and his dark eyes met Jo Gar’s with faint contempt.

  “He is a thief and a liar. The mask and the spoon were worth little. But he was whipped and he hated the one who had whipped him. He knew that the Americano and you had quarreled, Monsieur Lemere. The bullets that killed Delancey were not fired at a great distance. And the fact that one entered the brain and another the throat proves that the murderer was not a fine shot. It would not have been difficu
lt for this servant of his to have bought or stolen a gun. And after he had killed he stole the mask. He might have thought it had value, and we would be thrown off the track. Or he might have stolen it to show his contempt—the Chinese are strange people.”

  Jo Gar chuckled, and watched anger flare in the police lieutenant’s eyes.

  “And the Manila police are strange people, also,” he said softly. “Very strange.”

  Sadi Ratan said loudly: “Because you were fortunate in the shooting gallery murder—”

  Jo Gar chuckled again. “Go and search for the Javanese mask, Lieutenant Ratan. Do what you will with this servant, Gao. It will be all very foolish. He did not murder Delancey, and I do not think he stole the mask.”

  The lieutenant of police drew in a sharp breath. He stood very erect and glared at the Island detective. He started to speak, but did not. Lemere spoke wearily:

  “Delancey is dead, murdered. The mask is the only thing missing from that room, so far as I know. The servants are witnesses to the fact that I was away when the murder occurred. It happens that we were together all of the time and there are others who saw me, of course—”

  Sadi Ratan smiled. “You are not suspected, Monsieur Lemere. The only fault I have to find with you is that the police were not notified before Señor Gar.”

  Jo Gar smiled pleasantly. “The handicap of arriving after me is nothing to a man of your ability, Lieutenant,” he stated.

  The Filipino looked hatred at the Island detective, and Jo Gar thought of the difference in this second-in-command to the American head of the Manila force—and the dead Juan Arragon. This man hated him. Arragon had disagreed with him, argued with him, but he had never hated.

  “And, too,” Jo said quietly, “you might not have noticed that the mask was missing from the room. I am glad to be able to give you that information.”

  Sadi Ratan turned away. At the door of the living-room he turned.

  “Will you please accompany me, Monsieur?” he asked Lemere.

  Lemere glanced at Jo Gar, who nodded.

  The Frenchman said: “Won’t you come along, Señor Gar?”

  Sadi Ratan frowned but Jo Gar smiled a little.

  “You are kind,” he replied. “But you wish me to search for the murderer even though the police are working to the same end?”

  Lemere said hoarsely. “Of course, Señor Gar.”

  Jo Gar nodded. “Then I shall not bother with the servant, Gao,” he said quietly. “I shall walk about the grounds a bit.”

  Sadi Ratan said with sarcasm: “Perhaps you will find the gun that was used, Señor.”

  The Island detective nodded. “In that event I will show it to you immediately, Lieutenant,” he said very softly. “I will call to you.”

  The lieutenant of Manila police said nastily:

  “And if I do not answer your call, it will be because I am busy talking with Delancey’s murderer.”

  “Or because you are busy talking with the one you think is Delancey’s murderer,” Jo said gently.

  The servants were quartered in a small, wooden building in the growth behind the house; when Jo heard the voice of Ratan and Lemere grow faint, as they went towards the Pasig, he walked to a screened window and looked towards Oriental Road. It was a narrow dirt road, and there was little traffic on it. After a short time he went up the stairs and into the curio room again. He spent some time inspecting the wall surface where the mask had hung. The coroner had not yet arrived; even the act of handling the dead was not hurried in the tropics.

  Jo Gar said very softly:

  “Lemere has a good memory, but important thoughts occur to him only when he has been pushed. He did not notice the mask was gone until he was told of something being missing. He did not remember that this Gao was a thief or that he had been beaten, until he had been told by Ratan that the servant had lied. And yet, he says that he has a perfect alibi—and I believe him. Why then, does he attempt to throw suspicion—”

  He stopped talking softly; his ears had caught the sound of a creaking board. It had been a very little sound, but he knew instantly that it had been made by a bare foot. Someone was coming up the stairs.

  Jo moved swiftly and silently towards a large shield leaning against the wall near the couch on which the body rested. The shield was of wood, and appeared to be a tribal protection against spears. It was painted in gaudy colors, crudely, and was almost as tall as Jo. The room was dimly lighted—and the light was at the opposite end; little of it fell upon the spear shield behind which Jo crouched.

  He could see the doorway, though his body was in shadow and his face was so brown that there was little danger of his being seen. He guessed that whoever was coming up the stairs had made a mistake—had thought the three of them had left the house.

  Seconds passed, with Jo Gar breathing very quietly and holding his body motionless. He commenced to think that no human was coming up. The house was of wood, and all wood in the Islands was constantly attacked by ants and was rotting. The creaking sound might not have been caused by a footfall. But he remained quiet and waited. A minute passed, and the greater portion of another. Still Jo did not move.

  And then a figure was in the doorway. It did not pause there or inspect the room. It passed swiftly inside and moved towards the shield.

  Jo Gar recognized the house-boy when he was ten feet or so from the shield.

  He was not Gao, the dead man’s servant. He was Tanyo, the one who had greeted the Island detective, had let him into the house. Lemere’s house-boy!

  The Chinese was out of Jo’s vision now, but Jo could hear his quick breathing. There was a little scraping sound, and then the sound of foot-falls, very light. The house-boy was moving rapidly towards the doorway; he went through it and vanished from sight. Going down the stairs he was very careful, but once again there was the creaking sound, fainter this time.

  The Island detective remained quiet for perhaps thirty seconds. Then he moved from behind the spear shield, stood up straight. His eyes widened, then grew very narrow. He walked cross the room and stood looking at the Javanese mask.

  It hung on the nail, and it was as Lemere had described it. A red, black, and gold, eye-staring demon mask. The sculpture was good; the wood looked soft. Jo did not touch it. He turned slowly and looked towards the covered body of Delancey. He was frowning.

  After a few seconds he went very quietly from the room and down the stairs. He descended by using every other step, and he was lucky. There was no creaking sound beneath his weight. In the living-room he stood by a screened window that was at the front of the house and tried to reason it out.

  He was sure that Lemere had wanted him to leave the house with them, for the talk with Gao. He did not leave and Lemere was not able to warn Tanyo. That was one idea—that Tanyo had obeyed the instructions of his master. But the reason for returning the mask was not clear, nor was the reason for removing it in the first place, if Lemere had done so.

  The Island detective shook his head. He said: “No,” very softly. After a few seconds he went to a screened door that led from the room to the patio at the rear, opened it and then slammed it shut, without leaving the room. He coughed several times, and lighted one of his brown-paper cigarettes. In another room he heard movement and the sound of water running.

  He thought: Tanyo returned the mask for Gao. They are both Chinese. Tanyo realized that the other house-boy was suspected. Gao had stolen some things, among them the mask. Lemere may have known the mask was missing, or he may not have noticed it until I called his attention to it. That gave him the idea—and he stated that he had seen it on the wall during his quarrel with Delancey. But he really thought that Gao had it, and that Gao would be seriously involved.

  The Island detective sighed and said again: “No.”

  He did not think that Lemere had murdered Delancey, but he had a strong feeling that the Frenchman was hiding something. He heard a wailing voice in the distance and guessed that Sadi Ratan was using severe
methods on the house-boy, Gao. Raising his voice, he called:

  “Tanyo!”

  After a few seconds there were light foot falls and Lemere’s servant came into the room. His face was expressionless now; the fright had gone from his eyes. Jo Gar smiled at him, and spoke softly.

  “A murder is a very serious thing, Tanyo,” he said. “Many facts must be learned. When you left the house with Monsieur Lemere you saw the Americano?”

  Lemere’s house-boy said: “Yes—him very mad. Him stand at top of stairs and damn Monsieur. Monsieur—him say no talk. Him very mad, too, but him say no talk. We go.”

  The Island detective nodded. He asked questions about where they went and learned the places. They were away from the house two hours and forty minutes, but at all times they were together. Jo said: “It was very hot, after siesta time. Monsieur Lemere—he had no drink?”

  The Chinese boy nodded. “He had drink—with much ice. We all have same drink—him good.”

  Jo Gar smiled. “You had drinks together?” he asked. “Where?”

  Tanyo said: “At the drink place of Montanya, off the Escolta, not long way from—”

  The Island detective interrupted quietly. “I know the place,” he said. “That is all.”

  Tanyo turned away from him. Voices sounded—the voices of Lemere and Sadi Ratan. Jo lighted another cigarette from the tip of the shortened one. Tanyo went from the room as a screen door slammed at the rear of the house. Ratan said loudly:

  “He will talk much, and tell the truth—when we have taken him to the station. Major Kelvey would have it done that way. In his absence I will—”

  He stopped talking as he entered the living-room and frowned at Jo Gar. The Island detective smiled pleasantly.

  “You found the Javanese mask?” he asked.

  Lemere shook his head. “But this Gao acts guilty,” he breathed. “You know what this is likely to be—Gao did the killing, damn him—but we’ll never be able to prove it. I doubt that he’ll confess or break down. Poor Gerry.”

  The Island detective spoke very quietly. “I did not find the gun, Lieutenant Ratan.”