“As for your second question: Where is The Great Black? What does a man do when he has quarreled with the woman he loves? Does he retire to his hotel room? Perhaps. Or perhaps he walks the city, visits drinking places. The police are searching for him, Señor Gar.”
“And when you find him?” Jo Gar asked.
Sadi Ratan raised palms to a flurry of warm rain. “You disagree with my theory, but you too have promised your client only that you will seek the murderer of the dead man. Perhaps, then, when we find this Hugh Black, he will not recall having been in the dressing room with Madame Vlatchnoff at the proper time to establish her alibi. Perhaps he will not recall it in time.”
“Perhaps,” Jo Gar agreed. “Then there was the knife. Since you believe that Princess Vlatchnoff used it in killing a lover she wished to forget—how did it reach the ceiling near the dress room?”
Sadi Ratan’s smile became grimmer. “Two men have come to me, Señor Gar. One was seated in the audience in the third row, another in the first. Each of them saw the knife after it had struck. When the assistants pulled the body behind the curtain, the knife remained in the neck.”
Jo Gar whistled. “And after that?”
“We found blood on the knife we withdrew from the corridor ceiling.”
Jo Gar nodded. “It is so. Yet The Great Black’s assistants who lifted Janisohn’s’ body must have seen the knife.”
Sadi Ratan’s voice was mocking. “It is so,” he replied. “Yet Madame Vlatchnoff is very beautiful, and it is not beyond possibility that they realized Janisohn was only a lover of hers—a past lover—and one who impersonated a great magician for a few minutes.”
Jo Gar whistled again. “And thus the knife was returned to the princess, fingerprints removed from the hilt. And it was she who skillfully tossed it against the corridor ceiling.”
“And why not, Señor Gar?”
Jo Gar smiled. “I can think of many reasons, Lieutenant. But the rain and the wind are for younger men—men like yourself. I seek shelter. Adios.”
Surprise was in Sadi Ratan’s eyes. “Adios, Señor Gar!”
As Jo Gar closed the door of Ling Po’s shop, a bell tinkled.
The detective called, “The hour is late, and Jo Gar is regretful.”
Ling Po waddled toward Jo Gar, bowing many times. “The hour at which Señor Gar visits me—it is the best,” he stated. “You are wet, Señor.”
“It does not matter, Ling Po. Tonight I have not come to sip tea and hear wise words. I have come for help. I have been foolish tonight, Ling Po. I have visited many shops. And here in the shop of my good friend—”
His eyes went to a small space on a low shelf holding many objects: dusty Buddhas; fans; strings of wooden beads.
After a few seconds he asked, “Today you sold something from the shelf?”
The wrinkles of Ling Po’s yellow skin formed a smile again. “It is as you say Señor,” he said. “It was the small lacquer box of very fine workmanship. It brought a good price.”
“A lacquer box—and the purchaser did not bargain with you, Ling Po?”
The elderly Chinese looked at the detective with a puzzled expression. “He did not bargain, this one,” he stated.
“Some men can afford not to bargain,” said Jo Gar. His right hand buried itself in a pocket, withdrew an object, held it beneath Ling Po’s eyes. “This is the lacquer box for which the purchaser did not bargain, Ling Po?”
The eyes of the old Chinese widened. He nodded. “It is the box,” he muttered. “I do not think that in all Manila there is another—” He stopped. “But Señor Gar, how is it that you—”
Jo Gar smiled and placed the box carefully on a counter. He said, “Please, Ling Po, do not touch the box. You see, there is still dust on a portion of it.”
The black eyes of the Chinese held an inscrutable expression. “Since you have not asked me, yet wish to know, Señor Gar—he was a tall one, the purchaser. His shoulders were broad, and he possessed great dignity. His hair was dark and rolling like the China Sea.”
Jo Gar smiled. “You perhaps recall the hour of the purchase, Ling Po?”
“It so happens that this one asked me the price of the clock of my ancestors,” said Ling Po. “My eyes went to it, and I recall the hour. Within twenty minutes the hour of eleven would strike.”
Jo Gar looked at the old clock, glanced at his wrist watch, raised his eyes to the old clock again.
“I told the tall one that the clock was not to be purchased. It has never failed by so much as a minute, Señor Gar. He bowed to me and went away.”
The detective nodded. “It is good not to sell things that have served a family well,” he said. “And was tonight the first time the purchaser of the lacquer box had come to your shop, Ling Po?”
The elderly Chinese shook his head. “Two mornings ago he visited me, Señor Gar. He did not buy, but he looked at many objects. He asked me then if my shop was open at night, and I answered that my shop was open most hours of the clock and that I slept little.”
Jo Gar nodded. “Yet you had been dozing tonight just before the purchaser of the lacquer box entered the shop?”
There was faint surprise in Ling Po’s black eyes as he nodded. “It is so. Tonight I was weary. But Señor Gar, how is it that you … ” His voice trailed off.
“Tomorrow you shall know many things, Ling Po. But tonight—” Jo Gar lifted the lacquer box from the counter, moved across to the shelf. On the spot where the box had rested there was little dust. Jo Gar fitted the box at the proper angle on the shelf.
He said: “It is almost two. Long ago I should have been home in bed. Kalaa, my assistant, will be waiting up.” His gray-blue eyes smiled. “The box rested there before you sold it to the tall one, Ling Po?”
Ling Po nodded. “For many months, Señor Gar. Then it is purchased, and within a few hours you return it.”
The detective removed the lacquer box from the shelf, placed it in a coat pocket. He bowed to Ling Po. “And I go now to return it to the owner, Ling Po. Tomorrow I shall visit you again.”
The elderly Chinese bowed low. “Good, Señor Gar, for in mystery there is often danger. I do not seek mystery as you do.”
“My profession requires that I seek it,” said Jo Gar. “It is so also with the profession of—magician.” He went from the shop, closing the door behind him.
The automobile Jo Gar hailed rattled along the Escolta, passing sleepy drivers of calesas. When it passed police headquarters the detective called sharply in Tagalog, “Stop! Wait for me here.”
Inside the building he went directly to the office of Lieutenant Sadi Ratan.
“You are still up, Señor Gar,” the lieutenant observed. “I advise you to return to your house and sleep.”
“You are pleased with yourself, Lieutenant—and you offer me advice, May I ask why?”
“It is a pleasure to inform you, Señor Gar. The Great Black left my office only a few minutes ago. His statements did not in any way aid your client, Madame Vlatchnoff. On the contrary, his statements were damaging to her. And he did establish a perfect alibi for himself.”
Sadi Ratan was enjoying himself.
“We have established the exact time that Janisohn fell to the stage, the knife in his neck. It was eighteen minutes to eleven. At that hour the princess states that she was in the dressing room in Hugh Black’s arms. And yet, Señor Gar, The Great Black states that he left the theater before the applause intended for him and accepted by the dead man, and that at twenty minutes to eleven he was in a shop a half-mile away.”
“You have investigated his statement?” Jo Gar asked.
Sadi Ratan shrugged. “Later in the morning, when the shop will be open. But I do not doubt Hugh Black. He came to me of his own accord as soon as he heard of the murder. He tried at first to protect Madame Vlatchnoff. Then, under my questioning, he admitted that he believed she had thrown the knife, knowing Janisohn had taken his place.”
“And the reason for the
murder?”
“Hugh Black had discovered that she had had an affair with Janisohn. She did not think he knew it. She no longer loved Janisohn and was afraid of him. Black believes it is possible Janisohn was attempting to blackmail her. So”—the police lieutenant shrugged—“she threw the knife, at which she has great skill.”
“She lied about being with Hugh Black, thinking that she could reach him before we did, and that he would protect her. Or perhaps she did not think much about Black, believing she would never be suspected. In any case, she murdered Janisohn. I have phoned. She is being brought here now.”
Jo Gar glanced at his wristwatch. “How long has Hugh Black been gone from this office?” he asked.
Sadi Ratan said: “About five minutes.”
The detective nodded. “You told him you would investigate his statement that he had been in a certain shop at twenty minutes of eleven—after daylight?”
“Yes, Señor Gar.”
Jo Gar’s voice was soft. “This is the purchase Hugh Black made, Lieutenant.” He held the lacquer box toward Sadi Ratan. “The shop was that of Ling Po, who deals in curios of the Orient,” Jo Gar went on. “I have talked to Ling Po, and he has said that a man answering the description of the magician purchased this box from him this evening at twenty minutes to eleven. He was aware of the time because the purchaser also questioned him about buying his ancestral clock.”
The detective paused. Sadi Ratan was regarding him with suspicion. “How is it that you possess the box?”
Jo Gar smiled. “It was the only object in Hugh Black’s room at the Manila Hotel that had not been there before he left for the theater in the evening.”
Sadi Ratan frowned. “How do you know that?” he demanded.
“When I accompanied my client and you to the hotel, you recall we went to Hugh Black’s room. You talked with the manager outside. The Princess Vlatchnoff informed me that she had left for the theater with Hugh Black and that the box had not been on the table near the window when they departed.”
Sadi Ratan continued to frown. “So you took it and traced it to Ling Po’s shop. Clever work, Señor Gar!” He laughed nastily. “And all you learned was that Hugh Black was not at the theater at the moment of the crime. In fact, he was merely purchasing the box he placed in his room before we arrived there.”
Jo Gar said, “It so happens that I learned more than that.” He glanced at his wristwatch again. “Before dawn,” he added, “I can turn over to you the murderer of Janisohn.”
“The murderess is now under careful guard,” Ratan told him.
Jo Gar shook his head. “The princess did not murder Janisohn. My reputation is not a small one in the Islands. Will you come with me, Lieutenant?”
“Where do we go?” asked Sadi Ratan.
“To the shop of Ling Po.”
The street of the Three Candles was little more than a narrow, curving alley, the entrance to which was almost directly opposite Ling Po’s store. Standing in the darkness of the alley, Sadi Ratan whispered impatiently: “We have been here more than thirty minutes, Señor Gar. I am tired. I shall stay with you only ten minutes—”
Jo Gar’s fingers gripped Sadi Ratan’s wrist in a signal for silence. There had been no sound of footfalls along the street, but now a bent figure came into sight. It paused before the entrance to Ling Po’s store. Shadow moved within shadow, and there was the sound of a door closing.
Jo Gar motioned Sadi Ratan to follow him and hurried across the street. In the doorway of the shop the detective’s left hand moved to a hip pocket as his right turned the knob of the door. His automatic shifted to his right hand as he entered the store.
Above the counter a light wavered, left the face of Ling Po’s ancestral clock. Even as it swung away, Jo Gar saw that the glass covering the clock’s face had been hinged to one side.
The beam from the light struck across Jo Gar’s face. Then the beam was gone.
Jo Gar said sharply, “Please stand still.”
There was a clicking sound—the beam of Sadi Ratan’s flashlight shifted high, dropped. Sadi Ratan swore.
The white light shone full on the face of Hugh Black.
Ling Po called sleepily from the rear of the shop, “What is it that happens?”
Jo Gar said grimly: “Remain quiet, Mr. Black. I have in my hand a weapon that is swifter than a knife.”
In the flare of the beam Hugh Black’s lips were twitching.
Jo Gar called: “Ling Po, it is Señor Gar. Quickly—make a light for us!”
There was silence for several seconds, and then Ling Po pattered into the room. A switch snapped; light from two bulbs whitened the interior.
Jo Gar raised his automatic, walked toward the magician. As he moved he said slowly, “This, Lieutenant Ratan, is the murderer of Janisohn!”
“You lie!” Hugh Black cried fiercely.
Jo Gar halted near the counter. “I do not lie,” he said. “The Princess Vlatchnoff loves you more than you love her, Mr. Black. She tried to protect you, even while defending herself. That is why she said you were with her in her dressing room—when Janisohn collapsed on the stage. But you were not with her.”
The Great Black stood motionless.
“You murdered Richard Janisohn,” the detective went on, “because you discovered he had had an affair with Princess Vlatchnoff. And I think you had come to hate the princess, Mr. Black. Knowing that she would be suspected, being skilled at throwing a knife—”
“You lie!” Hugh Black’s voice was hoarse. “I was not in the theater when Janisohn was murdered. I could not throw a knife if I—”
Jo Gar smiled. “You did not throw a knife, Mr. Black. You struck with it.”
“You fool!” The Great Black’s words held a smothered fury. “They have told me that he fell in full view of the audience—as he was bowing.”
Jo Gar said, “He did not fall in full view of the audience, Mr. Black, It was you who fell! It was you who with your magician’s skill produced a knife, clutched at it and the back of your neck as you sprawled to the stage!”
“Madre de Dios!” Sadi Ratan’s voice was a whisper.
Jo Gar said, “Your two assistants carried your body to one of the illusion cabinets, Janisohn hurried to you, not knowing what had happened. The assistants had left you. It was then that you pulled Janisohn down, Mr. Black. It was then that you knifed him!”
The ancestral clock ticked against the heavy breathing of Hugh Black and Sadi Ratan. Ling Po made no sound.
Jo Gar said almost tonelessly: “I did not believe the Princess Vlatchnoff’s story that you were with her in the dressing room. The stage-door attendant was not positive of the time he had seen you leave. There was blood on the cabinet base—stains that even the careful Lieutenant Ratan did not see.
“I was not positive that Janisohn had taken the applause for you this evening, Mr. Black. The knife found in the corridor ceiling was a trick to confuse. The princess, having murdered, would not have thrown it there. I think one of your assistants placed it there.
“And then there was the matter of the lacquer box, Mr. Black.” He watched The Great Black’s eyes widen, as fear came into them. “It puzzled me. The box was not in your room when you left with the princess for the theater. Yet it was there after Janisohn’s murder. There was still some dust clinging to the box. It had been handled carefully. I thought perhaps you considered the box—important. I was not wrong. I traced the box to this shop.”
The great black managed a twisted smile. “You are a fool,” he breathed. “I have been told that Janisohn fell to the stage at exactly eighteen minutes to eleven. I was just leaving this shop at twenty minutes to eleven.”
Ling Po said slowly: “It is as this one says, Señor Gar. It is so.”
Jo Gar spoke calmly. “Why did you come here this morning, Mr. Black? You broke into the shop of Ling Po. Why?”
The Great Black laughed. “I wanted to see if I was clever enough to manage an entrance. I wanted to—
”
Jo Gar lifted his gun arm. “Knowing Janisohn was murdered, you tell us you wished to test your skill? Play a game?”
The Great Black’s eyes were on the detective’s weapon.
Jo Gar went on: “We waited for you, Mr. Black. I knew that you would come here tonight. You came to Ling Po’s shop once before you purchased the lacquer box. You looked around carefully.
“This evening you returned. Ling Po had been dozing. You were in the store when he greeted you. You purchased a lacquer box—and because the box was important to you, it was taken to your room. That was a mistake. You should have kept the box with you.
“You were afraid that the Princess Vlatchnoff might accuse you of the murder of Janisohn, so you sought to establish an alibi, Mr. Black. You saw to it that Ling Po noticed that you departed from his shop at twenty minutes of eleven, but you did not depart at twenty minutes of eleven. For while Ling Po was dozing, you had set back the large hand of the clock fifteen minutes! It was actually five minutes to eleven when you left this shop—and you had already murdered Janisohn.”
There was silence in the room. The Great Black was swaying.
Jo Gar spoke gently: “I waited for you because I had noticed that the clock was fifteen minutes slow. I knew you would return. It must be set ahead again. It must be an accurate clock.”
There was no color in Hugh Black’s face. “The damned—box! I might have—”
Jo Gar turned to Sadi Ratan. “He is your prisoner, Lieutenant Ratan.”
As Sadi Ratan moved toward the magician, Jo Gar watched The Great Black’s eyes. He could not read the expression in them. A confession to come? A defense? Suicide, perhaps, in a small cell? The detective suddenly felt tired.
Ling Po spoke. “Even at this dark hour, Señor Gar, there is the solace of tea.”
Jo Gar nodded and, without looking at The Great Black or Sadi Ratan, went slowly toward the rear of the shop.
West of Guam Page 55