But Jennison had dropped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” said Greene gently. “But we’ve got you. Maybe you’ll talk now.”
Jennison looked up slowly. The defiance was gone from his face; it was lined and old.
“Maybe I will,” he said hoarsely.
Chapter 23
Moonlight at the Crossroads
They filed out, leaving Jennison with Greene and the stenographer. In the anteroom Chan approached John Quincy.
“You go home decked in the shining garments of success,” he said. “One thought is tantalizing me. At simultaneous moment you arrive at same conclusion we do. To reach there you must have leaped across considerable cavity.”
John Quincy laughed. “I’ll say I did. It came to me to-night. First, some one mentioned a golf professional with big wrists who drove a long ball. I had a quick flash of Jennison on the links here, and his terrific drives. Big wrists, they told me, meant that a man was proficient in the water. Then someone else—a young woman—spoke of a champion swimmer who left a ship off Waikiki. That was the first time the idea of such a thing had occurred to me. I was pretty warm then, and I felt Bowker was the man who could verify my suspicion. When I rushed aboard the President Tyler to find him, I saw Jennison about to sail and that confirmed my theory. I went after him.”
“A brave performance,” commented Chan.
“But as you can see, Charlie, I didn’t have an iota of real evidence. Just guesswork. You were the one who furnished the proof.”
“Proof are essential in this business,” Chan replied.
“I’m tantalized too, Charlie. I remember you in the library. You were on the crack long before I was. How come?”
Chan grinned. “Seated at our ease in All American Restaurant that first night, you will recall I spoke of Chinese people as sensitive, like camera film. A look, a laugh, a gesture, something go click. Bowker enters and hovering above, says with alcoholic accent, ‘I’m my own mashter, ain’t I?’ In my mind, the click. He is not own master. I follow to dock, behold when Spaniard present envelope. But for days I am fogged. I can only learn Cabrera and Jennison are very close. Clues continue to burst in our countenance. The occasion remains suspensive. At the library I read of Jennison the fine swimmer. After that, the watch, and triumph.”
Miss Minerva moved on toward the door. “May I have great honor to accompany you to car?” asked Chan.
Outside, John Quincy directed the chauffeur to return alone to Waikiki with the limousine. “You’re riding out with me,” he told his aunt. “I want to talk with you.”
She turned to Charlie Chan. “I congratulate you. You’ve got brains, and they count.”
He bowed low. “From you that compliment glows rosy red. At this moment of parting, my heart droops. My final wish—the snowy chilling days of winter and the scorching windless days of summer—may they all be the springtime for you.”
“You’re very kind,” she said softly.
John Quincy took his hand. “It’s been great fun knowing you, Charlie,” he remarked.
“You will go again to the mainland,” Chan said. “The angry ocean rolling between us. Still I shall carry the memory of your friendship like a flower in my heart.” John Quincy climbed into the car. “And the parting may not be eternal,” Chan added cheerfully. “The joy of travel may yet be mine. I shall look forward to the day when I may call upon you in your home and shake a healthy hand.”
John Quincy started the car and slipping away, they left Charlie Chan standing like a great Buddha on the curb.
“Poor Barbara,” said Miss Minerva presently. “I dread to face her with this news. But then, it’s not altogether news at that. She told me she’d been conscious of something wrong between her and Jennison ever since they landed. She didn’t think he killed her father, but she believed he was involved in it somehow. She is planning to settle with Brade to-morrow and leave the next day, probably for ever. I’ve persuaded her to come to Boston for a long visit. You’ll see her there.”
John Quincy shook his head. “No, I shan’t. But thanks for reminding me. I must go to the cable office at once.”
When he emerged from the office and again entered the car, he was smiling happily.
“In San Francisco,” he explained, “Roger accused me of being a Puritan survival. He ran over a little list of adventures he said had never happened to me. Well, most of them have happened now, and I cabled to tell him so. I also said I’d take that job with him.”
Miss Minerva frowned. “Think it over carefully,” she warned. “San Francisco isn’t Boston. The cultural standard is, I fancy, much lower. You’ll be lonely there—”
“Oh, no, I shan’t. Someone will be there with me. At least, I hope she will.”
“Agatha?”
“No, not Agatha. The cultural standard was too low for her. She’s broken our engagement.”
“Barbara, then?”
“Not Barbara, either.”
“But I have sometimes thought—”
“You thought Barbara sent Jennison packing because of me. Jennison thought so too—it’s all clear now. That was why he tried to frighten me into leaving Honolulu, and set his opium running friends on me when I wouldn’t go. But Barbara is not in love with me. We understand now why she broke her engagement.”
“Neither Agatha nor Barbara,” repeated Miss Minerva. “Then who—”
“You haven’t met her yet, but that happy privilege will be yours before you sleep. The sweetest girl in the Islands—or in the world. The daughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as a glorified beachcomber.”
Again Miss Minerva frowned. “It’s a great risk, John Quincy. She hasn’t our background—”
“No, and that’s a pleasant change. She’s the niece of your old friend—you knew that?”
“I did,” answered Miss Minerva softly.
“Your dear friend of the ’eighties. What was it you said to me? If your chance ever comes—”
“I hope you will be very happy,” his aunt said. “When you write it to your mother, be sure and mention Captain Cope of the British Admiralty. Poor Grace! That will be all she’ll have to cling to—after the wreck.”
“What wreck?”
“The wreck of all her hopes for you.”
“Nonsense. Mother will understand. She knows I’m a roaming Winterslip, and when we roam, we roam.”
They found Madame Maynard seated in her living-room with a few of her more elderly guests. From the beach came the sound of youthful revelry.
“Well my boy,” the old woman cried, “it appears you couldn’t stay away from your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give you up.”
John Quincy laughed. “I’m pau now. By the way, Carlotta Egan—is she—”
“They’re all out there somewhere,” the hostess said. “They came in for a bit of supper—by the way, there are sandwiches in the dining-room and—”
“Not just now,” said John Quincy. “Thank you so much. I’ll see you again, of course—”
He dashed out on the sand. A group of young people under the hau tree informed him that Carlotta Egan was on the farthest float. Alone? Well, no—that naval lieutenant—
He was, he reflected as he hurried on toward the water, a bit fed up with the navy. That was hardly the attitude he should have taken, considering all the navy had done for him. But it was human. And John Quincy was human at last.
For an instant he stood at the water’s edge. His bathing suit was in the dressing-room, but he never gave it a thought. He kicked off his shoes, tossed aside his coat, and plunged into the breakers. The blood of the wandering Winterslips was racing through his veins; hot blood that tropical waters had ever been powerless to cool.
Sure enough, Carlotta Egan and Lieutenant Booth were together on the float. John Quincy climbed up beside them.
“Well, I’m back,” he announced.
“I’ll tell the wor
ld you’re back,” said the lieutenant. “And all wet, too.”
They sat there. Across a thousand miles of warm water the trade winds came to fan their cheeks. Just above the horizon hung the Southern Cross; the Island lights trembled along the shore; the yellow eye on Diamond Head was winking. A gorgeous setting. Only one thing was wrong with it. It seemed rather crowded.
John Quincy had an inspiration. “Just as I hit the water,” he remarked, “I thought I heard you say something about my dive. Didn’t you like it?”
“It was rotten,” replied the lieutenant amiably.
“You offered to show me what was wrong with it, I believe?”
“Sure. If you want me to.”
“By all means,” said John Quincy. “Learn one thing every day. That’s my motto.”
Lieutenant Booth went to the end of the springboard. “In the first place, always keep your ankles close together—like this.”
“I’ve got you,” answered John Quincy.
“And hold your arms tight against your ears.”
“The tighter the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Then double up like a jackknife,” continued the instructor. He doubled up like a jackknife and rose into the air.
At the same instant John Quincy seized the girl’s hands. “Listen to me. I can’t wait another second. I want to tell you that I love you—”
“You’re mad,” she cried.
“Mad about you. Ever since that day on the ferry—”
“But your people?”
“What about my people? It’s just you and I—we’ll live in San Francisco—that is, if you love me—”
“Well, I—”
“In heaven’s name, be quick. That human submarine is floating around here under us. You love me, don’t you? You’ll marry me?”
“Yes.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her. Only the wandering Winterslips could kiss like that. The stay-at-homes had always secretly begrudged them the accomplishment.
The girl broke away at last, breathless. “Johnnie!” she cried.
A sputter beside them, and Lieutenant Booth climbed on to the float, moist and panting. “Wha’s that?” he gurgled.
“She was speaking to me,” cried John Quincy triumphantly.
Note on the Author
Earl Derr Biggers (1884–1933) was an American novelist and playwright. He is remembered primarily for his novels, especially those featuring the Chinese-American detective, Charlie Chan.
Biggers was born in Warren, Ohio, and graduated from Harvard University in 1907. Many of his plays and novels were made into movies, and he was posthumously inducted into the Warren City Schools Distinguished Alumni Hall of Fame.
By 1908, Biggers was hired at the Boston Traveler to write a daily humor column and, soon after, became the drama critic. It was at this time that he met Elanor Ladd, who would later become his wife and who would have a marked influence in his writing.
The popularity of Charlie Chan extended even to China, where audiences in Shanghai appreciated the Hollywood films. Chinese companies made their own versions of the films starring this fictional character.
Biggers lived in San Marino, California, and died in a Pasadena, California of a heart attack. He was 48.
Discover books by Gabriel Fielding published by Bloomsbury Reader at
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Behind That Curtain
The Chinese Parrot
The House without a Key
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © 1925 Earl Derr Biggers
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