"You know what I mean," he protested. "I want you to keep keen and alert. Nothing must happen to that pie."
They spent a happy, care-free day on roads far from the rush of city traffic. When Kirk helped the girl out of the car before her door that night, he said: "Well, to-morrow morning Charlie springs his hunch."
"What do you imagine he has up his sleeve?"
"I haven't an idea. The more I see of him, the less I know him. But let's hope it's something good."
"And illuminating," added Miss Morrow. "I feel the need of a little light." She held out her hand. "You've been lovely to me to-day."
"Give me another chance," he said. "Give me lots of 'em. I'll get lovelier and lovelier as time goes on."
"Is that a threat?" she laughed.
"A promise. I hope you don't mind."
"Why should I? Good night." She entered the lobby of her apartment-house.
On Monday morning Chan was brisk and businesslike. He called Gloria Garland and was much relieved to hear her answering voice. She agreed to come to the bungalow at ten o'clock, and Charlie at once got in touch with Miss Morrow and asked her to come at the same hour, bringing Captain Flannery. Then he turned to Kirk.
"Making humble suggestion," he said, "would you be so kind as to dispatch Paradise on lengthy errand just as ten o'clock approaches? I do not fancy him in bungalow this morning."
"Surely," agreed Kirk. "I'll send him out for some fishing tackle. I never get time to fish, but a man can't have too much tackle."
At fifteen minutes of ten Chan rose and got his hat. He would, he said, himself escort Miss Garland to the bungalow. Going below, he took up his stand in the doorway of the Kirk Building.
He saw Miss Morrow and Flannery enter, but gave them only a cool nod as they passed. Mystified, they went on upstairs. Kirk met them at the door.
"Here we are," growled Flannery. "I wonder what the Sergeant's up to. If he's got me here on a wild goose chase, I'll deport him to Hawaii. I'm too busy to-day to feel playful."
"Oh, Chan will make good," Kirk assured him. "By the way, I suppose you've got that elevator girl - Jennie Jerome, or Grace Lane, or whatever her name is - under your eagle eye?"
"Yes. The boys have been shadowing her."
"Find out anything?"
"Not a thing. She's got a room on Powell Street. Stays in nights and minds her own business, as far as I can learn."
Down at the door, Chan was greeting Gloria Garland. "You are promptly on the minute," he approved. "A delectable virtue."
"I'm here, but I don't know what you want," she replied. "I told you everything the other day -"
"Yes, of course. Will you be kind enough to walk after me? We rise aloft."
He took her up in a car run by a black-haired Irish girl, and they entered the living-room of the bungalow.
"Ah, Captain - Miss Morrow - we are all here. That is correct," Charlie said. "Miss Garland, will you kindly recline on chair."
The woman sat down, obviously puzzled. Her eyes sought Flannery's. "What do you want with me now?" she asked.
The Captain shrugged his broad shoulders. "Me - I don't want you. It's Sergeant Chan here. He's had a mysterious hunch."
Chan smiled. "Yes, I am guilty party, Miss Garland. I hope I have not rudely unconvenienced you?"
"Not a bit," she answered.
"One day you told us of the girl Marie Lantelme, who disappeared so oddly out of Nice," Chan continued. "Will you kindly state - you have still not encountered her?"
"No, of course not," the woman replied.
"You are quite sure you would recognize her if you met her?"
"Of course. I knew her well."
Chan's eyes narrowed. "There would be no reason why you would conceal act of recognition from us? I might humbly remind you, this is serious affair."
"No - why should I do that? I'll tell you if I see her - but I'm sure I haven't -"
"Very good. Will you remain in present posture until my return?" Chan went rapidly out to the stairway leading to the floor below.
They looked at one another in wonder, but no one spoke. In a moment, Chan returned. With him came Grace Lane, the elevator girl whom Mrs. Enderby had identified as Jennie Jerome.
She came serenely into the room, and stood there. The sunlight fell full upon her, outlining clearly her delicately modeled face. Gloria Garland started, and half rose from her chair.
"Marie!" she cried. "Marie Lantelme! What are you doing here?"
They gasped. A look of triumph shone in Chan's narrow eyes.
The girl's poise did not desert her. "Hello, Gloria," she said softly. "We meet again."
"But where have you been, my dear?" Miss Garland wanted to know. "Where did you go - and why -"
The girl stopped her. "Some other time -" she said.
In a daze, Flannery rose to his feet. "Look here," he began. "Let me get this straight." He moved forward accusingly, "You are Marie Lantelme?"
"I was - once," she nodded.
"You were singing in the same troupe as Miss Garland here - eleven years ago, at Nice? You disappeared?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"I was tired of it. I found I didn't like the stage. If I had stayed, they would have forced me to go on. So I ran away."
"Yeah. And seven years ago you were in New York - a model for a dressmaker. Your name then was Jennie Jerome. You disappeared again?"
"For the same reason. I didn't care for the work. I - I'm restless, I guess -"
"I'll say you're restless. You kept changing names?"
"I wanted to start all over. A new person."
Flannery glared at her. "There's something queer about you, my girl. You know who I am, don't you?"
"You appear to be a policeman."
"Well, that's right. I am."
"I have never done anything wrong. I am not afraid."
"Maybe not. But tell me this - what do you know about Sir Frederic Bruce?"
"I know that he was a famous man from Scotland Yard, who was killed in Mr. Kirk's office last Tuesday night."
"Ever see him before he came here?"
"No, sir - I never had."
"Ever hear of him?"
"I don't believe so."
Her even, gentle answers put Flannery at a loss. He stood, considering. His course was far from clear.
"You were running the elevator here last Tuesday night?" he continued.
"Yes, sir, I was."
"Have you any idea why Sir Frederic was hunting for you? For Marie Lantelme, or Jennie Jerome, or whoever you really are?"
She frowned, "Was he hunting for me? How strange. No, sir, - I have no idea at all."
"Well," said Flannery, "let me tell you this. You're a pretty important witness in the matter of Sir Frederic's murder, and I don't intend you shall get away."
The girl smiled. "So I judge. I seem to have been followed rather closely the past few days."
"Well, you'll be followed even more closely from now on. One false move, and I lock you up. You understand that?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"All right. Just tend to your work, and when I want you, I'll tell you so. You can go now."
"Thank you, sir," the girl replied, and went out.
Flannery turned to Miss Garland. "You recognized her the other night, didn't you?" he demanded.
"Oh, but I assure you, I didn't. I recognized her to-day for the first time."
"Which is plenty time enough," said Chan. "Miss Garland, we are sunk deep in your debt. I permit you now to depart -"
"Yeah - you can go," added Flannery. "Take some other car and keep away from your old friend until this thing's cleared up."
"I'll do that," Miss Garland assured him. "I'm afraid she didn't want me to identify her. I do hope I haven't got her into trouble."
"That depends," answered Flannery, and Kirk showed the actress out.
Chan was beaming. "Hunch plenty good, after all," he chuckled.
"Well, whe
re are we?" Flannery said. "The elevator girl is Jennie Jerome. Then she's Marie Lantelme. What does that mean?"
"It means only one thing," said Miss Morrow softly.
"The Captain is pretending to be dense," suggested Chan. "He could not really be so thick."
"What are you talking about?" Flannery demanded.
"My hunch, which has come so nicely true," Chan told him. "The elevator girl is Jennie Jerome. Next, she is Marie Lantelme. What does it mean, you ask? It means one thing only. She is also Eve Durand."
"By heaven!" Flannery cried.
"Consider how the muddy water clears," Chan went on. "Eve Durand flees from India one dark night fifteen years ago. Four years later she is found in Nice, playing in theater. Something happens - maybe she is seen and recognized - again she runs away. Another four years elapse and we encounter her in New York walking in model gowns. Again something happens, again she disappears. Where does she go? Eventually, to San Francisco. Here opportunities are not so good, she must take more lowly position. And here Sir Frederic comes, always seeking for Eve Durand."
"It's beautifully clear," approved Miss Morrow.
"Like lake at evening," nodded Chan. "Sir Frederic, though he has looked long for this woman, has never seen her. He can upearth here no one who can identify Eve Durand, but he remembers once she was Marie Lantelme, once Jennie Jerome. In this great city, he learns, are two people who have known her when she was wearing these other names. He asks that they be invited to dinner, hoping that one or both will point out to him the woman he has trailed so long."
Flannery was walking the floor. "Well - I don't know. It's almost too good to be true. But if it is - if she's Eve Durand - then I can't let her wander around loose. I'll have to lock her up this morning. If I could only be sure -"
"I am telling you," persisted Chan.
"I know, but you are guessing. You've identified her as those other two, but as for Eve Durand -"
The telephone rang. Kirk answered, and handed it to Flannery, "For you, Captain," he said.
Flannery took the telephone. "Oh - hello, Chief," he said. "Yeah - yeah. What's that? Oh - oh, he is? Good enough. Thank you, Chief. I sure will."
He hung up the receiver and turned to the others. A broad smile was on his face.
"We're going to find out, Sergeant, just how good a guesser you are," he said. "I'll put a couple of extra men to following this dame, but I won't do anything more until to-morrow. Yes, sir - by to-morrow evening I'll know whether she's Eve Durand or not."
"Your words have obscure sound," Chan told him.
"The Chief of Police has just had a wire," Flannery explained. "Inspector Duff of Scotland Yard is getting in tomorrow afternoon at two thirty. And he's bringing with him the one man in all the world who's sure to know Eve Durand when he sees her. He's bringing the woman's husband, Major Eric Durand."
CHAPTER XII
A Misty Evening
WHEN Chan and Kirk were left alone, the little detective sat staring thoughtfully into space. "Now Tuesday becomes the big day for keen anticipation," he remarked. "What will it reveal? Much, I hope, for my time on the mainland becomes a brief space indeed."
Kirk looked at him in wonder. "Surely you won't go on Wednesday, if this thing isn't solved?"
Chan nodded stubbornly. "I have made unspoken promise to Barry Chan. Now I put it into words. Tomorrow Eve Durand's husband arrives. In all the world we could have selected no more opportune person. He will identify this elevator woman as his wife, or he will not. If he does, perhaps case is finished. If he does not" - Charlie shrugged - "then I have done all possible. Let Captain Flannery flounder alone after that."
"Well, we won't cross our oceans until we get to them," Kirk suggested. "A lot may happen before Wednesday. By the way, I've been meaning to take you over to the Cosmopolitan Club. How about lunching there this noon?"
Chan brightened. "I have long nursed desire to see that famous interior. You are most kind."
"All set, then," replied his host. "I have some business in the office. Come downstairs for me at twelve thirty. And when Paradise returns, please tell him we're lunching out."
He took his hat and coat and went below. Chan strolled aimlessly to the window and stood looking down on the glittering city. His eyes strayed to the Matson dock, the pier shed and, beyond, the red funnels of a familiar ship. A ship that was sailing, day after to-morrow, for Honolulu harbor. Would he be on it? He had sworn, yes - and yet - He sighed deeply. The door-bell rang, and he admitted Bill Rankin, the reporter.
"Hello," said Rankin. "Glad to find you in. I spent all day yesterday at the public library, and say, I'll bet I stirred up more dust than the chariot in Ben Hur!"
"With any luck?" Chan inquired.
"Yes. I finally found the story in the files of the New York Sun. A great newspaper in those days - but I won't talk shop. It was just a brief item with the Peshawar date line - I copied it down. Here it is."
Charlie took the sheet of yellow paper, and read a short cable story that told him nothing he did not already know. Eve Durand, the young wife of a certain Captain Eric Durand, had disappeared under mysterious circumstances two nights previously, while on a picnic party in the hills outside Peshawar. The authorities were greatly alarmed, and parties of British soldiers were scouring the wild countryside.
"Item has date, May fifth," remarked Chan. "Then Eve Durand was lost on night of May third, the year 1913. You found nothing else?"
"There were no follow-up stories," Rankin replied, "And no mention of Beetham, as you hoped. Say - what in Sam Hill could he have to do with this?"
"Nothing," said Chan promptly. "It was one of my small mistakes. Even great detective sometimes steps off on wrong foot. My wrong foot often weary from too much use."
"Well, what's going on, anyhow?" Rankin wanted to know. "I've hounded Flannery, and I've tried Miss Morrow, and not a thing do I learn. My city editor is waxing very sarcastic. Can't you give me a tip to help me out?"
Chan shook his head. "It would be plenty poor ethics for me to talk about the case. I am in no authority here, and already Captain Flannery regards me with the same warm feeling he would show pickpocket from Los Angeles. Pursuing the truth further, there is nothing to tell you, anyhow. We are not as yet close to anything that might indicate happy success."
"I'm sorry to hear it," Rankin said.
"Situation will not continue," Chan assured him. "Light will break. For the present we swim with one foot on the ground, but in good time we will plunge into center of the stream. Should I be on scene when success is looming, I will be happy to give you little secret hint."
"If you're on the scene? What are you talking about?"
"Personal affairs call me home with a loud megaphone. On Wednesday I go whether case is solved or not."
"Yes - like you did last Wednesday," Rankin laughed. "You can't kid me. The patient Oriental isn't going to get impatient at the wrong minute. Well, I must run. Remember your promise about the hint."
"I have lengthy memory," Chan replied. "And already I owe you much. Good-by."
When the reporter had gone, Charlie stood staring at the copy of that cable story. "May third, nineteen hundred thirteen," he said aloud. With a surprisingly quick step he went to a table and took from it the Life of Colonel John Beetham. He ran hastily through the pages until he found the thing he sought. Then for a long moment he sat in a chair with the book open on his knee, staring into space.
At precisely twelve thirty he entered Kirk's office. The young man rose and, accepting some papers from his secretary, put them into a leather briefcase. "Got to see a lawyer after lunch," he explained. "Not a nice lawyer, either - a man this time." They went to the Cosmopolitan Club.
When they had checked their hats and coats and returned to the lobby in that imposing building, Chan looked about him with deep interest. The Cosmopolitan's fame was wide-spread; it was the resort of men active in the arts, in finance and in journalism. Kirk's popularity there
was proved by many jovial greetings. He introduced Chan to a number of his friends, and the detective was presently the center of a pleasant group. With difficulty they got away to lunch in one corner of the big dining-room.
It was toward the close of the lunch that Chan, looking up, saw approaching the man who interested him most at the moment. Colonel John Beetham's hard-bitten face was more grim than ever, seen in broad daylight. He paused at their table.
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