"I should say not," cried Barry Kirk. He turned to the woman. "I hope you won't think it was my idea. You can have a bale of my uniforms, if you like."
"You're very kind," she answered.
"Not at all. What is more, your old position is yours if you want it. You know, I'm eager to beautify the Kirk Building, and I lost ground when you left."
She smiled, without replying. "I may go then?" she said, rising.
"Sure," agreed Flannery. "Run along."
Miss Morrow looked at her keenly. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know. I -"
"I do," said the deputy district attorney. "You're going home with me. I've got an apartment - there's loads of room. You shall stay with me for this one night, at least."
"You - you are really too good to me," replied Grace Lane, and her voice broke slightly.
"Nonsense. We've all been far too unkind to you. Come along."
The two women went out. Flannery sank down behind his desk. "Now I'm going at this thing in my own way for a change," he announced. "This has been an awful upset, but I had it coming to me. Listening to a Chinaman! If Grace Lane isn't Eve Durand, who is? What do you say, Inspector Duff?"
"I might also warn you," smiled Duff, "against the dangers of listening to an Englishman."
"Oh, but you're from Scotland Yard. I got respect for your opinion. Let's see - Eve Durand is about somewhere - I'm sure of that. Sir Frederic was the kind of man who knows what he's talking about. There's that Lila Barr. She fits the description pretty well. There's Gloria Garland. An assumed name - Australia - might be. There's Eileen Enderby. Rust stains on her dress that night. But I didn't see them. May have been there - probably not. Another guess on Sergeant Chan's part, perhaps."
"There is also," added Charlie, "Mrs. Tupper-Brock. I offer the hint with reluctance."
"And well you may," sneered Flannery. "No - if you fancy Mrs. Tupper-Brock, then right there she's out with me. Which of these women - I'll have to start all over again."
"I feel humble and contrite," said Chan. "In spite of which, suggestions keep crowding to my tongue. Have you heard old Chinese saying, Captain - 'It is always darkest underneath the lamp'?"
"I'm fed up on Chinese sayings," replied the Captain.
"The one I have named means what? That just above our heads the light is blazing. Such is the fact, Captain Flannery. Take my advice, and worry no more about Eve Durand."
"Why not?" asked Flannery, in spite of himself.
"Because you are poised on extreme verge of the great triumph of your life. In a few hours at the most your head will be ringing with your own praises."
"How's that?"
"In a few hours you will arrest the murderer of Sir Frederic Bruce," Chan told him calmly.
"Say - how do you get that way?" queried Flannery.
"There is one condition. It may be hard one for you," Chan continued. "For your own sake, I beseech you to comply with same."
"One condition? What's that?"
"You must listen once more - and for the last time - to what you call a Chinaman."
Flannery stirred uneasily. A hot denial rose to his lips, but something in the little man's confident manner disturbed him.
"Listen to you again, eh? As though I'd do that."
Inspector Duff stood up, and relighted his pipe. "If it is true that you respect my opinion, Captain - then, quoting our friend, I would make humble suggestion. Do as he asks."
Flannery did not reply for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "what have you got up your sleeve now? Another hunch?"
Chan shook his head. "A certainty. I am stupid man from small island, and I am often wrong. This time I am quite correct. Follow me - and I prove it."
"I wish I knew what you're talking about," Flannery said.
"An arrest - in a few hours - if you will stoop so far as to do what I require," Chan told him. "In Scotland Yard, which Inspector Duff honors by his association, there is in every case of murder what they call essential clue. There was essential clue in this case."
"The slippers?" asked Flannery.
"No," Charlie replied. "The slippers were valuable, but not essential. The essential clue was placed on scene by hand now dead. Hand of a man clever far beyond his fellows - how sad that such a man has passed. When Sir Frederic saw death looking him boldly in the face, he reached to a bookcase and took down - what? The essential clue, which fell from his dying hand to lie at his side on the dusty floor. The year-book of the Cosmopolitan Club."
A moment of silence followed. There was a ring of conviction in the detective's voice.
"Well - what do you want?" inquired Flannery.
"I want that you must come to the Cosmopolitan Club in one-half hour. Inspector Duff will of course accompany. You must then display unaccustomed patience and wait like man of stone. Exactly how long I can not predict now. But in due time I will point out to you the killer of Sir Frederic - and I will produce proof of what I say."
Flannery rose. "Well, it's your last chance. You make a monkey of me again and I'll deport you as an undesirable alien. At the Cosmopolitan Club in half an hour. We'll be there."
"Undesirable alien will greet you at the door," smiled Charlie, "hoping to become desirable at any moment. Mr. Kirk - will you be so good as to join my company?" He and Barry Kirk went out.
"Well, Charlie, you're certainly in bad with the Captain," said Kirk as they stood in the street waiting for a taxi.
Chan nodded. "Will be in even worse presently," he replied.
Kirk stared at him. "How's that?"
"I shall point him the way to success. He will claim all credit, but sight of me will make him uncomfortable. No man loves the person who has guided his faltering footsteps to high-up rung of the ladder."
They entered a taxi. "The Cosmopolitan Club," Chan ordered. He turned to Kirk. "And now I must bow low in dust with many humble apologies to you. I have grieviously betrayed a trust."
"How so?" asked Kirk surprised.
Chan took a letter from his pocket. It was somewhat worn and the handwriting on the envelope was a trifle blurred. "The other morning you wrote letters in office, giving same to me to mail. I made gesture toward mail chute, but I extracted this missive."
"Great Scott!" cried Kirk. "Hasn't that been mailed?"
"It has not. What could be more disgusting? My gracious host, at whose hands I have received every kindness. I have besmirched his confidence."
"But you had a reason?" suggested Kirk.
"A very good reason, which time will ascertain. Am I stepping over the bounds when I seek to dig up your forgiveness?"
"Not at all," Kirk smiled.
"You are most affable man it has yet been my fate to encounter." The taxi had reached Union Square. Chan called to the driver to halt. "I alight here to correct my crime," he explained. "The long-delayed letter now goes to its destination by special, fleet-footed messenger."
"I say - you don't mean -" Kirk cried in amazement.
"What I mean comes gradually into the light," Chan told him. He got out of the taxi. "Be so kind as to await my coming at the club door. The guardian angel beyond the threshold is jealous as to who has honor of entering Cosmopolitan Club. It has been just as well for my purpose, but please make sure that I am not left rejected outside the portal."
"I'll watch for you," Kirk promised.
He rode on to the club, his head whirling with new speculations and questions. No - no - this couldn't be. But Charlie had an air -
Shortly after he had reached the building Charlie appeared, and Kirk steered him past the gold-laced door man. Presently Flannery and Duff arrived. The Captain's manner suggested that he was acting against his better judgment.
"I suppose this is another wild-goose chase," he fretted.
"One during which the goose is apprehended, I think," Chan assured him. "But there will be need of Oriental calm. Have you good supply? We may loiter here until midnight hour."
"That's pleasa
nt," Flannery replied. "Well, I'll wait a while. But this is your last chance - remember."
"Also your great chance," Chan shrugged. "You must likewise remember. We do wrong to hang here in spotlight of publicity. Mr. Kirk, I have made selection of nook where we may crouch unobserved, but always observing. I refer to little room behind office, opening at the side on check-room."
"All right - I know where you mean," Kirk told him. He spoke to the manager, and the four of them were ushered into a little back room, unused at the moment and in semi-darkness. Chairs were brought, and all save Charlie sat down. The little detective bustled about. He arranged that his three companions should have an unobstructed view of the check-room, where his friend of the morning, old Peter Lee, sat behind his barrier engrossed in a bright pink newspaper.
"Only one moment," said Chan. He went out through the door which led behind the counter of the check-room. For a brief time he talked in low tones with Lee. Then the three men sitting in the dusk saw him give a quick look toward the club lobby, and dodge abruptly into his hiding-place beside them.
Colonel John Beetham, debonair as usual, appeared at the counter and checked his hat and coat. Kirk, Flannery and Duff leaned forward eagerly and watched him as he accepted the brass check and turned away. But Chan made no move.
Time passed. Other members came into the club for dinner and checked their belongings, unconscious of the prying eyes in the little room. Flannery began to stir restlessly on his uncomfortable chair.
"What the devil is all this?" he demanded.
"Patience," Charlie admonished. "As the Chinese say, 'In time the grass becomes milk.'"
"Yeah - but I'd rather hunt up a cow," Flannery growled.
"Patient waiting," Chan went on, "is first requisite of good detective. Is that not correct, Inspector Duff?"
"Sometimes it seems the only requisite," Duff agreed. "I fancy I may smoke here?"
"Oh, of course," Kirk told him. He sighed with relief and took out his pipe.
The minutes dragged on. They heard the shuffle of feet on the tiled floor of the lobby, the voices of members calling greetings, making dinner dates. Flannery was like a fly on a hot griddle.
"If you're making a fool of me again -" he began.
His recent humiliation had been recalled to his mind by the sight of Major Eric Durand, checking his Burberry and his felt hat with Peter Lee. The Major's manner was one of deep depression.
"Poor devil," said Flannery softly. "We handed him a hard jolt to-day. It wasn't necessary, either." His accusing eyes sought Chan. The detective was huddled up on his chair like some fat, oblivious Buddha.
A half-hour passed. Flannery was in constant touch with the figures on the face of his watch. "Missing my dinner," he complained "And this chair - it's like a barrel top."
"There was no time to procure a velvet couch," Chan suggested gently. "Compose yourself, I beg. The happy man is the calm man. We have only begun to vigil."
At the end of another half-hour, Flannery was fuming. "Give us a tip," he demanded. "What are we waiting for? I'll know, or by heaven, I'll get out of here so quick -"
"Please," whispered Charlie. "We are waiting for the murderer of Sir Frederic Bruce. Is that not enough?"
"No, it isn't," the Captain snapped. "I'm sick of you and your confounded mystery. Put your cards on the table like a white man. This chair is killing me, I tell you -"
"Hush!" said Chan. He was leaning forward now, staring through the door into the check-room. The others followed his gaze.
Major Eric Durand stood before the counter. He threw down the brass check for his coat and hat. It rang metallically in the silence. Peter Lee brought them for him. He leaned across the barrier and helped Durand on with his coat. The Major was fumbling in his pockets. He produced a small bit of cardboard, which he gave to Peter Lee. The old man studied his treasures for a moment, and then handed over a black leather briefcase.
Chan had seized Flannery's arm, and was dragging the astonished Captain toward the club lobby. Kirk and Duff followed. They lined up before the huge front door. Durand appeared, walking briskly. He stopped as he saw the group barring his way.
"Ah, we meet again," he said. "Mr. Kirk, it was thoughtful of you to send me that guest card to your club. I deeply appreciate it. It arrived only a short time ago. I shall enjoy dropping in here frequently -"
Charlie Chan's fat face was shining with joy. He raised his arm with the gesture of a Booth or a Salvini.
"Captain Flannery," he cried. "Arrest this man."
"Why - I - er - I don't -" sputtered Flannery.
"Arrest this man Durand," Chan went on. "Arrest him at same moment while he holds beneath his arm a briefcase containing much useful information. The briefcase Sir Frederic Bruce checked in this club on the afternoon of the day he died."
CHAPTER XX
The Truth Arrives
ALL color had drained from Durand's face. It was gray as fog as he stood there confronted by the triumphant little Chinese. Flannery reached out and seized the leather case. The Major made no move to resist.
"Sir Frederic's briefcase," Flannery cried. His air of uncertainty had vanished; he was alert and confident. "By heaven, if that's true, then our man hunt is over." He sought to open the case. "The thing's locked," he added. "I don't like to break it open. It will be a mighty important piece of evidence."
"Mr. Kirk still holds in possession Sir Frederic's keys," suggested Charlie. "I would have brought them with me but I did not know where they reposed."
"They are in my desk," Kirk told him.
A curious group was gathering about them. Chan turned to Flannery. "Our standing here has only one result. We offer ourselves as nucleus for a crowd. Humbly state we should go at once to bungalow. There the matter may be threshed out like winter wheat."
"Good idea," replied Flannery.
"I also ask that Mr. Kirk visit telephone booth and request Miss Morrow to speed to bungalow with all haste. It would be amazing unkindness to drop her out of events at this junction."
"Sure," agreed Flannery. "Do that, Mr. Kirk."
"Likewise," added Charlie, laying a hand on Kirk's arm, "advise her to bring with her the elevator operator, Grace Lane."
"What for?" demanded Flannery.
"Time will reveal," Chan shrugged. As Kirk sped away, Colonel John Beetham came up. For a moment the explorer stood, taking in the scene before him. His inscrutable expression did not change.
"Colonel Beetham," Charlie explained, "we have here the man who killed Sir Frederic Bruce."
"Really?" returned Beetham calmly.
"Undubitably. It is a matter that concerns you, I think. Will you be so good as to join our little party?"
"Of course," Beetham replied. He went for his hat and coat. Chan followed him, and retrieved from Peter Lee the pasteboard check on receipt of which the old man had relinquished Sir Frederic's property.
Kirk, Beetham and Chan returned to the group by the door. "All set," announced Flannery. "Come along, Major Durand."
Durand hesitated. "I am not familiar with your law. But shouldn't there be some sort of warrant -"
"You needn't worry about that. I'm taking you on suspicion. I can get a warrant when I want it. Don't be a fool - come on."
Outside a gentle rain had begun to fall, and the town was wrapped in mist. Duff, Flannery and Durand got into one taxi, and Chan followed with Kirk and the explorer in another. As Charlie was stepping into the car, a breathless figure shot out of the dark.
"Who was that with Flannery?" panted Bill Rankin.
"It has happened as I telephoned from the hotel," Charlie answered. "We have our man."
"Major Durand?"
"The same."
"Good enough. I'll have a flash on the street in twenty minutes. You certainly kept your promise."
"Old habit with me," Chan told him.
"And how about Beetham?"
Chan glanced into the dark cab. "Nothing to do with the matter. We were o
n wrong trail there."
"Too bad," Rankin said. "Well, I'm off. I'll be back later for details. Thanks a thousand times."
Chan inserted his broad bulk into the taxi, and they started for the Kirk Building.
"May I express humble hope," remarked the little detective to Kirk, "that I am forgiven for my crime. I refer to my delay in mailing to Major Durand your letter containing guest card for Cosmopolitan Club."
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