"Oh, surely," Kirk told him.
"It chanced I was not yet ready he should walk inside the club," Chan added.
"Well, I'm knocked cold," Kirk said. "You must have had your eye on him for some time."
"I will explain with all my eloquence later. Just now I content myself with admitting this - Major Durand was one person in all the world who did not want Eve Durand discovered."
"But in heaven's name - why not?" Kirk asked.
"Alas, I am no miracle man. It is a matter I hope will be apparent later. Perhaps Colonel Beetham can enlighten us."
The Colonel's voice was cool and even in the darkness. "I'm a bit weary of lying," he remarked. "I could enlighten you. But I won't. You see, I have made a promise. And like yourself, Sergeant, I prefer to keep my promises."
"We have many commendable points in common."
Beetham laughed. "By the way - that was extremely decent of you - telling the reporter I wasn't concerned in this affair."
"Only hope," responded Chan, "that events will justify my very magnanimous act."
They alighted before the Kirk Building and rode up to the bungalow. Paradise had admitted Flannery and Duff with their prisoner.
"Here you are," said Flannery briskly. "Now, Mr. Kirk - let's have that key."
Kirk stepped to his desk and produced Sir Frederic's keys. The Captain, with Duff close at his side, hastened to open the case. Charlie dropped down on the edge of a chair, his intent little eyes on Major Durand. The Major was seated in a corner of the room, his head bowed, his gaze fixed on the rug.
"By George," cried Duff. "It's Sir Frederic's case, right enough. And here - yes - here is what we have been looking for." He took out a typewritten sheaf of paper. "Here are his records in the matter of Eve Durand."
The Inspector began to read eagerly. Flannery turned to Durand.
"Well, Major - this settles your hash. Where did you get the check for this briefcase?"
Durand made no reply. "I will answer for him," Charlie said. "He extracted same from the purse of Sir Frederic the night he killed that splendid gentleman."
"Then you visited San Francisco once before, Major?" Flannery persisted.
Still Durand did not so much as raise his eyes.
"Naturally he did," Chan grinned. "Captain Flannery, at any moment reporters will burst upon you desiring to learn how you captured this dangerous man. Would it not be better if I told you so you will be able to make intelligent reply?" Flannery glared at him. "The matter will demand your close attention. I search about, wondering where to begin."
Duff looked up. "I suggest you start with the moment when you first suspected Durand," he said, and returned to his perusal of the records.
Chan nodded. "It was here in this room, same night when Durand arrived. Have you ever heard, Captain, - do not fear, it is not old saying this time. Have you ever heard Chinese are psychic people? It is true. A look, a gesture, a tone of voice - something goes click inside. I hear Mr. Kirk say to the Major he will send guest card for club or two. And from the sudden warmth of the Major's reply, I obtain my psychic spasm of warning. At once I ask myself, has the Major special interest in San Francisco clubs? It would seem so. Is he, then, the man we seek? No, he can not be. Not if he came entire distance from New York with good Inspector Duff.
"But - I advise myself - pause here and ponder. What has Inspector Duff said on this point? He has said that when he got off Twentieth Century in Chicago, he discovered Major had been on same train. I put an inquiry to myself. Has this clever man, Duff, for once in his life been hoodwinked? Inspector does me high honor to invite to dinner. During the feast, I probe about. I politely inquire, did he with his own eyes see Major Durand on board Twentieth Century while train was yet speeding between New York and Chicago? No, he did not. He saw him first in Chicago station. Durand assures him he was on identical train Inspector has just left. He announces he, too, is on way to San Francisco. They take, that same night, train bound for coast.
"The matter, then, is possible. Men have been known to double back on own tracks. Study of time elapsed since murder reveals Major may have been doing this very thing. I begin to think deep about Durand. I recall that at luncheon when Sir Frederic tells us of Eve Durand case, he makes curious omission which I noted at the time. He says that when he is planning to go to Peshawar to look into Eve Durand matter, he calls on Sir George Mannering, the woman's uncle. Yet husband is living in England, and he would know much more about the affair than uncle would. Why, then, did not Sir Frederic interrogate the husband? I find there food for thought.
"All time I am wondering about Cosmopolitan Club year-book, which hand of Sir Frederic drops on floor at dying moment. Mr. Kirk kindly takes me to lunch at club, and checks a briefcase. I note check for coat is of metal, but briefcase check is of cardboard, with name of article deposited written on surface by trembling hand of Peter Lee. A bright light flashes in my mind. I will suppose that Sir Frederic checked a briefcase containing records we so hotly seek, and check for same was in pocket when he died. This the killer extracts; he is clever man and knows at last he has located papers he wants so fiercely. But alas for him, club-house door is guarded, only members and guests may enter. In despair, he flees, but that check he carries with him spells his doom unless he can return and obtain object it represents. He longs to do so, but danger is great.
"Then fine evidence arrives. The velvet slippers come back to us on tide of events, wrapped in newspaper. On margin of paper, partially torn, are figures - a money addition - $79 plus $23 equals $103. This refers to dollars only. Cents have been torn off. I visit railroad office. I decide what must have been on that paper before its tearing. Simply this, $79.84 plus $23.63 equals $103.47. What is that? The cost of railroad fare to Chicago with lower berth. Then the person who discarded those slippers was on Oakland ferry Wednesday morning after murder, bound to take train from Oakland terminal to Chicago. Who of all my suspects might have done that? No one but Major Durand.
"I think deep, I cogitate, I weave in and out through my not very brilliant mind. I study time-tables. Presume Major Durand was on that train out of Oakland Wednesday noon. He arrives in Chicago Saturday morning at nine. He is still distressed about check for briefcase, but his best plan seems to be to proceed eastward, and he hastens to LaSalle Street station to obtain train for New York. He arrives in time to see Inspector Duff, whom he met once in Paris, disembarking from Twentieth Century. He is smart man, a big idea assails him. First he will give impression he is alighting from same train, and then he will return to California in company of Scotland Yard Inspector. Who would suspect him then? So the innocent Inspector Duff himself escorts the killer back to the scene of the crime.
"All this seems to possess good logic. But it hangs on one thing - has briefcase been checked by Sir Frederic? This morning I visit with Peter Lee, keeper of Cosmopolitan Club check-room. I can scarce restrain my joy to learn Sir Frederic did indeed leave such an object the day he died. His dying gesture then, was to call our attention to the fact. He sought to present us with essential clue - what a man he was! I fondle the case lovingly, observing dust. Inside is no doubt very important information. But I do not desire to open it yet. I desire to set a trap. I have unlimited yearning to show Captain Flannery the man we have sought, standing by the check-room counter with this briefcase under his arm. Such evidence will be unanswerable.
"So I leave club, very happy. The affair has now pretty well unveiled itself. I have not yet discovered motives, but I am certain it was Major Durand who objected so murderously to the finding of his lost wife. He has not come to this country in answer to a cable from Sir Frederic. That is a lie. Sir Frederic did not want him. But he has learned, probably from the woman's uncle, that Sir Frederic is on point of revealing wife. For a reason still clouded in dark, he determines this must not happen. He arrives in San Francisco same time as Sir Frederic. He locates great detective, learns of the office, watches his chance. To prevent detective
from revealing wife, two things are necessary. He must destroy the records, and he must kill Sir Frederic. He decides to begin with records, and so on night of dinner party he forces his way into office, unseen by anybody. He is searching when Sir Frederic creeps in on the velvet slippers and surprises him. His opportunity has come, Sir Frederic is unarmed, he shoots him dead. But his task is only half completed, he hunts frantically for records. He does not find them. But he finds the check for the briefcase. He abstracts same, casts longing thought toward club, but does not dare. On the next train out he flees, the check burning in his pocket. If only he could return. In Chicago his great chance arrives.
"Building on all this, I set to-night my trap. And into it walks the man who killed Sir Frederic Bruce."
Inspector Duff looked up. He appeared to have been reading and listening at the same time. "Intelligence, hard work and luck," he remarked. "These three things contribute to the solution of a criminal case. And I may add that in my opinion, in this instance, the greatest of the trinity was intelligence."
Chan bowed. "A remark I shall treasure with jealous pride all my life."
"Yes, it's pretty good," admitted Flannery grudgingly. "Very good. But it ain't complete. What about the velvet slippers? What about Hilary Galt? How is Galt's murder mixed up in all this?"
Chan grinned. "I am not so hoggish. I leave a few points for Captain Flannery's keen mind."
Flannery turned to Duff. "Maybe it's in those records?"
"I've got only about half-way through," Duff answered. "There has been one mention of Hilary Galt. It says here that among the people who called at Galt's office on the day the solicitor was murdered was Eric Durand. Captain Eric Durand - that was his rank at the time. To discover the meaning of that, I shall have to read further."
"Have you learned," Chan inquired, "this thing? Did Sir Frederic know which of the ladies we have suspicioned was Eve Durand?"
"Evidently he didn't. All he knew was that she was in the Kirk Building. He seemed to favor Miss Lila Barr."
"Ah, yes. Was he aware how Eve Durand escaped from India?"
"He was, beyond question."
"He knew she went by the caravan?"
"By the caravan, through Khyber Pass. In the company of Colonel John Beetham," Duff nodded.
They all looked toward the Colonel, sitting silent and aloof in the background. "Is that true, Colonel Beetham?" Flannery asked.
The explorer bowed. "I will not deny it longer. It is true."
"Perhaps you know -"
"Whatever I know, I am not at liberty to tell."
"If I make you -" Flannery exploded.
"You can, of course, try. You will not succeed."
The door opened, and Miss Morrow came quickly through the hall. With her came the elevator girl. Jennie Jerome? Marie Lantelme? Grace Lane? Whatever her name, she entered, and stood staring at Eric Durand.
"Eric!" she cried. "What have you done? Oh - how could you -"
Durand raised his head and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. "Go away from me," he said dully. "Go away. You've brought me nothing but trouble - always. Go away. I hate you."
The woman backed off, frightened by the venom in his tone. Chan approached her.
"Pardon," he said gently. "Perhaps the news has already reached you? It was this man Durand who killed Sir Frederic. Your husband - is that not true, Madam?"
She dropped into a chair and covered her face. "Yes," she sobbed. "My husband."
"You are indeed Eve Durand?"
"Y-yes."
Charlie looked grimly at Flannery. "Now the truth arrives," he said. "That you once listened to a Chinaman is, after all, no lasting disgrace."
CHAPTER XXI
What Happened to Eve Durand
FLANNERY turned fiercely on Eve Durand. "Then you've known all along?" he cried. "You knew the Major had been here before - you saw him that night he did for Sir Frederic -"
"No, no," she protested. "I didn't see him - I never dreamed of such a thing. And if he knew I was in the building that night, he took good care to keep out of my way. For if I had seen him - if I had known - it would have been the final straw. I'd have told. I'd have told the whole story at once."
Flannery grew calmer. "Well, let's go back. You're Eve Durand - you admit it at last. Fifteen years ago you ran away from your husband in Peshawar. You went with the caravan of Colonel Beetham here -"
The woman looked up, startled, and for the first time saw the explorer. "That's all true," she said softly, "I went with Colonel Beetham."
"Ran away with another man - deserted your husband? Why? In love with the Colonel -"
"No!" Her eyes flashed. "You mustn't think that. Colonel Beetham did a very kind act - an indiscreet act - and he shall not suffer for it. Long ago, I made up my mind to that."
"Please, Eve," said the Colonel. "I shan't suffer. Don't tell your story on my account."
"That's like you," she answered. "But I insist. I said if I was ever found, I'd tell everything. And after what Eric has done now - it doesn't matter any longer. Oh, I shall be so relieved to tell the whole terrible thing at last."
She turned to Flannery. "I shall have to go back. I was brought up in Devonshire by my uncle and aunt - my parents had died. I wasn't very happy. My uncle had old-fashioned ideas. He meant well, he was kind, but somehow we just didn't get along. Then I met Eric - he was a romantic figure - I adored him. I was only seventeen. On my eighteenth birthday we were married. He was assigned to a regiment stationed in Peshawar, and I went with him.
"Even before we reached India, I began to regret what I had done. I was sorry I hadn't listened to my uncle - he never approved of the match. Under his dashing manner I found that Eric was mean and cheap. He was a gambler, he drank too much. His real character appalled me - he was coarse and brutal, and a cheat.
"Soon after our arrival at Peshawar, letters began to come from London - letters in dirty envelopes, the address written in an uncultivated hand. They seemed to enrage my husband; he wasn't fit to associate with after their appearance. I was puzzled and alarmed. On a certain day - the day of the picnic, it was - one of those letters was put in my hand during Eric's absence. By that time I was desperate. I knew only too well the outburst that would come when he saw it. I hesitated for a while. Finally I tore it open and read it.
"What I read wrecked my life for ever. It was from a porter in an office building in London. It said he must have more money - at once. It didn't hint - it spoke openly. Everything was all too plain. Eric - my husband - was being blackmailed by the porter. He was paying money to keep the man quiet. If he didn't, the porter threatened to reveal the fact that he had seen Eric leaving a London office one night a year previously. Leaving an office on the floor of which lay Hilary Galt, the solicitor, with a bullet in his head."
Eve Durand paused, and continued with an effort. "My husband, then, was being blackmailed for the murder of Hilary Galt. He came home presently, in rather a genial mood - for him. I said: 'I am leaving you at once.' He wanted to know why, and I gave him the opened letter.
"His face went gray, and he collapsed. Presently he was on his knees, groveling at my feet, pleading with me. Without my asking for it, he gave me the whole terrible story. Hilary Galt and my uncle, Sir George Mannering, were old friends. On the morning of that awful day, the solicitor had sent for Eric and told him that if he persisted in his intention of marrying me, he - Mr. Galt, I mean - would go to my uncle with the story of certain unsavory happenings in Eric's past. Eric had listened, and left the office. That night he had gone back and killed Hilary Galt, and the porter had seen him coming away.
"He did it for love of me, he said. Because he must have me - because he was determined nothing should stand in his way. I must forgive him -"
"Pardon," put in Chan. "Did he, in that unhappy moment, mention a pair of velvet slippers?"
"He did. After - after he had killed Mr. Galt, he saw the slippers lying on a chair. He knew that Scotland Yard always
looks for an essential clue, and he resolved to furnish one. One that meant nothing, one that would point away from him. So he tore off Hilary Galt's shoes and substituted the slippers. He was rather proud of it, I think. Oh, he was always clever, in that mean way of his. He boasted of what he had done, of how he had thrown Scotland Yard off the scent. Then he was pleading again - he had done it for me - I must not tell. I couldn't tell. I was his wife - no one could make me tell. Heaven knows, I had no desire to tell, all I wanted was to get away from him. I said again that I was going. 'I'll kill you first,' he answered, and he meant it.
"So I went on that picnic, with my life all in pieces, frantic, insane with grief and fear. Colonel Beetham was there - I had met him once before - a fine man, a gentleman, all that Eric was not. He was leaving in the morning - it came to me in a flash. He must take me with him. I suggested the game of hide-and-seek - I had already asked the Colonel to meet me in a certain spot. He came - I made him promise never to tell - and I explained to him the horrible position I was in. If I tried to leave openly I was afraid - I was sure - Eric would carry out his threat. Colonel Beetham was wonderful. He arranged everything. I hid in the hills all night. He came with Li Gung in the wagon at dawn - he had added it to his caravan, intending to abandon it when we got through the pass. I rode out hidden in that, and beyond the Khyber there began for me the most wonderful adventure a woman ever had. Eight months through that wild country on a camel - the stars at night, the dust storms, the desert stretching empty but mysterious as far as the eye could see. Outside Teheran I left the caravan and got to Baku alone. From there I went to Italy. Eight months had passed, as I say, and the hue and cry had died down.
Behind That Curtain Page 25