Behind That Curtain

by Earl Der Biggers

  “That’s awfully kind of you,” said the girl.

  “Not at all. It’s painfully lonesome up where the fog begins without at least one guest. I’m all out of visitors at the moment—er—ah—I mean Mr. Chan will be doing me a real favor.” He turned to Charlie. “You shall have Sir Frederic’s room,” he added.

  Chan shrugged. “I can never repay such goodness. Why attempt it?”

  “Let’s go to my office, first of all,” Miss Morrow said. “I want the district attorney to meet Mr. Chan. We must all be friends—at the start, anyhow.”

  “Anywhere you say,” Kirk agreed, and headed the car up Market Street, to Kearny. He remained in the roadster, while the girl and Charlie went up to the district attorney’s offices. When they entered that gentleman’s private room, they found Captain Flannery already on the scene.

  “Mr. Trant—I’ve good news for you,” the girl began. “Oh—good morning, Captain.”

  Flannery’s Irish eyes were not precisely smiling as they rested on Charlie Chan. “What’s this, Sergeant?” he growled. “I thought you were off for Honolulu at twelve?”

  Chan grinned. “You will be delighted to learn that my plans are changed. Miss Morrow has persuaded me to remain here and add my minute brain power to your famous capacity in same line.”

  “Is that so?” mumbled Flannery.

  “Yes—isn’t it splendid?” cried the girl. “Mr. Chan is going to help us.” She turned to her chief. “You must give him a temporary appointment as a sort of guest detective connected with this office.”

  Trant smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a bit irregular?” he asked.

  “Impossible,” said Flannery firmly.

  “Not at all,” persisted the girl. “It’s a very difficult case, and we shall need all the help we can get. Sergeant Chan will not interfere with you, Captain—”

  “I’ll say he won’t,” Flannery replied warmly.

  “He can act in a sort of advisory capacity. You’re a big enough man to take advice, I know.”

  “When it’s any good,” the Captain added. The girl looked appealingly at Trant.

  “You are on leave of absence from the Honolulu force, Sergeant?” inquired the district attorney.

  “One which stretches out like an elastic,” nodded Chan.

  “Very well. Since Miss Morrow wishes it, I see no reason why you shouldn’t lend her your no doubt very useful aid. Remembering, of course, that neither one of you is to interfere with Captain Flannery in any way.”

  “Better say that again,” Flannery told him. He turned to Chan. “That means you’re not to butt in and spoil things.”

  Chan shrugged. “It was the wise K’ung-fu-tsze who said, ‘He who is out of office should not meddle with the government.’ The labor is all yours. I will merely haunt the background, thinking tensely.”

  “That suits me,” Flannery agreed. “I’ll make all the inquiries.” He turned to the district attorney. “I’m going to get after that Garland woman right away. The pearl she dropped under Sir Frederic’s desk—I want to know all about it.”

  “Please don’t think I’m interfering,” Miss Morrow said sweetly. “But as regards the women involved in this case, I feel that perhaps I can get more out of them than you can. Being a woman myself, you know. Will you let me have Miss Garland, please?”

  “I can’t see it,” said Flannery stubbornly.

  “I can,” remarked Trant, decisively. “Miss Morrow is a clever girl, Captain. Leave the women to her. You take the men.”

  “What men?” protested Flannery. “It’s all women, in this affair.”

  “Thank you so much,” smiled Miss Morrow, assuming his unproffered consent. “I will look up Miss Garland, then. There’s another woman who must be questioned at once—a Miss Lila Barr. I shall have a talk with her at the first possible moment. Of course, I’ll keep you advised of all I do.”

  Flannery threw up his hands. “All right—tell me about it—after it’s over. I’m nobody.”

  “Quite incorrect,” said Chan soothingly. “You are everybody. When the moment of triumph comes, who will snatch all credit? And rightly so. Captain Flannery, in charge of the case. Others will fade like fog in local sun.”

  The girl stood up. “We must go along. I’ll be in to see you later, Captain. Come, Sergeant Chan—”

  Chan rose. He seemed a bit uncomfortable. “The Captain must pardon me. I fear I afflict him like sore thumb. Natural, too. I would feel the same.”

  “That’s all right,” returned Flannery. “You’re going to stick in the background, thinking tensely. You’ve promised. Think all you like—I can’t stop that.” His face brightened. “Think about that Cosmopolitan Club book. I’ll turn the heavy thinking on that over to you. Me, I’ll be busy elsewhere. One thing I insist on—you’re not to question any of these people under suspicion.”

  Chan bowed. “I am disciple of famous philosopher, Captain,” he remarked. “Old man in China who said, ‘The fool questions others, the wise man questions himself.’ We shall meet again. Goodby.” He followed the girl out.

  Flannery, his face brick red, turned to the district attorney. “Fine business,” he cried. “The toughest case I ever had, and what sort of help do I draw? A doll-faced girl and a Chinaman! Bah—I—I—” He trailed off into profanity.

  Trant was smiling. “Who knows?” he replied. “You may get more help from them than you expect.”

  “If I get any at all, I’ll be surprised.” Flannery stood up. “A woman and a Chinaman. Hell, I’ll be the joke of the force.”

  The two whom Captain Flannery was disparaging found Barry Kirk waiting impatiently in his car. “An inner craving,” he announced, “tells me it’s lunch time. You’re both lunching with me at the bungalow. Step lively, please.”

  Atop the Kirk Building, Paradise was ordered to lay two more places, and Kirk showed Chan to his room. He left the detective there to unpack, and returned to Miss Morrow.

  “You seem the perpetual host,” she smiled, as he joined her.

  “Oh, I’m going to get a lot of fun out of Charlie,” he answered. “He’s a good scout, and I like him. But, by way of confession, I had other reasons for inviting him here. You and he are going to work together, and that means—what?”

  “It means, I hope, that I’m going to learn a lot.”

  “From associating with Chan?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And if you associate with my guest, you’ll be bound to stumble over me occasionally. I’m a wise lad. I saw it coming.”

  “I don’t understand. Why should you want me to stumble over you?”

  “Because every time you do I’ll leap up and look at you, and that will be another red-letter day in my life.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re terribly frivolous. If I see much of you, you’ll drag me down and down until I lose my job.”

  “Look on the other side, lady,” he pleaded. “You might drag me up and up. It could be done, you know.”

  “I doubt it,” she told him.

  Chan came into the room, and Paradise, unperturbed by the impromptu guests, served a noble luncheon. Toward its close, Kirk spoke seriously.

  “I’ve been thinking about this Barr girl downstairs,” he said. “I don’t know that I’ve told you the circumstances under which Sir Frederic came to stay with me. His son happens to be an acquaintance of mine—not a friend, I know him only slightly—and he wrote me his father was to be in San Francisco. I called on Sir Frederic at his hotel. From the start he appeared keenly interested in the Kirk Building. I couldn’t quite figure it out. He asked me a lot of questions, and when he learned that I lived on the roof, I must say he practically invited himself to stop with me. Not that I wasn’t delighted to have him, you understand—but somehow there was an undercurrent in the talk—well, I just sensed his eagerness. It was odd, wasn’t it?”

  “Very,” said the girl.

  “Well, after he’d been here a couple of days he began to
ask questions about the Calcutta Importers, and finally these all seemed to center on Miss Lila Barr. I knew nothing about the firm or about Miss Barr—I’d never even heard of her. Later he found that my secretary, Kinsey, knew the girl, and the questions were all turned in that direction—though I fancied they grew more discreet. One day in the office I heard Kinsey ask Sir Frederic if he’d like to meet Miss Barr, and I also heard Sir Frederic’s answer.”

  “What did he say?” Miss Morrow inquired.

  “He said simply, ‘Later, perhaps,’ with what I thought an assumed carelessness. I don’t know whether all this is important or not?”

  “In view of the fact that Miss Lila Barr once left Sir Frederic’s presence in tears, I should say it is very important,” Miss Morrow returned. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Chan?”

  Chan nodded. “Miss Barr has fiercely interesting sound,” he agreed. “I long with deep fervor to hear you question her.”

  The girl rose from the table. “I’ll call the office of the Calcutta Importers and ask her to step up here,” she announced, and went to the telephone.

  Five minutes later Miss Lila Barr entered the living-room under the impeccable chaperonage of Paradise. She stood for a second regarding the three people who awaited her. They noted that she was an extremely pretty girl slightly under middle height, an authentic blonde, with a sort of startled innocence in her blue eyes.

  “Thank you for coming.” The deputy district attorney rose and smiled at the girl in kindly fashion. “I am Miss Morrow, and this is Mr. Charles Chan. And Mr. Barry Kirk.”

  “How do you do,” said the girl, in a low voice.

  “I wanted to talk with you—I’m from the district attorney’s office,” Miss Morrow added.

  The girl stared at her, an even more startled expression in her eyes. “Ye-es,” she said uncertainly.

  “Sit down, please.” Kirk drew up a chair.

  “You know, of course, of the murder that took place on your floor of the building last night?” Miss Morrow went on.

  “Of course,” replied the girl, her voice barely audible.

  “You were working last night in your office?”

  “Yes—it’s the first of the month, you know. I always have extra work at this time.”

  “At what hour did you leave the building?”

  “I think it was about ten fifteen. I’m not sure. But I went away without knowing anything of—of this—terrible affair.”

  “Yes. Did you see any strangers about the building last night?”

  “No one. No one at all.” Her voice was suddenly louder.

  “Tell me”—Miss Morrow looked at her keenly—“had you ever met Sir Frederic Bruce?”

  “No—I had never met him.”

  “You had never met him. Please think what you are saying. You didn’t meet him night before last—when you visited him in his office?”

  The girl started. “Oh—I saw him then, of course. I thought you meant—had I been introduced to him.”

  “Then you did go into his office night before last?”

  “I went into Mr. Kirk’s office. There was a big man, with a mustache, sitting in the second room. I presume it was Sir Frederic Bruce.”

  “You presume?”

  “Well—of course I know now it was. I saw his picture in this morning’s paper.”

  “He was alone in the office when you went in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he the person you went there to see?”

  “No, he was not.”

  “When you left the office, you burst into tears.” Again the girl started, and her face flushed. “Was it seeing Sir Frederic made you do that?”

  “Oh, no,” cried Miss Barr, with more spirit.

  “Then what was it made you cry?”

  “It was—a purely personal matter. Surely I needn’t go into it?”

  “I’m afraid you must,” Miss Morrow told her. “This is a serious affair, you know.”

  The girl hesitated. “Well—I—”

  “Tell me all that happened night before last.”

  “Well—it wasn’t seeing Sir Frederic made me cry,” the girl began. “It was—not seeing someone else.”

  “Not seeing someone else? Please explain that.”

  “Very well.” The girl moved impulsively toward Miss Morrow. “I can tell you. I’m sure you will understand. Mr. Kinsey, Mr. Kirk’s secretary, and I—we are—well—sort of engaged. Every night Mr. Kinsey waits for me, and we have dinner. Then he takes me home. Day before yesterday we had a little quarrel—just over some silly thing—you know how it is—”

  “I can imagine,” said Miss Morrow solemnly.

  “It was about nothing, really. I waited a long time that evening, and he didn’t come for me. So I thought maybe I had been in the wrong. I swallowed my pride and went to look for him. I opened the door of Mr. Kirk’s office and went in. Of course I thought Mr. Kinsey would be there. Sir Frederic was alone in the office—Mr. Kinsey had gone. I muttered some apology—Sir Frederic didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. I hurried out again and—perhaps you know the feeling, Miss Morrow—”

  “You burst into tears, because Mr. Kinsey hadn’t waited?”

  “I’m afraid I did. It was silly of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, that doesn’t matter.” Miss Morrow was silent for a moment. “The company you work for—it imports from India, I believe?”

  “Yes—silk and cotton, mostly.”

  “Have you ever been in India, Miss Barr?”

  The girl hesitated. “When I was quite young—I lived there for some years—with my mother and father.”

  “Where in India?”

  “Calcutta, mostly.”

  “Other places, too?” The girl nodded. “In Peshawar, perhaps?”

  “No,” answered Miss Barr. “I was never in Peshawar.”

  Chan coughed rather loudly, and, catching his eye, Miss Morrow dropped the matter of India. “You had never heard of Sir Frederic before he came here?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, indeed.”

  “And you saw him just that once, when he said nothing at all?”

  “Only that once.”

  Miss Morrow rose. “Thank you very much. That is all for the present. I trust Mr. Kinsey has apologized?”

  The girl smiled. “Oh, yes—that’s all right now. Thank you for asking.” She went out quickly.

  Barry Kirk had disappeared from the room, and now he returned. “Kinsey’s on his way up,” he announced. “Grab him quick before they can compare notes—that was my idea. Getting to be some little detective myself.”

  “Excellent,” nodded Miss Morrow approvingly. A tall, dark young man, very well-dressed, came in.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Kirk?” he inquired.

  “Yes. Sorry to butt into your private affairs, Kinsey, but I hear you are sort of engaged to a Miss Lila Barr, who works in one of the offices. Did you know about it?”

  Kinsey smiled. “Of course, Mr. Kirk. I have been meaning to mention the matter to you, but the opportunity wasn’t offered.”

  “Day before yesterday you had a bit of a quarrel with her?”

  “Oh, it was nothing, sir.” Kinsey’s dark face clouded. “It’s all fixed up now.”

  “That’s good. But on that evening, contrary to your custom, you didn’t wait to take her home? You walked out on her?”

  “I—I’m afraid I did. I was somewhat annoyed—”

  “And you wanted to teach her a lesson. What I call the proper spirit. That’s all—and please pardon these personal questions.”

  “Quite all right, sir.” Kinsey turned to go, but hesitated. “Mr. Kirk—”

  “Yes, Kinsey?”

  “Nothing, sir,” said Kinsey, and disappeared.

  Kirk turned to Miss Morrow. “There you are. The story of Miss Lila Barr, duly authenticated.”

  “Such a reasonable story, too,” sighed the girl. “But it gets us nowhere. I must say I’m disappointed. Mr. Chan—you t
hought I went too far—on India?”

  Chan shrugged. “In this game, better if the opponent does not know what we are thinking. Assume great innocence is always my aim. Sometimes what I assume is exactly what I’ve got. Others—I am flying at a low altitude.”

  “I’m afraid I should have flown at a lower altitude than I did,” the girl reflected, frowning. “Her story was perfectly plausible, and yet—I don’t know—”

  “Well, one thing’s certain,” remarked Kirk. “She’s not Eve Durand.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Miss Morrow.

  “Why,—her age. She’s a mere kid.”

  Miss Morrow laughed. “Lucky a woman is in on this,” she said. “You men are so painfully blind where a blonde is concerned.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there are certain artifices which fool a man, but never fool a woman. Miss Barr is thirty—at the very least.”

  Kirk whistled. “I must be more careful,” he said. “I thought her sweet and twenty.”

  He turned to find Paradise at his elbow. The butler had entered noiselessly, and was holding out a silver tray in the manner of one offering rich treasure.

  “What shall I do with these, sir?” he inquired.

  “Do with what?” Kirk asked.

  “Letters addressed to Sir Frederic Bruce, sir. They have just been delivered by the local office of Thomas Cook and Sons.”

  Miss Morrow came eagerly forward. “I’ll take charge of them,” she said. Paradise bowed, and went out. The girl’s eyes sparkled. “We never thought of this, Sergeant. Sir Frederic’s mail—it may prove a gold mine.” She held up a letter. “Here—the first thing—one from London. The Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard—”

  Quickly she ripped open the envelope and withdrawing a single sheet of paper, spread it out. She gave a little cry of dismay.

  Kirk and Charlie Chan came nearer. They stared at the sheet of paper that had arrived in the envelope from Scotland Yard. It was just that—a sheet of paper—completely blank.

  Chapter 7

  MUDDY WATER