“And it might as well be you,” quoted Kirk. “I’ll hope to see you again soon.” He showed her out.
At four-thirty Charlie Chan strolled to the Hall of Justice and walked in on Captain Flannery. The Captain appeared to be in rare good humor.
“How are you, Sergeant,” he said. “What’s new with you?”
“With me, everything has aged look,” Chan replied.
“Not getting on as fast as you expected, are you?” Flannery inquired. “Well, this should be a lesson to you. Every frog ought to stick to his own pond. You may be a world-beater in a village like Honolulu, but you’re on the big time over here. You’re in over your depth.”
“How true,” Charlie agreed. “I am often dismayed, but I think of you and know you will not permit me to drown. Something has happened to elevate your spirit?”
“It sure has. I’ve just pulled off a neat little stunt. You see, I had a grand idea. I put an ad in the morning paper for those velvet slippers—”
“Ah, yes,” Chan grinned. “Inspector Duff warned me you were about to be hit by that idea.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Well, I’m not taking orders from Duff. I was on the point of doing it some days ago, but it slipped my mind. Duff recalled it to me, that’s all. I put a very cagey advertisement in the paper, and—”
“Results are already apparent?” Chan finished.
“Are they? I’ll say so.” Flannery took up something wrapped in a soiled newspaper. The string had already been loosened, and casting it aside, he revealed the contents of the bundle. Before Chan’s eyes lay the red velvet slippers from the Chinese Legation, the slippers found on the feet of Hilary Galt that tragic night in London, the slippers in which Sir Frederic Bruce had walked to his death little more than a week ago.
“What happy luck,” Charlie said.
“Ain’t it,” agreed Flannery. “A soldier from out at the Presidio brought them in less than an hour ago. It seems he was crossing to Oakland to visit his girl last Wednesday noon, and he picked this package up from one of the benches on the ferry-boat. There was nobody about to claim it, so he took it along. Of course, he should have turned it over to the ferry people—but he didn’t. I told him that was all right with me.”
“On ferry-boat to Oakland,” Chan repeated.
“Yes. This guy’d been wondering what to do with his find, and he was mighty pleased when I slipped him a five spot.”
Charlie turned the slippers slowly about in his hands. Again he was interested by the Chinese character which promised long life and happiness. A lying promise, that. The slippers had not brought long life and happiness to Hilary Galt. Nor to Sir Frederic Bruce.
“Just where,” Chan mused, “do we arrive at now?”
“Well, I’ll have to admit that we’re still a long ways from home,” Flannery replied. “But we’re getting on. Last Wednesday, the day after the murder, somebody left these slippers on an Oakland ferryboat. Left them intentionally, I’ll bet—glad enough to be rid of ‘em.”
“In same identical paper,” Charlie inquired, “they were always wrapped?”
“Yes—that’s the paper this fellow found them in. An evening paper dated last Wednesday night. A first edition, issued about ten in the morning.”
Chan spread out the newspaper and studied it. “You have been carefully over this journal, I suspect?”
“Why—er—I haven’t had time,” Flannery told him.
“Nothing of note catches the eye,” Chan remarked. “Except—ah, yes—here on margin of first page. A few figures, carelessly inscribed in pencil. Paper is torn in that locality, and they are almost obliterated.”
Flannery came closer, and Charlie pointed. A small sum in addition had evidently been worked out.
“A hundred three,” Flannery read. “That’s wrong. Seventy-nine and twenty-three don’t add up to a hundred three.”
“Then we must seek one who is poor scholar of arithmetic,” Chan replied. “If you have no inclination for objecting, I will jot figures down.”
“Go ahead. Put your big brain on it. But don’t forget—I produced the slippers.”
“And the newspaper,” Charlie added. “The brightest act you have performed to date.”
The door opened, and a man in uniform entered. “That dame’s outside, Captain,” he announced. “She’s brought her fellow with her. Shall I fetch ‘em in?”
“Sure,” Flannery nodded. “It’s Miss Lila Barr,” he explained to Chan. “I got to thinking about her, and she don’t sound so good to me. I’m going to have another talk with her. You can stay, if you want to.”
“Overwhelmed by your courtesy,” Chan responded.
Miss Lila Barr came timidly through the door. After her came Kinsey, Kirk’s secretary. The girl seemed very much worried.
“You wanted me, Captain Flannery?”
“Yeah. Come in. Sit down.” He looked at Kinsey. “Who’s this?”
“Mr. Kinsey—a friend of mine,” the girl explained. “I thought you wouldn’t mind—”
“Your fellow, eh?”
“Well,—I suppose—”
“The guy you was crying about that night you came out of the office where you saw Sir Frederic?”
“Yes,”
“Well, I’m glad to meet him. I’m glad you can prove you’ve got a fellow, anyhow. But even so—that story of yours sounds pretty fishy to me.”
“I can’t help how it sounds,” returned the girl with spirit. “It’s the truth.”
“All right. Let it go. It’s the next night I want to talk about now. The night Sir Frederic was killed. You were working in your office that night?”
“Yes, sir. Though I must have left before—the thing—happened.”
“How do you know you left before it happened?”
“I don’t. I was just supposing—”
“Don’t suppose with me,” bullied Flannery.
“She has good reason for thinking she left before the murder,” Kinsey put in. “She heard no shot fired.”
Flannery swung on him. “Say—when I want any answers from you, I’ll ask for ‘em.” He turned back to the girl. “You didn’t hear any shot?”
“No, sir.”
“And you didn’t see anybody in the hall when you went home?”
“Well—I—I—”
“Yes? Out with it.”
“I’d like to change my testimony on that point.”
“Oh, you would, would you?”
“Yes. I have talked it over with Mr. Kinsey, and he thinks I was wrong to—to—say what I did—”
“To lie, you mean?”
“But I didn’t want to be entangled in it,” pleaded the girl. “I saw myself testifying in court—and I didn’t think—it just seemed I couldn’t—”
“You couldn’t help us, eh? Young woman, this is serious business. I could lock you up—”
“Oh, but if I change my testimony? If I tell you the truth now?”
“Well, we’ll see. But make sure of one thing—that it’s the truth at last. Then there was somebody in the hall?”
“Yes. I started to leave the office, but just as I opened the door, I remembered my umbrella. So I went back. But in that moment at the door, I saw two men standing near the elevators.”
“You saw two men. What did they look like?”
“One—one was a Chinese.”
Flannery was startled. “A Chinese. Say—it wasn’t Mr. Chan here?” Charlie smiled.
“Oh, no,” the girl continued. “It was an older Chinese. He was talking with a tall, thin man. A man whose picture I have seen in the newspapers.”
“Oh, you’ve seen his picture in the papers? What’s his name?”
“His name is Colonel John Beetham, and I believe he is—an explorer.”
“I see.” Flannery got up and paced the floor. “You saw Beetham talking with a Chinese in the hall just before Sir Frederic was killed. Then you went back to get your umbrella?”
“Yes—and when I came
out again they were gone.”
“Anything else?”
“No—I guess not.”
“Think hard. You’ve juggled the truth once.”
“She was not under oath,” protested Kinsey.
“Well, what if she wasn’t? She obstructed our work, and that’s no joking matter. However, I’ll overlook it, now that she’s finally come across. You can go. I may want you again.”
The girl and Kinsey went out. Flannery walked the floor in high glee.
“Now I’m getting somewhere,” he cried. “Beetham! I haven’t paid much attention to him, but I’ll make up for lost time from here on. Beetham was in the hall talking with a Chinaman a few minutes before the murder. And he was supposed to be upstairs running his magic lantern. A Chinaman—do you get it? Those slippers came from the Chinese Legation. By heaven, it’s beginning to tie up at last.”
“If I might presume,” said Chan, “you now propose to—”
“I propose to get after Colonel Beetham. He told Miss Morrow he didn’t leave the room upstairs. Another liar—and a distinguished one this time.”
“Humbly asking pardon,” Chan ventured, “Colonel Beetham very clever man. Have a care he does not outwit you.”
“I’m not afraid of him. He can’t fool me. I’m too old at this game.”
“Magnificent confidence,” Charlie smiled. “Let us hope it is justified by the finish.”
“It will be, all right. You just leave Colonel Beetham to me.”
“With utmost gladness,” agreed Chan. “If you will allot something else to me.”
“What’s that?” Flannery demanded.
“I refer to faint little figures on newspaper margin.”
“Poor arithmetic,” snorted Flannery. “And a poor clue.”
“Time will reveal,” said Chan gently.
Chapter 17
THE WOMAN FROM PESHAWAR
Barry Kirk answered the ring of the telephone the next morning at ten, and was greeted by a voice that, even over the wire, seemed to afford him pleasure.
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m glad to hear from you. This is what I call starting the day right.”
“Thanks ever so much,” Miss Morrow replied. “Now that your day has begun auspiciously, would you mind fading away into the background and giving Mr. Chan your place at the telephone?”
“What—you don’t want to talk to me?”
“I’m sorry—no. I’m rather busy to-day.”
“Well, I can take a hint as quickly as the next man. I know when I’m not wanted. That’s what you meant to convey, isn’t it—”
“Please, Mr. Kirk.”
“Here’s Charlie now. I’m not angry, but I’m terribly, terribly hurt—” He handed the telephone to Chan.
“Oh, Mr. Chan,” the girl said. “Captain Flannery is going to interview Colonel Beetham at eleven o’clock. He’s all Beetham today. He’s asked me to be on hand to remind the Colonel about his testimony the night of the murder, and I suggest you come, too.”
“The Captain demands me?” Chan inquired.
“I demand you. Isn’t that enough?”
“To me it is delicious plenty,” Charlie replied. “I will be there—at Captain Flannery’s office, I presume?”
“Yes. Don’t fail me,” Miss Morrow said, and rang off.
“Something doing?” Kirk asked.
Chan shrugged. “Captain Flannery has hot spasm about Colonel Beetham. He interrogates him at eleven, and I am invited.”
“How about me?”
“I am stricken by regret, but you are not mentioned.”
“Then I hardly think I’ll go,” Kirk said.
At a little before eleven, Charlie went to the Hall of Justice. In Flannery’s dark office he found Miss Morrow, brightening the dreary corner where she was.
“Good morning,” she said. “The Captain is showing Inspector Duff about the building. I’m glad you’re here. Somehow I’ve got the impression Captain Flannery doesn’t care much for me this morning.”
“Mainland police have stupid sinking spells,” Chan informed her.
Flannery came in, followed by Inspector Duff. He stood for a minute glaring at Charlie and the girl.
“Well, a fine pair you are,” he roared. “What’s the idea, anyhow?”
“What is the idea, Captain?” asked Miss Morrow sweetly.
“The idea seems to be to keep me in the dark,” Flannery went on. “What do you think I am? A mind-reader? I’ve just been talking with Inspector Duff about Colonel Beetham, and I discover you two know a lot more about the Colonel than you’ve ever told me.”
“Please understand—I haven’t been tale-bearing,” smiled Duff. “I mentioned these things thinking of course the Captain knew them.”
“Of course you thought I knew them,” Flannery exploded. “Why shouldn’t I know them? I’m supposed to be in charge of this case, ain’t I? Yet you two have been digging up stuff right along and keeping it to yourselves. I tell you, it makes me sore—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” cried Miss Morrow.
“That helps a lot. What’s all this about a servant of the Colonel’s—a Chinaman named Li Gung? Are you willing to talk now, Sergeant Chan, or are you still playing button, button, who’s got the—”
“I’m the guilty one,” the girl cut in. “I should have told you myself. Naturally, Mr. Chan must have thought I had.”
“Oh, no,” Chan protested. “Please shift all guilt from those pretty shoulders to my extensive ones. I have made mistake. It is true I have pondered certain facts in silence, but I was hoping some great light would break—”
“All right, all right,” Flannery interrupted. “But will you talk now, that’s what I want to know? When did you first hear about Li Gung?”
“At noon of the day Sir Frederic was killed, I have great honor to lunch with him. After lunch he takes me apart and talks of this Li Gung, a stranger visiting relatives in Jackson Street. He suggests I might make cunning inquiries of the man, but I am forced to refuse the task. On morning after murder I am in stateroom of Maui boat, foolishly believing I am going to Honolulu, when I hear Colonel Beetham in next cabin saying farewell to one he calls Li Gung. The Colonel directs that Gung lie low in Honolulu, and answer no questions.”
“And all that was so unimportant I never heard of it,” stormed Flannery. “How about the fact that Beetham was one of the guests at the picnic near Peshawar?”
“We did not learn that until Tuesday night,” Miss Morrow informed him.
“Only had about thirty-six hours to tell me, eh? On May fourth, nineteen hundred and thirteen, Colonel Beetham left Peshawar by way of the er—the Khyber Pass to go to—to—to make a trip—”
“To Teheran by way of Afghanistan and the Kevir Desert of northern Persia,” Duff helped him out.
“Yes. You told the Inspector that, Sergeant. But you never told me.”
Charlie shrugged. “Why should I trouble you? The matter appears to mean nothing. True enough, I might make a surmise—a most picturesque surmise. But I see you, Captain, floundering about in difficult murder case. Should I ask such a man to come with me and gaze upon the bright tapestry of romance?”
“Whatever that means,” Flannery returned. “If I hadn’t got that Barr girl in, I’d still be in the dark. I was too smart for you—I hit on Beetham’s trail myself—but that doesn’t excuse you. I’m disappointed in the pair of you.”
“Overwhelmed with painful regret,” Chan bowed.
“Oh, forget it.” A man in uniform ushered Colonel Beetham into the room.
The Colonel knew a good tailor, a tailor who no doubt rejoiced in the trim, lithe figure of his client. He was faultlessly attired, with a flower in his button-hole, a stick in his gloved hand. For a moment he stood, those tired eyes that had looked on so many lonely corners of the world unusually alert and keen.
“Good morning,” he said. He bowed to Miss Morrow and Chan. “Ah—this, I believe, is Captain Flannery—”
>
“Morning,” replied Flannery. “Meet Inspector Duff of Scotland Yard.”
“Delighted,” Beetham answered. “I am very happy to see a man from the Yard. No doubt the search for Sir Frederic’s murderer will get forward now.”
“I guess it will,” growled Flannery, “if you answer a few questions for us—and tell the truth—”
The Colonel raised his eyebrows very slightly. “The truth, of course,” he remarked, with a wan smile. “I shall do my best. May I sit down?”
“Sure,” replied Flannery, indicating a dusty chair. “On the night Sir Frederic was killed, you were giving a magic lantern show on the floor above—”
“I should hardly have called it that. Motion pictures, you know, of Tibet—”
“Yes, yes. You did a lecture with these lantern slides, but toward the end you dropped out and let the performance run itself. Later Miss Morrow here asked you—what was it you asked him, Miss Morrow?”
“I referred to that moment when he left the machine,” the girl said. “He assured me that he had not been absent from the room during the interval.”
The Captain looked at Beetham. “Is that right, Colonel?”
“Yes—I fancy that is what I told her.”
“Why?”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Why did you tell her that when you knew damn well you had been down on the twentieth floor talking with a Chinaman?”
Beetham laughed softly. “Have you never done anything that you later regretted, Captain? The matter struck me as of no importance—I had seen nothing of note on my brief jaunt below. I had a sort of inborn diffidence about being involved in the scandal. So I very foolishly made a slight—er—misstatement.”
“Then you did go down to the twentieth floor?”
“Only for a second. You see, a motion-picture projector and seven reels of film make a rather heavy load. My old boy, Li Gung, had assisted me in bringing the outfit to Mr. Kirk’s apartment. I thought I should be finished by ten, and I told him to be back then. When I left the machine at fifteen minutes past ten, I realized that I still had another reel to show. I ran downstairs, found Gung waiting on the lower floor, and told him to go home. I said I would carry the machine away myself.”
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