Behind That Curtain

by Earl Der Biggers

  “Ah, yes—and he left?”

  “He went at once, in the lift. The lift girl can verify my statement—if—”

  “If what?”

  “If she will.”

  “You were going to say—if we can find her?”

  “Why should I say that? Isn’t she about?”

  “She is not. In her absence, maybe Li Gung can back up your story?”

  “I’m sure he can—if you care to cable him. He is in Honolulu at the moment.”

  “He left the next noon, on the Maui?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “You saw him off?”

  “Naturally. He has been with me more than twenty years. A faithful chap.”

  “When you said good-by, you told him to lie low over in Hawaii.”

  “Yes, I—yes, I did. You see, there was some trouble about his passport. I was fearful he might get into difficulties.”

  “You also told him to answer no questions.”

  “For the same reason, of course.”

  “You knew he would have to show his passport on landing. If it wasn’t O.K. did you suppose lying low after that would do any good?”

  “Show his passport at another American port? Really, you know, I’m frightfully ignorant of your many rules and regulations. Quite confusing, I find them.”

  “You must—a man who’s traveled as little as you have, Colonel.”

  “Ah, yes. Now you’re being sarcastic.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Flannery said. “We’ll drop Li Gung. But I’m not through yet. I understand you were at Peshawar, in India, on the night of May third, nineteen hundred and thirteen.”

  Beetham nodded slowly. “That is a matter of record.”

  “And can’t very well be denied, eh? You went out into the hills on a picnic. One of the party was a woman named Eve Durand.” Beetham stirred slightly. “That night Eve Durand disappeared and has never been seen since. Have you any idea how she got out of India?”

  “If she has never been seen since, how do you know she did get out of India?”

  “Never mind. I’m asking you questions. You remember the incident?”

  “Naturally. A shocking affair.”

  Flannery studied him for a moment. “Tell me, Colonel—had you ever met Sir Frederic before the other night at Barry Kirk’s bungalow?”

  “Never. Stop a bit. I believe he said he had been at a dinner of the Royal Geographical Society in London, and had seen me there. But I did not recall the meeting.”

  “You didn’t know that he had come to San Francisco to find Eve Durand?”

  “Had he really? How extraordinary.”

  “You didn’t know it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Could you have given him any help if you had?”

  “I could not,” replied Beetham firmly.

  “All right, Colonel. You’re not thinking of leaving San Francisco soon?”

  “In a few days—when I have completed arrangements for my next long expedition.”

  “You’re not leaving until we find out who killed Sir Frederic. Is that understood?”

  “But, my dear fellow—surely you don’t think—”

  “I think your testimony may prove valuable. I’m asking you—is it understood?”

  “Perfectly. I shall hope, however, for your early success.”

  “We all hope for it.”

  “Of course.” Beetham turned to Inspector Duff. “A frightful thing. Sir Frederic was a charming fellow—”

  “And much beloved,” said Duff evenly. “Please don’t worry. Everything possible is being done, Colonel Beetham.”

  “I am happy to hear that.” Beetham rose. “Now—if there’s nothing more—”

  “Not at present,” said Flannery.

  “Thank you so much,” replied the Colonel, and went debonairly out.

  Flannery stared after him. “He lies like a gentleman, don’t he?” he remarked.

  “Beautifully,” sighed Miss Morrow, her eyes on the door through which the explorer had gone.

  “Well, he don’t fool me,” Flannery continued. “He knows more about this than he’s telling. If he was anybody but the famous Colonel Beetham, I’d take a chance and lock him up this morning.”

  “Oh, but you couldn’t,” the girl cried.

  “I suppose not. I’d be mobbed by all the club women in the Bay District. However, I don’t need to. He’s too well known to make a getaway. But I’d better keep him shadowed at that. Now, let’s get to business. If only Li Gung was here, I’d sweat something out of him. What was that Sir Frederic told you, Sergeant? About Li Gung’s relatives in Jackson Street? I might look them up.”

  “No use,” Chan answered. “I have already done so.”

  “Oh, you have? Without a word to me, of course—”

  “Words of no avail. I made most pitiful failure. I am admitted to house, but plans are foiled by kind act of Boy Scout—”

  “A Boy Scout in the family, eh?”

  “Yes—name of Willie Li. The family of Henry Li, Oriental Apartment House.”

  Flannery considered. “Well, the young generation will talk if the old one won’t. Willie ought to have a chance.”

  “He has obtained it. He tells me little—save that once on a hard journey Colonel Beetham kills a man.”

  “He told you that? Then he knows something about Beetham’s journeys?”

  “Undubitably he does. He has overheard talk—”

  Flannery jumped up. “That’s enough for me. I’ll have Manley of the Chinatown Squad bring the kid here tonight. They’re all crazy about Manley, these Chink kids. We’ll get something.”

  The telephone rang. Flannery answered, and then relinquished it to Miss Morrow. As she listened to the news coming over the wire, her eyes brightened with excitement. She hung up the receiver and turned to the others.

  “That was the district attorney,” she announced. “We’ve got hold of a letter mailed to Mrs. Tupper-Brock from Santa Barbara. It was written by Grace Lane, and it gives her present address.”

  “Fine business,” Flannery cried. “I told you she couldn’t get away from me. I’ll get a couple of men off in a car right away.” He looked at Miss Morrow. “They can stop at your office for the address.”

  She nodded. “I’m going right back. I’ll give it to them.”

  Flannery rubbed his hands. “Things are looking up at last! Make it seven to-night—I’ll have the kid here then. Sergeant—you’re coming. I may want your help. And you can look in if you like, Inspector.”

  “Thanks,” Duff said.

  “How about me?” asked Miss Morrow.

  He frowned at her. “I’m not so pleased with you. All those secrets—”

  “But I’m so sorry.” She smiled at him. “And I was a little help to you in finding Grace Lane, you know.”

  “I guess you were, at that. Sure—come along, if you want to.”

  The party scattered, and Charlie Chan went back to the bungalow, where he found Barry Kirk eagerly awaiting news. When he heard the plan for the evening, Kirk insisted on taking Miss Morrow and Chan to dinner. At six thirty they left the obscure little restaurant he had selected because of its capable chef, and strolled toward the Hall of Justice.

  The night was clear and cool, without fog, and the stars were bright as torches overhead. They skirted the fringe of Chinatown and passed on through Portsmouth Square, the old Plaza of romantic history. It was emptied now of its usual derelicts and adventurers; the memorial to R.L.S. stood lonely and serene in the starlight.

  Flannery and Duff were waiting in the former’s office. The Captain regarded Barry Kirk without enthusiasm.

  “We’re all here, ain’t we?” he inquired.

  “I thought you wouldn’t mind,” smiled Kirk.

  “Oh, well—it’s all right. I guess it’s pretty late now to bar you out.” He turned to Miss Morrow. “You saw Petersen, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I gave him the address.”


  “He had Myers with him. Good men, both of them. They’ll be in Santa Barbara this evening, and can start back at sunrise. Barring accidents, they’ll bring Grace Lane into this office late to-morrow afternoon. And if she gets away from me again, she’ll be going some.”

  They sat down. Presently a huge police officer in plain clothes, with a khaki shirt, came in. He was kindly and smiling, but he had the keen eye of a man who is prepared for any emergency. Flannery introduced him.

  “Sergeant Manley,” he explained. “Head of the Chinatown Squad for seven years—which is a good many years longer than anyone else has lived to hold that job.”

  Manley’s manner was cordial. “Glad to meet you,” he said. “I’ve got the kid outside, Captain. I picked him up and brought him along without giving him a chance to run home for instructions.”

  “Good idea,” Flannery nodded. “Will he talk?”

  “Oh, he’ll talk all right. He and I are old friends. I’ll bring him in.”

  He disappeared into the outer office and returned with Willie Li. The Boy Scout was in civilian clothes, and looked as though he would have welcomed the moral support of his uniform.

  “Here you are, Willie,” Manley said. “This is Captain Flannery. He’s going to ask you to do him a big favor.”

  “Sure,” grinned Willie Li.

  “All Boy Scouts,” Manley went on, “are American citizens, and they stand for law and order. That’s right, ain’t it, Willie?”

  “In the oath,” replied Willie gravely.

  “I’ve explained to him,” Manley continued, “that none of his family is mixed up in this in any way. They won’t be harmed by anything he tells you.”

  “That’s right,” said Flannery. “You can take my word for it, son.”

  “Sure,” agreed the boy readily.

  “Your cousin, Li Gung,” Flannery began, “has been a servant of Colonel Beetham’s for a long time. He’s been all over the world with the Colonel?”

  Willie nodded. “Gobi Desert. Kevir Desert. Tibet, India, Afghanistan.”

  “You’ve heard Li Gung tell about his adventures with the Colonel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember ’em?”

  “Never going to forget,” replied Willie, his little black eyes shining.

  “You told your friend Mr. Chan here that the Colonel once shot a man for some reason or other?”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Because it was necessary. There was no crime there.”

  “Of course—of course it was necessary,” rejoined Flannery heartily. “We wouldn’t do anything to the Colonel because of that. We have no authority over things that happen outside of San Francisco. We’re just curious, that’s all. Do you remember what trip it was during which the Colonel shot this man?”

  “Sure. It was the journey from Peshawar through Khyber Pass over Afghanistan.”

  “It happened in Afghanistan?”

  “Yes. A very bad man. Muhamed Ashref Khan, keeper of the camels. He was trying to steal—”

  “To steal what?”

  “A pearl necklace. Colonel Beetham saw him go into the tent—the tent which no man must enter at cost of his life—”

  “What tent was that?”

  “The woman’s tent.”

  There was a moment’s tense silence. “The woman’s tent?” Flannery repeated. “What woman?”

  “The woman who was traveling with them to Teheran. The woman from Peshawar.”

  “Did your cousin describe her?”

  “She was beautiful, with golden hair, and eyes like the blue sky. Very beautiful, my cousin said.”

  “And she was traveling with them from Peshawar to Teheran?”

  “Yes. Only Li Gung and the Colonel knew it when they went through the pass, for she was hidden in a cart. Then she came out, and she had her own tent, which Colonel Beetham said no man must enter or he would kill him.”

  “But this camel man—he disobeyed? And he was shot?”

  “Justly so,” observed Willie Li.

  “Of course,” agreed Flannery. “Well, son—that’s all. I’m very much obliged to you. Now run along. If I had anything to say in the Scouts, you’d get a merit badge for this.”

  “I have twenty-two already,” grinned Willie Li. “I am Eagle Scout.” He and Manley went out.

  Flannery got up and paced the floor. “Well, what do you know?” he cried. “This is too good to be true. Eve Durand disappears in the night—her poor husband is frantic with grief—the whole of India is turned upside down in the search for her. And all the time she’s moving on through Afghanistan in the caravan of Colonel John Beetham—the great explorer every one is crazy about, the brave, fine man no one would dream of suspecting.” Flannery turned to Chan. “I see now what you meant. Romance, you called it. Well, I’ve got a different name for it. I call it running away with another man’s wife. A pretty scandal in the Colonel’s past—a lovely blot on his record—by heaven—wonderful! Do you see what it means?”

  Chan shrugged. “I see you are flying high tonight.”

  “I certainly am—high, wide, and handsome. I’ve got my man, and I’ve got the motive, too. Sir Frederic comes to San Francisco hunting Eve Durand. And here is Colonel John Beetham, honored and respected by all—riding the top of the wave. Beetham learns why Sir Frederic has come—and he wonders. He hears the detective has been in India—has he found out how Eve Durand left that country? If he has, and springs it, the career of John Beetham is smashed. He’ll be done for—finished—he won’t collect any more money for his big expeditions. Is he the sort to stand by and watch that happen? He is not. What does he do?”

  “The question is for mere effect,” suggested Chan.

  “First of all, he wants to learn how much Sir Frederic really knows. At dinner he hears that about the safe being open. He’s crazy to get down there and look around. At the first opportunity he creeps downstairs, enters Mr. Kirk’s office—”

  “Through a locked door?” inquired Chan.

  “The elevator girl could get him a key. She’s Eve Durand—don’t forget that. Or else there’s Li Gung—he’s on the scene—maybe that’s just by accident. But he could have used—the fire-escape. Anyhow, Beetham gets into the office. He hunts like mad, gets hold of the records, sees at a glance that Sir Frederic has discovered everything. At that moment Sir Frederic comes in. The one man in the world who knows how Eve Durand got out of India—and will tell. The man who can wreck Beetham for ever. Beetham sees red. He pulls a gun. It’s a simple matter for him—he’s done it before. Sir Frederic lies dead on the floor, Beetham escapes with the records—the secret of that old scandal is safe. By the Lord Harry—who’d want a better motive than that!”

  “Not to mention,” said Chan gently, “the velvet slippers. The slippers of Hilary Galt.”

  “Oh, hell,” cried Flannery. “Be reasonable, man! One thing at a time.”

  Chapter 18

  FLANNERY’S BIG SCENE

  Greatly pleased with himself, Captain Flannery sat down behind his desk. His summing up of the case against Beetham seemed, to his way of thinking, without a flaw. He beamed at the assembled company.

  “Everything is going to work out fine,” he continued. “Tomorrow evening in this room I stage my big scene, and if we don’t get something out of it, then I’m no judge of human nature. First, I bring in Major Durand. I tell him Eve Durand has been found and is on her way here, and while we’re waiting I go back to the question of how she got out of India. I plant in his mind a suspicion of Beetham. Then I bring the woman into the room—after fifteen years’ suffering and anxiety, he sees his wife at last. What’s he going to think? What’ll he ask himself—and her? Where’s she been? Why did she leave? How did she escape from India? At that moment I produce Colonel Beetham, confront him with the husband he wronged, the woman he carried off in his caravan. I tell Durand I have certain knowledge that his wife left with Beetham. Then I sit back and watch the fireworks. How does that strike you
, Sergeant Chan?”

  “You would chop down the tree to catch the blackbird,” Chan said.

  “Well, sometimes we have to do that. It’s roundabout, but it ought to work. What do you think, Inspector?”

  “Sounds rather good, as drama,” Duff drawled. “But do you really think it will reveal the murderer of Sir Frederic?”

  “It may. Somebody—the woman, or Beetham—will break. Make a damaging admission. They always do. I’ll gamble on it, this time. Yes, sir—we’re going to take a big stride forward tomorrow night.”

  Leaving Captain Flannery to an enthusiastic contemplation of his own cleverness, they departed. At the door Chan went off with Inspector Duff. Kirk and the girl strolled up the hill together.

  “Want a taxi?” Kirk asked.

  “Thanks. I’d rather walk—and think.”

  “We have something to think of, haven’t we? How does it strike you? Beetham?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Nonsense. I’ll never believe it. Not if he makes a full confession himself.”

  “Oh, I know. He’s the hero of your dreams. But just the same, my lady, he’s not incapable of it. If Sir Frederic was in his way—threatening his plans—and it begins to look as though he was. Unless you don’t believe that Eve Durand was in the caravan?”

  “I believe that,” she replied.

  “Because you want to,” he smiled. “It’s too romantic for words, isn’t it? By George, the very thought of it makes me feel young and giddy. The gay picnic party in the hills—the game of hide-and-seek—one breathless moment of meeting behind the tamarisks. ‘I’m yours—take me with you when you go.’ Everything forgotten—the world well lost for love. The wagon jolting out through the pass, with all that beauty hidden beneath a worn bit of canvas. Then—the old caravan road—the golden road to Samarkand—the merchants from the north crowding by—camels and swarthy men—and mingled with the dust of the trail the iron nails lost from thousands of shoes that have passed that way since time began.”

  “I didn’t know you were so romantic.”

  “Ah—you’ve never given me a chance. You and your law books. Eight months along that famous road—nights with the white stars close overhead, dawns hazy with desert mist. Hot sun at times, and then snow, flurries of snow. The man and the woman together—”