Mr. Moto Omnibus

by John P. Marquand

  “Don’t be so naive,” she said. “You’re only making yourself ridiculous.”

  Wilson kept his glance on Mr. Moto. He tried to master his sense of exasperation. Of the three, he was the only one who knew nothing of what was happening and he was determined not to leave that room until he found out something. But he had not realized the difficulty of enlisting information from a man like Mr. Moto. He could not gather from any past experience what sort of person Mr. Moto was. He could not tell whether Mr. Moto was ill at ease or not, or whether Mr. Moto’s jerky, birdlike manner was natural or assumed.

  “I suppose I am making myself ridiculous,” Wilson Hitchings admitted, “because I know nothing, absolutely nothing. I don’t understand what you are talking about, Mr. Moto, or you either, Miss Hitchings.”

  Eva Hitchings smiled at him through narrowing eyes. Mr. Moto rose and rubbed his hands softly together.

  “It is so nice of you to say that, Mr. Hitchings,” he said, “so very, very nice. It means we will have a pleasant talk. I shall be so very glad to talk; but first please, I must be hospitable. I have some whisky in my bedroom. We shall talk over a glass of whisky. Please, do not say no. It will be so much more friendly, I think. Besides, all Americans talk business over whisky.” Mr. Moto’s voice broke into a sharp, artificial laugh. “Please, it would be no trouble. Please, I must insist.”

  Mr. Moto opened a door which apparently led to an adjoining bedroom and he was back in another moment, carrying a tray on which was a whisky bottle, a soda bottle and two glasses. Mr. Moto’s personality seemed to have changed now that he was holding a tray. He set it down on the little table with an adroit flourish that made him seem like a Japanese valet and he was quick enough to read Wilson’s thoughts.

  “I’ve served whisky so often for gentlemen in America,” Mr. Moto said. “I am so very, very sorry there is no ice. Please, Miss Hitchings, you’ll excuse Mr. Hitchings and me. Will you have some soda? I know so very few American ladies drink whisky.”

  “No,” said Eva Hitchings. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  “But you will excuse us, please,” Mr. Moto begged. “And I am so very, very sorry there is no ice, but there is whisky, ha-ha, there is whisky, and that is the main thing, is it not? Will you say how much, Mr. Hitchings, and how much soda? Up to there? Just so? And now excuse me, I shall pour a little for myself.” Mr. Moto’s hands moved swiftly and accurately from bottle to glass and then he handed a glass to Wilson, bowing. It was a beautiful bow, better than a Frenchman’s, Wilson thought. Mr. Moto lowered his head, slowly. His whole body seemed to droop in a gesture of complete, assumed submission and then his head and shoulders snapped up straight.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “Thank you very, very much.” Wilson took the glass and nodded back. Mr. Moto was holding a glass also. He raised it and bowed again.

  “To your very good health,” Mr. Moto said, and Wilson was aware of a note of music in his voice, as though he were intoning a religious response. “Please, I really mean it, Mr. Hitchings.” Mr. Moto’s studied courtesy was amusing. In spite of himself, Wilson Hitchings smiled and did his best to respond. “Here’s looking at you, Mr. Moto,” he said, and he raised his glass to his lips.

  The rim of the glass was just touching his lips, when something occurred so unexpectedly that he could never reconstruct it. He remembered the feel of the glass on his lips and the next instant, the glass was at his feet. The glass was lying broken, its contents were running over a woven palm-leaf mat. Mr. Moto had leapt forward and struck the glass out of Wilson’s hand.

  “Please,” Mr. Moto was saying. “Please excuse. I am so very sorry.”

  “Here—” Wilson began stupidly. “What’s the matter, Mr. Moto?”

  Mr. Moto’s indrawn breath hissed obsequiously between his gold-filled teeth.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto, “I hope you will forgive me. Everything is so very, very clear now. I could not believe that you would mean to drink. Please, I believe you now. I believe that you know nothing, Mr. Hitchings. You are very, very honest. Yes, excuse me, please.”

  Wilson Hitchings was still seated on the couch.

  “Of course, I meant to drink it,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto again. “Excuse me, I have been so very, very stupid. Please, let me explain. That whisky, I left it on my bureau. I nearly always take a little before my bedtime. Excuse me; this evening, I came home to find that the whisky was poisoned with cyanide of potassium. Please, you may smell a little, if you like. The odor is so very distinctive; one has to be so careful, always. Now, I know that you know nothing, Mr. Hitchings—and I must apologize to you very, very much. Now, I can believe anything you say.

  Wilson Hitchings felt that his forehead was growing moist.

  “You mean,” he said “—you mean, you thought that I had done that?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “Not you, but I thought, perhaps, you knew who did. Please, Mr. Hitchings, I am so very, very sorry.”

  Then Eva Hitchings was speaking to him and he saw that her face was pale.

  “You were going to drink it,” she said, almost mechanically. “You were really going to drink it. I didn’t know about it, I swear I didn’t know.” She reached out her hand and placed it gently on his knee. “I’m awfully sorry for anything I have said,” she added. “I guess I have been an awful fool. Will you forgive me? I’d have believed anything out of a Hitchings.”

  Wilson Hitchings smiled but he felt very cold inside. The significance of everything was dawning on him, slowly.

  “So you take back what you said?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered steadily, “I take back everything.”

  Wilson Hitchings sat up straighter.

  “Well,” he said stiffly, “I’m glad you do. And now I’ll tell you something, and you too, Mr. Moto. The Hitchingses mean what they say. We’re pretty honest on the whole. I should have been glad to have swallowed that whole glass, if it could have helped the family.”

  Mr. Moto rubbed his hands. “That is very nice,” he said. “It is so very Japanese. It is very, very nice.”

  Eva Hitchings drew her hand away.

  “Can’t you ever get away from your family, even for a minute?” she asked. “Don’t be such a prig! Who cares about your family?”

  Mr. Moto was on his knee picking up the bits of broken glass.

  “I do,” said Wilson. “I care.”

  “Well, I don’t,” said Eva Hitchings. “I don’t care a button. I only know you nearly killed yourself.”

  “Oh, no,” said Mr. Moto. “Please. I was watching carefully. I was watching all the time. Poison is so common sometimes, that one must be very, very careful. Now I think we had better talk quite quickly, if you please, because I think whoever fixed that whisky will be coming here and I want to know who it is so very, very much. That was why I was waiting outside when you came in to call.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or aren’t you?” Wilson asked. “You excuse me, Mr. Moto, but I’m getting very much confused.”

  Mr. Moto was pouring some soda water over his fingers and was rubbing them dry with his handkerchief. “Yes,” said Mr. Moto, “I should be so pleased to tell you everything, now that everything is so very nice. You’re quite right, Mr. Hitchings, I have come here to do a little work for my country. I shall be so very pleased to tell you but I must think a moment. Someone will be coming here, coming very soon, I think. There must not be too much noise. I must speak very softly, so that I can listen. Let me listen, please.”

  Wilson Hitchings could hear nothing but the sound of the wind outside and if Mr. Moto heard more than that, it could have been nothing to disturb him.

  “I think,” said Mr. Moto, softly, “it would be well to keep our voices down, for things are a little bit mixed up. Just answer me softly if you do not mind. Please tell me why you came to Honolulu when I did, Mr. Hitchings? That is what made me think wrong
things. Did you know that I was coming?”

  Wilson Hitchings shook his head.

  “I hadn’t the least idea,” he answered; “and I don’t mind telling you my reason. I was sent here because Miss Hitchings was running Hitchings Plantation. Its name, being the same name as Hitchings Brothers, was interfering with the reputation of the firm. I was sent to try to buy Miss Hitchings out, and to have the establishment closed.”

  Mr. Moto raised his eyebrows slightly and his forehead wrinkled.

  “You actually wish the place closed?” he repeated. “You had no other reason to come here?”

  “Absolutely none,” said Wilson. “Don’t you believe me, Mr. Moto?”

  Mr. Moto rubbed his hands together and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened.

  “Then there must be someone else,” he said. “Yes, there must be someone else. I thought it might be Miss Hitchings, but since she is here with you, I do not think so. It did not seem right from the first. I should have known Hitchings Brothers was too old a house, that it could not afford to take such a risk, that it would not. I am very, very sorry.”

  Wilson Hitchings leaned forward, impatiently.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that you are either very glad or sorry about something, all the time. Is it possible for you to be direct? I don’t know who you are, Mr. Moto, and I don’t much care, but I would like to know what you are sorry about.”

  The wrinkles left Mr. Moto’s forehead and his cheeks creased in another smile.

  “I am beginning to be very, very sorry for you, Mr. Hitchings. They would be anxious to liquidate me, of course, under the circumstances; and now, if you wish to buy the place they may wish to kill you also. It is very, very funny how things sometimes grow confused.”

  It seemed to Wilson Hitchings that the room had grown hot and close. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. He was surprised that Mr. Moto’s remark had no great effect on him, rather it confirmed something which he had been suspecting.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  Mr. Moto looked at him rather sharply and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Certain persons who are not very nice, I’m afraid,” he said. “Excuse me; when I saw you first, I could not believe that you knew so little. You are, without knowing it, in a situation which is not very nice. I do not mind telling you frankly, and perhaps you will understand. I speak for my country, Mr. Hitchings, and I am here for it. You know of the new nation of Manchukuo, in which my own country has been so much interested?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, “everyone knows that; but it seems to me you are getting a little far away.”

  “That is just it.” Mr. Moto rubbed his hands again. “This is so far away that one might not connect the two. Manchukuo is a nice country. It is very, very beautiful and I have had many pleasant times there. It is too bad that there is so much trouble in it. There are still a good many bandits in the mountains. Certain persons have been causing factions to make trouble lately. Certain Chinese and certain persons of another power. Am I being too vague, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “You certainly are, Mr. Moto.”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “I shall try to be more clear. It has been known for some time that large amounts of money are being passed from China to certain insurgent leaders in the mountains. It has been my duty for some months now to try to trace the paths through which that money goes. It has been my duty to try to block those paths. It has been very, very hard. Do you understand me better, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “No, I don’t,” Wilson Hitchings told him.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto, “I hope that you will in just a moment. The channel through which the money first passed was stopped six months ago. I do not think it will be reopened again.” Mr. Moto paused and smiled. “At least not by the same person. Fortunately such matters can be arranged very easily over there. Here it is so much more difficult. When that channel was stopped, I and my associates were much surprised to find that sums of money were still coming in. This time American dollars were appearing. We did not know from where. Then I began looking into the affairs of a Chinese gentleman, named Chang Lo-Shih. Do you remember that I mentioned him, Mr. Hitchings, in Shanghai?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “I remember.”

  “He is not a very nice gentleman,” Mr. Moto said. “He does not appreciate my country or understand its aims. He has been handling a great deal of that money.” Mr. Moto paused and sighed. “Just a little while ago, I found that this Mr. Chang has been sending large sums of money to an account in the Hitchings office here.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Wilson. “I don’t quite see the connection.”

  Mr. Moto bobbed his shining black head in a polite gesture of assent.

  “Please,” he said, “that is what I am looking for. That is what I am hoping to find: the exact connection. Perhaps you do not understand. These matters are so misleading, so intricate, so very, very difficult. In your own great country, Mr. Hitchings, perhaps you have read of the investigations into the bank accounts of gangsters and unworthy politicians. It is so very, very interesting the way a clever man can cover the trail of money. Sometimes it seems to be thrown like water upon the desert sand. It evaporates and yet somewhere it condenses back again into money. As I say, I am looking for the connection. I and my associates have been looking for it very, very hard. Now here is one thing we have noticed. We have noticed American dollars in many sections of the nation of Manchukuo. They drift into the banks for exchange, a little here and there. This has struck us as being a little odd. There is no reason, of course, why a Chinese in Shanghai should not have banking connections here. Mr. Chang is a businessman and there are many Chinese businessmen in Honolulu. It is such an interesting city. Now, let me tell you something else.”

  “I wish you would,” said Wilson.

  “We have found,” said Mr. Moto, slowly and softly, “that this money which Mr. Chang is sending here is being employed for a purpose which is a little unusual. It represents the capital of a gambling syndicate. A representative of this gambling syndicate has been drawing upon it for gambling purposes at Hitchings Plantation. I hope I am being clearer now, Mr. Hitchings. We know through our sources of information that American money comes to Manchuria through Japan from vessels which have touched at this port. I do not need to go into the details or the methods. They would not be very interesting. But what is very interesting to me is that Mr. Chang has been sending money here. It goes to Hitchings Plantation. Where does it go from there? That is what I should like so very much to know?”

  “If that’s all you know,” Wilson Hitchings said, “it seems to me you’re only guessing, Mr. Moto. It seems to me you’re only shooting in the dark.”

  Mr. Moto bobbed his head and smiled.

  “Ha-ha,” he said. “That is a very nice joke, shooting in the dark. So much has to be done by guessing, Mr. Hitchings, the way things are today. I guess and guess and then sometimes I guess right, and can you think how I know?”

  “How?” asked Wilson. “By your native intuition?”

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “There is something more than that. I am sure that I am right; very, very sure, when someone starts shooting at me in the dark. Please, do you remember? Someone did tonight when I called at Miss Hitchings’ lovely place. Did someone, Miss Hitchings?”

  Eva Hitchings did not answer but she nodded. Mr. Moto’s expressionless eyes were on her and Wilson watched their glances meet and saw her look away.

  “Don’t you think that is a rather dangerous way of finding out things?” Wilson Hitchings inquired.

  “Please,” said Mr. Moto. “So many things I do are dangerous. Besides, if I found out what I wish, I should be very, very pleased to die. If I do not find out, I am afraid that I must kill myself, so that all is very much the same.”

  “You don’t look like a fanatic,” Wilson Hitchings said.

  “I am not,” said Mr. Moto. “Th
e day before you arrived, Mr. Hitchings, for I traveled very fast to get here, I called on the lady who is with you. She asked me to come back tonight. She said that she would tell me something that would interest me. She said that she did not like your family, Mr. Hitchings.”

  “That’s true, I don’t,” Eva Hitchings said.

  “You were present at the interview tonight,” Mr. Moto continued, “and now I think you can understand my line of thought. You arrived quite suddenly, Mr. Hitchings. Mr. Chang had an account at Hitchings Brothers here. His money was used at that very nice gambling table and I was shot at in the dark. Please excuse me for suspecting you, Mr. Hitchings. Perhaps you will agree that it was natural. Hitchings Brothers and Hitchings Plantation seemed quite the same to me and very, very clever. Now I know that I was wrong. Nevertheless, the only thing I need to know now, I am very, very sure, is how Mr. Chang’s money disappears at Hitchings Plantation and appears in Manchukuo.

  “It has been a very clever and a very unusual device, that way of passing money, and a difficult method to trace. That is its great advantage. Please, may I make myself clearer? Usually in such cases, a sum of money is passed from one person to another. The person who receives it may be identified eventually by suitable police methods, but here it is like water thrown on sand. These funds disappear across the table to a number of different persons or to the house. I do not quite know how the method is worked. It is not perhaps important, but there is one thing of which I am now very sure. The money which is lost from Mr. Chang’s account is collected all together and is given to a single individual who comes here at intervals and takes it away. I believe he is coming quite soon. When I find who that person is, the whole plan will break down. A few simple words over the cable to suitable authorities will make it possible to have him stopped. The person who finally takes the money—his identity is all that I wish to know.”

  Mr. Moto paused and rubbed his hands.

  “Please,” he said, “Miss Hitchings, will you tell me now what you were going to say tonight?”