Mr. Moto Omnibus

by John P. Marquand

  Wilson Hitchings laid down his hat on the corner of Mr. Wilkie’s desk at the same time he tried to lay aside any expression of doubt or astonishment.

  “I can’t imagine that she accepted,” he said, “but I am glad you brought her name up. I came here to talk to you about her. Do you mind if I close the door?”

  Mr. Wilkie closed the door himself and sat down behind his desk.

  “I am very glad of that,” he said, seriously, “because I wanted to do the same thing, Hitchings. I talked to Eva seriously last night and I have been thinking of her a good deal this morning. She told me about the offer you made. I had never believed that you would make her an offer so fair and generous. Frankly, I wanted her to accept that offer and I wanted her to forget all her pique. You probably feel as I do that a gambling house is no place for Eva. It’s a gesture on her part that has gone far enough. I think if she can get to know you better, if she can understand that you are perfectly sincere, she will agree to everything. That is why I suggest a few hours at lunch today. I know as well as you do that we must clear this matter up.”

  Wilson remembered something which his uncle had said in Shanghai, while Mr. Wilkie was speaking. His uncle had spoken of a connoisseur’s ability to judge a picture. His uncle had said that an amateur might see nothing wrong but to an experienced observer the values might not be right. There was something wrong in the picture now. There was something wrong about Mr. Wilkie. He was betraying an excitement which was not natural. His eyes were too bright. He was laboring under some excitement beyond Wilson’s knowledge but there was one thing of which Wilson was sure. For some reason of his own, Mr. Wilkie wanted him out of the way. He wanted him aboard that boat. He remembered that his uncle had spoken of Mr. Wilkie’s sampan. He could not help remembering that only yesterday Mr. Wilkie had been almost hostile. He presented his last thought to Mr. Wilkie in a question which was almost blunt. As he did so, he looked at Mr. Wilkie again. There was no doubt that Mr. Wilkie was agitated—in spite of all his efforts to be casual.

  “You didn’t feel this way yesterday. What has made you change?” he asked.

  Mr. Wilkie’s face grew serious.

  “Sober afterthought, if you want the truth,” he said. “Eva is like my own little girl, Mr. Hitchings. I have felt her wrongs very keenly and I have felt the anomalous position in which she has been put through no fault of her own. When you came here yesterday, your assurance annoyed me; but I am over all that now. The best thing for Eva and the best thing for the firm is to have her take your offer. Eva understands it now, I think. She’ll be down at the sampan in half an hour.”

  Wilson Hitchings listened carefully; his opinion of Mr. Wilkie was falling as he listened. It seemed to him that Mr. Wilkie was not the man to be head of the Hitchings office; that he was weak and full of contradictions.

  “I am wondering,” Wilson said, “just what you heard about Hitchings Plantation to make you change your mind. Have you heard anything, Mr. Wilkie?”

  Mr. Wilkie opened his mouth and closed it.

  “Heard about Hitchings Plantation?” he answered. “Why, what is there to hear? It’s a trifle illegal, but it’s conducted by the authorities, and it’s very well conducted. I never go there, myself, except to see Eva now and then. I don’t understand you, Hitchings. What could I have heard?”

  The very vagueness of Mr. Wilkie’s answer made Wilson believe him. It was the answer of a man who had allowed himself to fall into a languid rut until he had become oblivious to everything, except what went on immediately around him.

  “Then you don’t know who runs the gambling end of the establishment for her?” Wilson inquired.

  “Why yes,” Mr. Wilkie answered. “Of course I know. Eva has hired some professionals, of course. A Mr. Maddock and some others. Rather unusual types, but they are honest. What do you mean to imply, Hitchings?”

  “Would it surprise you,” Wilson Hitchings asked, “if I told you that I had a talk with Mr. Maddock this morning in which he told me that something so serious is going on there that he is planning to leave?”

  Mr. Wilkie raised his hands and dropped them softly in front of him on the desk. “Good God!” he said. “What has been going on?”

  There was such astonishment in Mr. Wilkie’s voice that Wilson was almost sorry for him. There was not much further doubt in his mind that Mr. Wilkie had been very careless of the interests of the firm. There would be trouble for Wilkie when they heard of it at home.

  “That’s just what I am going to find out,” answered Wilson Hitchings, slowly. “I’ll tell you what I know. I am sure no one suspected anything like this, when my uncle sent me here. A Japanese secret service agent is watching the Plantation, Mr. Wilkie. He is watching it because there is a gang there which is using the establishment as a means of transferring money from China to revolutionaries in Manchuria. The funds are first deposited in this Branch of Hitchings Brothers, Mr. Wilkie.”

  Mr. Wilkie rose and leaned against the desk.

  “You are not serious,” he said. His speech was hoarse and uncertain. “It—it isn’t possible.”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Wilson answered steadily. He was sorry for Mr. Wilkie, but he blamed him also, for his complete carelessness and lack of observation. “I’m afraid that you and Miss Eva have been used by some rather unscrupulous persons. A Chinese, named Chang Lo-Shih, has been forwarding money here. It has been taken to Hitchings Plantation and distributed. I think I can find out exactly how, tonight, but in the meanwhile, you had better get Miss Eva out of there because it is dangerous. Also we must get the Bank cleared of all this. I hope you understand.”

  There was no doubt any longer that Mr. Wilkie understood, and also that it was a blow to Mr. Wilkie. The color had drained from his face, making him look old and uncertain.

  “We had better call for the police,” he said, hoarsely. “This must be stopped at once—at once.”

  “No,” said Wilson, quickly. “That’s exactly what we mustn’t do. We mustn’t get the Bank involved in any such publicity. I want to get to the bottom of this myself, because I represent the family. There mustn’t be any talk until we find out how the transfer is made. I think I can find out tonight. In the meanwhile I am going to send a cable to Shanghai. Miss Hitchings must be kept out of it. I’ll leave that part to you.”

  Mr. Wilkie squared his shoulders.

  “You must talk to Eva yourself,” he said. “I could swear that Eva doesn’t know a thing about this. Yes, I can see. We must go on as though we know nothing. I shall go over the Chang account. I am right behind you, Hitchings.”

  He held out his hand and Wilson took it. “I did not think about this when I suggested the sampan, but now I think it is the very thing. If anyone is watching you, it will throw them off the track. I shall be busy here with the Chang account. Someone must find out just what Eva knows. You must do that, Mr. Hitchings, and then come back here. I will take you down to the boat myself. I am right behind you, understand? You will do that, won’t you?”

  Wilson Hitchings hesitated, because something in Mr. Wilkie’s manner confused him even then, and it half-aroused in him an inherited sense of caution. It occurred to him again that Mr. Wilkie seemed disproportionately anxious to get him on board that sampan. It occurred to him again that Mr. Wilkie was anxious to be rid of him, although he could not tell just why. The best way of finding out why might be to go aboard that boat. Mr. Wilkie seemed to read his thoughts.

  “We must get things straight with Eva,” Mr. Wilkie said. “That’s the most important thing just now. She must not be involved in this, as you said. If she is, it will hurt the name of the firm more than anything else. I am aroused now, Hitchings, very much aroused. You must see Eva and arrange to close up Hitchings Plantation, and the sampan is the very place. No one will overhear you. There’ll be lunch aboard for you and you will be back by two o’clock. Then we will attend to the rest of it and we will move fast.”

  Mr. Wilkie’s idea was plaus
ible. Wilson realized that he could not have made a better opportunity to make Eva Hitchings see reason if he had tried. A good many things could be cleared up by seeing Eva Hitchings. If he could convince her of the seriousness of the situation, a great deal might be done; and now he had his chance. More than anything else, however, he realized that he wanted to see Eva Hitchings. He wanted her to see him in a proper light. He wanted to help her in spite of her coldness to him and in spite of her disbelief in him. It did not take much intelligence to realize that matters in some way were coming to a head. Mr. Moto’s manner had indicated that, and so had Mr. Maddock’s. Wilson knew that the Plantation was no place for Eva Hitchings any longer.

  “Are you absolutely sure that we will be back by two?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Wilkie’s voice was emphatic. “There’s too much to be done to have you delay any longer. I’ll give all the orders.”

  “Are you coming too?” Wilson asked.

  Mr. Wilkie shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “It would only complicate matters, having me along, and there is a good deal for me to do here. I must go over the Chang account. You will excuse me, won’t you?”

  Wilson felt relieved to hear that Mr. Wilkie was not going—without knowing exactly why, except that he preferred to see Eva Hitchings alone.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Wilkie, and he took down his Panama hat from a peg. “Then we had better start at once. Come along, Eva will be waiting.”

  They had nearly reached the door when the telephone rang on Mr. Wilkie’s desk. He turned impatiently and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello,” he said. “Who?”

  From where he was standing, Wilson could hear the telephone making a tinny, singsong sound and he saw that Mr. Wilkie was watching him as he listened.

  “Yes,” Mr. Wilkie was saying. “Yes, I understand. I’ll see you in a quarter of an hour. Yes, certainly, in a quarter of an hour.” And he set the telephone down, slowly, and there was a tremor of excitement in his voice.

  “Do you know who that was?” he said. “I couldn’t have believed it; it’s the very man we were speaking of. It’s Mr. Chang Lo-Shih. He must have come on the same boat with you. He wants to see me right away. Don’t worry. I’ll see that he won’t suspect anything.”

  “I would like to see him myself,” said Wilson.

  “You shall,” said Mr. Wilkie. “You shall, this afternoon.” And they walked through the office in the bright sun of the street. Mr. Wilkie was walking swiftly toward the waterfront. “This is serious,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “I think it is.” And he wondered if Mr. Moto knew that Mr. Chang was there.

  Mr. Wilkie rested his hand on Wilson’s shoulder.

  “Don’t you worry,” Mr. Wilkie said. “I’ve lived in the Orient. I can attend to Chang. We will have to close out his account, right away. We’ve got to get clear of this. I’ll close up with Chang and you manage Eva. Don’t be worried, Hitchings. You will find these troubles come up every now and then. Everything will be all right.”

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “I am sure it will.” But he was not sure. In spite of Mr. Wilkie’s sudden burst of energy, he felt entirely alone. He wished that his Uncle William were there, because he felt so alone.

  “There is just one thing,” he said. “Will you cable Shanghai, Mr. Wilkie, and tell them to close out Chang’s account there?”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Wilkie. “Don’t you worry. We have had undesirable clients before. We will have a confirmation, by the time you are back. Well, here we are.”

  Wilson had been so busy with his own thoughts that he had not noticed where they were going, except in a half-conscious way, until Mr. Wilkie spoke. They were standing on an open pier, looking down at the deck of a boat that was moored beside it. She was a heavily built, wide-beamed motor craft, painted blue, with an awning over the afterdeck. There was a deck cabin and an open hatch leading from the engine room, forward. The lines of the vessel were new to Wilson Hitchings. They were blunt and heavy and foreign, but she was a capable-looking craft. On the forward deck, two of the crew were standing—squat, barefoot men, with dungarees and white shirts, with bronze skins and uncertain racial traits. Eva Hitchings was seated in a canvas chair beneath the awning. When she saw them, she waved her hand.

  “George,” called Mr. Wilkie. “George.” A snub-nosed man in a greasy hat climbed up the ladder in the hatch. He was a European and a sailor, the sort that one might see in any seaport, with strong forearms and a heavy face. He looked like a piece of driftwood that had been banged about by the sea, with scars of experience printed on his skin.

  “George,” said Mr. Wilkie, “this is Mr. Hitchings.”

  George grinned slowly and rubbed his hands on his dungarees.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister,” he said. His movements were slow and his face was dull and heavy. There were deep creases about his eyes and his teeth were very bad.

  “George,” said Mr. Wilkie, “Mr. Hitchings must be back by two o’clock. Be sure to get him back.”

  “Yes,” said George. “Sure.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Wilkie, “that’s all. Have a good time, both of you.”

  Eva Hitchings stood up. “Aren’t you coming with us, Uncle Joe?” she asked.

  “No, my dear,” said Mr. Wilkie. “Not today. We are very busy at the office. But George will look after you, and Kito is in the cabin to get you lunch.”

  Eva Hitchings frowned. “I thought you said—” she began.

  But Mr. Wilkie interrupted her.

  “Please, Eva,” he said. “I had no idea I would be so busy this morning.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Eva Hitchings answered, and she gazed at Wilson coldly. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  Wilson Hitchings was standing by the steps of the stone pier which led down to the deck. But, before he walked down them, he hesitated.

  “Perhaps Miss Hitchings would like it better if I didn’t go,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Wilkie said quickly, his lowered voice urgent. “Get aboard, this is important. You can cast off, George, but remember what I told you.”

  “Sure,” said George. “Cast off, you!” And he disappeared down the forward hatch.

  There was a sound of the starting engine, powerful and steady. One of the crew was casting off the lines. The other walked to the wheel at the stern. Their casually quick motions showed that the two hands knew their business. The sampan was moving from the dock and Mr. Wilkie waved his hat.

  “Good-by,” he called., and Wilson waved back, but Eva Hitchings did not move. She was standing on the deck beneath the awning, the wind was whipping her light silk skirt. Her legs were brown and bare. She was wearing a blue sweater and it seemed to Wilson that her whole dress was as casual as her manner.

  “Well,” she said, “now that you are here, you may as well sit down. Kito, bring a chair for Mr. Hitchings.”

  A Japanese boy in a white steward’s uniform came out of the cabin, bringing another canvas folding armchair.

  “I did not arrange this,” Eva Hitchings said. “Uncle Joe asked me to have lunch with him. I hadn’t the least idea that you would be connected with it.”

  Wilson Hitchings looked at the dock where Mr. Wilkie still stood watching. He was still puzzled by something in Mr. Wilkie’s manner. The older man had been very anxious to see him safe aboard and out into the harbor. There was no doubt of that. Now that the sampan was moving out to sea, it occurred to him that Mr. Wilkie had been almost too anxious. He looked at Eva Hitchings curiously.

  “Don’t apologize,” he said.

  “I am not apologizing,” she answered.

  “All right,” Wilson told her. “I am glad you are not. Then I won’t apologize either. May I make a suggestion, now that we are here?”

  “What suggestion?” Eva Hitchings asked. “Are you always so cool and calm? Do you always act as though y
ou were addressing a directors’ meeting? Doesn’t anything ever stop your being so complacent?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am not cool or calm at all,” Wilson answered slowly. He wanted her to like him. Although he knew that his desire was unreasonable, he wished that they could be friends. “I was only going to suggest,” he explained, “that we might stop quarreling for a little while. I did not plan this either, but Mr. Wilkie wanted me to talk to you.”

  “Don’t you think you have talked to me enough? I know almost everything that is in your mind.”

  “Don’t you think you could just treat me as a poor malihini?”

  Wilson answered. “That’s the name you have for it, isn’t it? I’ve always heard that the natives here were supposed to be hospitable. This is your boat more than mine. Couldn’t we get along without quarreling?”

  She smiled at him and when she smiled he knew that there was something between them, whether they admitted it or not.

  “Do you think we could ever stop quarreling?” she asked.

  “We might,” said Wilson. “You never can tell until you try.”

  “I am afraid not,” Eva said. “You and I are both rather determined people and we don’t want the same thing.”

  “I only want to help you,” Wilson said. “I have told you that.”

  Eva Hitchings looked at the water and back at him.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I like you,” Wilson said. “Haven’t I told you that?”

  “No,” she said. “You haven’t.”

  “Well,” he said, “I have told you now. . . . Mr. Maddock called to see me this morning.”