Mr. Moto Omnibus

by John P. Marquand

  “I haven’t yet,” Wilson told her. “I think you tend to overestimate my capacities. I have thought so, all along.”

  Then he began to believe that he should never have allowed her to talk, because the ideas which he had formed about her and which he thought he had entirely eliminated were returning to him again, making his judgment fallible. When she turned her head, the curve of her neck interested him—and her change of expression when she spoke, making him forget the actual elements of the problem.

  “No, I don’t think I overestimated you,” she answered. “I said that you were capable and I certainly think you are, but you have overestimated me. I haven’t enough capacity to be a good adventuress. Sometimes I’ve wished I had, but I haven’t. I have just been caught in something which I haven’t been able to control. I imagine you have been caught in the same thing. We are really babes in the wood and we think that we are tigers. I guess we are both wrong.”

  Wilson found himself repressing a strong desire to laugh.

  “Are you trying to convey the idea,” he inquired, “that you are a nice girl that has been led into bad company and is still at heart a thoroughly nice girl?”

  Eva Hitchings nodded.

  “Yes, that is roughly what I am trying to convey,” she said; “but I don’t suppose you believe me.”

  “No,” said Wilson. “I don’t suppose I do.”

  “Then, what are you going to do about it?” Eva Hitchings asked.

  “I am going to put you back in the cabin,” Wilson answered, “and then I am going to get the engine started. If you are so anxious to keep me out here, it must be interesting on shore.”

  “And you still think I had something to do with it?” Eva Hitchings asked.

  “Yes,” said Wilson. “Of course I do.”

  She gave no sign of being hurt by his disbelief, instead she seemed almost pleased.

  “You were right about what you said when I first met you,” she told him. “You told me you were a guileless person. I really think you are. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I might be here for just the same reason you are—because I know too much? I hadn’t thought of it that way until a few minutes ago; but it is the reason. We are both of us here because we know too much.”

  The drifting boat and the sounds of the sea made her words surprisingly simple. If he could believe her, everything seemed clear, and he could very nearly believe her.

  “Then what are you going to do about it?” Wilson asked.

  Eva Hitchings shrugged her shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “unless you have some suggestion.”

  He did not understand her. He could only wonder where her thoughts might lead him next.

  “Well,” he replied, “I haven’t any suggestion.”

  She looked back at him steadily.

  “You don’t seem to do much about using your opportunity,” she said. “You said you liked me a little while ago.”

  “Yes,” Wilson nodded, “a little while ago.”

  “And you don’t now,” Eva Hitchings asked him. “That’s the way things go, isn’t it? You don’t like me anymore. I don’t suppose you trust me and now I have just begun to like you. I like you better than anyone I know.”

  “I am sorry I don’t follow you,” Wilson Hitchings said. His voice was cool enough but his thoughts were not. He was standing closer to her than he thought. She was looking up at him, brushing her hair from her forehead, and she seemed very young just then, transparently a young person.

  “I don’t exactly follow myself,” he heard her say. And then she smiled. “I suppose it’s because I am thinking about the Hitchings family.”

  He must have been more interested in her than he believed because he heard no sound behind him until he heard a voice and he saw Eva Hitchings start and saw her eyes grow wide and incredulous.

  “Excuse me,” someone said behind him. “I’m sorry that I interrupt, so very, very sorry.”

  Wilson Hitchings had turned as quickly as though someone had touched his back. The door of the cabin was open and Mr. Moto, blinking in the sunlight, was looking through the opening.

  10

  WILSON HITCHINGS rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. Mr. Moto was still standing looking through the cabin door. There was no mistaking the shoebrush cut of his hair and the gold fillings in his teeth or the delicate hands or the nervous determined smile. Mr. Moto was dressed in a dark alpaca suit that was somewhat wrinkled and there were smudges of dust on his coat which he was brushing off carefully when he stepped into the cockpit.

  “Excuse me,” Mr. Moto said again. “I could not help but overhear. It was so very, very interesting what Miss Hitchings said, that you are both here because you know too much. And so very, very true. It is also a very good joke. That is why we are all here—because all of us know too much. Excuse me, I did not mean to startle you. Have I startled you, Mr. Hitchings?”

  Wilson sat down at the edge of the cockpit.

  “You did in a way,” he said. “I suppose you could imagine my next question. Did Mr. Wilkie ask you to come with us, Mr. Moto?”

  Mr. Moto smiled patiently but his smile appeared to be more genuine, and Wilson thought he could detect a gleam of amusement in Mr. Moto’s dark birdlike eyes.

  “No, he did not ask me,” Mr. Moto said. “This was purely my own idea. Please, do not look so nervous, Mr. Hitchings. I do not wish to have you nervous, because that might be very bad for me. Please, I did not know you could be so violent, Mr. Hitchings.”

  Then Eva Hitchings spoke.

  “But where have you been?” she asked. “How did you get here? I didn’t see you in the cabin, Mr. Moto.”

  Mr. Moto laughed. It was apparent that he was pleased and amused by the entire episode, with an almost childlike amusement.

  “I will tell you,” said Mr. Moto, rubbing his hands and smiling. “There is a passage forward, connecting with the engine and the crew’s quarters. There is a small corridor leading from the passage. It was confined in there and not very nice. Your steward, Kito, introduced me to it. Please,” Mr. Moto raised his hands decoratively, “do not interrupt me, Mr. Hitchings. I should be very, very frank. The cabin boy, Kito, is very nice. I have known his family in Japan. Please, it is this way, Mr. Hitchings. This vessel has interested me very much for several days. It is such a well-found vessel and so very, very seaworthy. It has interested me why Mr. Wilkie should desire such a vessel for ocean trips. There is a certain cargo steamer which touches here and then makes for Fusan in Korea. Do you understand me, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “No,” said Wilson, “but I am trying to, Mr. Moto.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Mr. Moto. “That is very good. You are going to understand. Everything will be very nice, I think. The name of the steamer is the Eastern Light, carrying lumber from your West Coast, Mr. Hitchings. Several hours after she leaves harbor, I found this sampan leaves also. She meets the Eastern Light out of sight of land. Now what do you think of that?”

  “I think it is very, very interesting,” Wilson said.

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Moto. “I am very glad you think so. There is a passenger on the sampan who boards the Eastern Light. I have been very interested to find out just why. It must be because he does not wish to be seen walking up the gangplank. Do you not think so, Mr. Hitchings? Now there is something else which is very, very interesting. The Eastern Light is sailing this afternoon.” Mr. Moto rubbed his hands. “This morning the sampan filled her fuel tank. I was very, very interested and then this morning Kito told me something else. It was so very, very nice that I should know him, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson Hitchings. “Very, very nice.”

  Mr. Moto cocked his head to one side.

  “Please,” he continued, “would you like to guess what Kito told me? Your mind is so very, very quick that possibly you could guess.”

  “Possibly,” Wilson agreed, “but I’d rather you told me, Mr. Moto, and if you don’t
mind, tell me quickly! I want to get the engine going.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Moto. “That will be very, very nice. I should be so glad to help you, Mr. Hitchings. This morning Mr. Wilkie hurried to the dock and gave orders that you and Miss Hitchings were going out for a little sail. He asked especially for the engine to break down so that you would not get ashore until twelve o’clock tonight, after which he wished everything ready to put to sea again. Please, when I heard of this, it made me think of several things. It made me think that I would be very much safer with you and Miss Hitchings on the sampan than any place on shore. I want to be safe, very much indeed, until tonight. Also I was worried about you, Mr. Hitchings. When I heard you in the engine-room I nearly interfered. I did not think that you would do everything so very, very nicely.”

  “Thank you for saying so,” Wilson Hitchings said.

  “You are so very welcome,” answered Mr. Moto. “Please, I did not know that you understood the small boats.”

  “Do you?” Wilson asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Moto. “Please. I was in the Navy once.”

  “Well then, let’s get the engine going,” Wilson said. “I want to get ashore.”

  “Please,” Mr. Moto raised his hands. “If I may make a suggestion . . . If I may be so very rude . . . The engine will start very easily, but I do not think it will be nice to go ashore until the sun goes down. Please, do you understand me? Someone is surely watching us from shore, right now. They will be so very, very glad to see us rolling here. I think it would be very nice if no one should know exactly when we land. There will be time after dark, I think. I hope you understand me, Mr. Hitchings.”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, “I think I understand you.”

  “Then please,” said Mr. Moto, “I think it would be very nice to go forward and see that everything is secure in the crew’s quarters, and then perhaps it would be very nice if Kito were to give us a little refreshment. I am so glad that everything is going so beautifully. There is only one thing more.”

  “What’s that?” Wilson asked him. But it seemed to him that there were a good many other things more.

  Mr. Moto bowed toward Eva Hitchings.

  “It is about Miss Hitchings,” he replied. “I said some things about her which were not very nice and I am afraid that you believed them, Mr. Hitchings. Excuse me. I was very, very wrong. You must believe what she tells you, because I think she will be very nice now. I think we will all be very nice and now perhaps we had better go forward, Mr. Hitchings. There is a question I should like to ask the crew.”

  Little as Wilson Hitchings understood the Oriental mind, it was evident that something had happened which gave Mr. Moto both relief and pleasure. For a while at any rate, a proportion of his tenseness and his eagerness had left him. He hummed a tune softly, as he examined the engines.

  “You are pleased,” said Wilson, “aren’t you, Mr. Moto?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Moto. “Very, very pleased. I have learned several things. Matters will go nicely now, I think. I simply need to set eyes on several persons. I simply need to make an observation. Then, everything will be arranged.”

  Mr. Moto paused and began to laugh again.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I was simply thinking of certain persons who would be very, very sorry not to see me back on shore. They will be looking for me so very hard. They will be so very anxious to have me put out of the way, I think. Yes, I should like to see their faces. They will be so much annoyed. And now, please, shall we see the fellows you have tied? I wish to ask a question.”

  There were four bunks in the crew’s quarters in the bow. George and his two helpers lay bound in the bunks where Wilson Hitchings had tossed them, and their positions indicated that they had all been struggling with their ropes. The engineer raised his head and scowled.

  “Say,” he said, “what the hell is the big idea? I’ll get you for this, Mister.” His glance moved to Mr. Moto ominously. “And that little monkey with you too. You can’t get away with this, Mister.”

  For almost the first time that Wilson had known him, Mr. Moto looked annoyed.

  “Please,” he said, “what did you call me, please?”

  “A monkey,” said George. “I seen you snooping on the dock and I say you can’t get away with this.”

  “Excuse me,” said Mr. Moto. “I should look at the knots, I think. I mean no criticism, Mr. Hitchings, but it takes training to tie a man securely. I may be more expert, please.”

  Wilson was almost inclined to take the criticism to heart, for he felt that he had done his tying rather well. The only light in the small sleeping space came from a skylight on the deck and the light fell dimly on the heavy recumbent figure of the engineer as he lay on his side in the lower bunk. Mr. Moto was bending over him and Wilson was watching almost idly, when he saw something suspiciously intent in the large man’s glance. He was looking over Mr. Moto’s shoulder, directly into Wilson’s face, and his eyes were growing narrow.

  “Ah,” Mr. Moto was saying. “Exactly as I feared. The arms are very greasy and the rope—”

  “Look out!” said Wilson suddenly. But Mr. Moto was not quick enough. In the half-light Wilson saw that something was very wrong. George was free of his ropes.

  “Look out!” Wilson called. But Mr. Moto was not quick enough. From the semi-obscurity of the bunk George delivered a sharp, decisive blow on Mr. Moto’s jaw, and Mr. Moto staggered backward and sat down. In the same instant, George had rolled out of his bunk, landing on his feet on the deck.

  “Pile on him, boys,” he shouted. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mister.”

  Wilson sprang backward instinctively, and as he did so, the man who was lying on the upper bunk hurled himself on his back. The impact threw Wilson forward and nearly made him lose his balance. He always said the thing that happened next was luck. The deck hand who leaped for his back slid over him and sprawled into George’s stomach and the two landed in a heap. The next instant was like the click of a camera shot. The two men were in a heap trying to get up. Mr. Moto was already on his feet, the third man was half out of his bunk.

  “Get back in there!” said Wilson and, still half doubled over, he whirled on his heels and struck the man on the face. As he did so, he heard a scream of agony. George was sitting on the deck holding his left arm. The other man was struggling to his feet, standing undecided, and Wilson moved toward him; but as he did so, he saw that the trouble was over.

  “All right, sir,” the man said. “I won’t make no trouble, sir.”

  “Then get up there and lie down,” Wilson Hitchings told him.

  “Please,” Mr. Moto was saying. “Fetch some more rope, Mr. Hitchings. I can handle everything very nicely, please.”

  There was no doubt that Mr. Moto was amazingly adroit. Wilson watched him with deep interest as he worked and Mr. Moto conversed quite cheerfully.

  “Please, Mr. Hitchings,” he said. “It was my fault as much as yours not to think of this before. I should have known they might work loose. They were waiting, of course, for you to come here. They did not wish to show themselves because you had a weapon. I am sorry that I broke the man’s arm but he was not very nice. Please, Mr. Hitchings, it only shows how careful one must be. But all this is really nothing.” Mr. Moto leaned over George again and felt his arm.

  “Now,” he said, “perhaps you will answer a question, please. It is what I came for, in the first place, please. I am sorry I shall hurt you if you do not answer. You were to bring out a passenger, a man, to the Eastern Light this evening. What does he look like, please?”

  George groaned but did not answer.

  “Quickly, please,” said Mr. Moto. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

  “Take him away from me,” George shouted. “Please, Mister, take him away.”

  “What does the man look like?” Mr. Moto repeated softly. He was holding a small photograph before the sailor’s face. “Please—is that the man?”

  “I don’t kn
ow,” George gasped. “I ain’t never seen his face. He keeps it hid. I tell you that’s the truth. He comes on with money from the Hitchings’ gambling house and we put him aboard the hooker, but I ain’t seen his face.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Moto. “Are you sure? I am very, very sorry. Answer me another question, please. I do not wish to hurt you. This man, are you going to take him out tonight?”

  “Yes,” said George. “He’s going out tonight. Now will you take your hands off me? I don’t know any more. I’m just obeying orders.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Moto. “And the money comes from the gambling house? I thought so. Thank you very much.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Wilson. “I’ve got a question too. Does Mr. Wilkie bring this man down to his boat?”

  George looked sick and pale. He looked so bad that Wilson was very sorry for him.

  “You had better tell me, George,” he said, “and I’ll give you a shot of whisky. I don’t like this business any more than you.” George’s heavy eyes moved toward him.

  “I wish I had set you down for a tough guy—when I seen you,” George said. “Sure Mr. Wilkie takes him down. It’s his boat, ain’t it? Me—I’m just obeying orders.” Mr. Moto straightened up, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands.

  “I am so very, very sorry,” he said. “I do not like putting subjects to the question. It is a method with which I know you do not sympathize but in this case it is important. It is so very, very kind of you to be so broad-minded, Mr. Hitchings. I think now we can leave this place. They will not make more trouble. I very seldom drink but I think we might all have something now. It will be so very, very nice. I shall find who the man is when we get ashore. If you will excuse me, I shall join you in a few moments. I wish to look at the engines again. One must be so very, very careful.”

  11

  EVA HITCHINGS was sitting aft by the wheel looking across the sparkling, restless water across the sea toward the Island. It was late afternoon and clear and beautiful, but the clouds of the mountains in the distance and the moisture in the air cast a faint enigmatic haze over the Island and passing clouds darkened the mountain slopes with shifting shadows. Even then Wilson had time to think that the Island was beautiful, although its soft coloring and its partial absence of definition were as disturbing as his thoughts. No matter what Mr. Moto might do, Wilson was thinking that he must deal with his own affairs.