Mr. Moto Is So Sorry

by John P. Marquand

  “No,” said Calvin, “none at all.”

  “Mind you do what I tell you then,” the Captain said. “We’ve got to travel quick.”

  “That’s all right,” said Calvin.

  “That’s fine,” Captain Hamby said, “fine.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” asked Calvin Gates.

  “No,” said Captain Hamby, “nothing else, I think.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll go where you belong,” said Calvin Gates, “and if you’ll excuse me I’m going to lock my door.”

  Captain Hamby rose from his seat on the edge of the berth, and Calvin followed his example.

  “What’s the use of worrying,” Captain Hamby hummed. “No need to be jumpy, old man. I’ll take care of you, never fear.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Calvin answered.

  “We’ll get on fine when we understand each other.” The Captain’s tone was placating and smooth. “So put away the sidearm, Gates, and how about shaking hands on it? We’ll have to be pals, you know.”

  Captain Hamby held out his right hand. The gesture and his whole manner were suddenly disarming, but there was an involuntary contraction about the corners of his mouth. The shadow passed over the Captain’s face and was gone, but Calvin Gates understood the expression as clearly as though the man had spoken. Calvin transfered his pistol from his right hand to his left and dropped it into his jacket pocket, but he did not take his hand away.

  “Delighted to shake hands,” he said.

  The Captain’s lips twitched slightly and then curved into his smile.

  “No hard feeling, Gates,” he said again. “We can take things as they come, can’t we?”

  “Absolutely,” Calvin said.

  “Fine,” the Captain said. “We’ll have a nice talk later on.” There was no doubt that they understood each other. The Captain’s manner had been almost perfect, but not quite. Calvin knew as sure as fate that the Captain had proposed to do something more than simply to shake his hand.

  CHAPTER XII

  At half-past eight the next morning Miss Dillaway knocked on his compartment door. She looked cheerfully neat and efficient. Outside the sun shone hot and brilliant out of a cloudless sky upon an unchanging landscape of mud villages and green fields. He could hear Captain Hamby moving about in his own quarters.

  “While you’ve a lucifer to light your fag,” Captain Hamby was singing, “smile, smile, smile.”

  Miss Dillaway was looking at him curiously.

  “You don’t seem very glad to see me,” Miss Dillaway said. “What are you scowling at, Gates?”

  “Smile, smile, smile,” Calvin answered. “That song’s getting on my nerves.”

  “Oh that’s it, is it?” said Miss Dillaway. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be like Captain Hamby. At any rate, he smiles.”

  The side of Calvin’s head throbbed with a dull, constant pain, and that last remark of hers did not ease it. He felt that same unreasoning jealousy which he had experienced the night before. It seemed to him that she was through with him already.

  “I wish we’d never laid eyes on him,” Calvin said.

  “You’re being awfully silly, Gates,” Miss Dillaway replied. “Why are you so rude to Captain Hamby?”

  “What’s so wonderful about him?” Calvin asked. “Do you like him because he sings?”

  “Why, Gates,” said Miss Dillaway, “I don’t particularly like him.”

  “Then why do you have to be so nice to him?” Calvin asked.

  “Why, Gates,” said Miss Dillaway, “why shouldn’t we both be nice to him? He’s helping us, isn’t he?” There was a loud knock on the compartment door. It was Captain Hamby with his red face, smooth and shining.

  “Well, well,” he said, “I’m not intruding, am I? I heard you talking. We’ll be at Peiping inside an hour, right outside the walls. Sorry we have to go right through it, but we ought to connect with the train north with luck.”

  “What?” said Miss Dillaway, “aren’t we going to stop?”

  “Too bad, isn’t it?” Captain Hamby smiled at her. “We better get north, I think. My job is to get you north.” Miss Dillaway smiled back.

  “Anything you say,” she said, “but I’m sorry not to see Peiping.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Captain Hamby said, “you and I will see it some other time. Who wants a spot of breakfast?”

  “I’ve had mine, thanks,” Miss Dillaway said.

  “Well, I haven’t. Come on, Gates.” Captain Hamby slapped Calvin on the shoulder. “You’ll do better with some coffee, what?”

  They walked together to a greasy dining car full of cigarette smoke.

  “Too bad we have to hurry through,” Captain Hamby said. His glance moved about the dining car as though he could see everything at once. “No need of telling Miss Dillaway about last night and no need to be so jumpy, Gates. You’ve figured me out wrong.”

  “I’m sorry if I did,” Calvin said.

  “Well, all I want is to have things smooth,” said Captain Hamby. “Perhaps I was a bit put out last night, just a bit. We all have feelings, don’t we, Gates? Yes, I was put out, but when I came to think it over I saw that you were right. It only means we’re partners, don’t it, Gates? So I’m going to lay the cards right down. Frank and open, that’s my way. I’m nothing but an open book.” The Captain’s hard mouth creased into an ingratiating smile and he lighted a cigarette and allowed it to droop from his lower lip.

  “It takes a bit of doing here to get along,” he said. “I have a certain reputation, Gates. A lot of people when they want a job done think of Sam Hamby to do it. There’ll be a spot of cash in this for you, Gates, if we deliver that cigarette case to the proper party. Three thousand dollars gold, not mex. I want you on our side.”

  Calvin Gates looked thoughtfully across the table.

  “That’s quite a lot of money,” he said.

  “And all for you,” said Captain Hamby. “I want you on our side.”

  Captain Hamby’s eyes narrowed and he exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth.

  “Out in this country the way things are today anything can happen, anything does happen. If a pink elephant walked in here now I wouldn’t turn a hair. I would only say it’s China. Great place for a fellow to get along these days, if the fellow has the guts. Opium smuggling, gun running, bribery, war lords, bandits, spies—they’re all outside the window there. The sky’s the limit these days.”

  “I begin to think you’re right,” Calvin Gates agreed.

  “Righto,” said Captain Hamby cordially.

  He could not understand what Captain Hamby was talking about, but he listened as though he understood.

  “Facts,” Captain Hamby said, “I like facts—and you and I know ’em, I guess. Here’s China. Up there is Russia. Down there is Japan. Japan isn’t through with China. She started on China and she can’t stop now. Her Government is committed to dominate China and we know she’s ready for another move. There’s only one thing that makes her wait.”

  “Russia?” Calvin asked him.

  “Righto,” said Captain Hamby. “Russia doesn’t want it. You know that, but here’s something you don’t know. Russia’s got an army now. Let Japan start and Russia is going to strike her in the side and it won’t be on the Amur River either. My word, Gates, she’s going to move into Mongolia, and the first position she will occupy will be the hills at Ghuru Nor. My word, no fooling, she’s ready to do it, Gates.”

  “How do you know?” Calvin asked, but he was sure that Captain Hamby possessed some way of knowing. Hamby rubbed the side of his nose and smiled.

  “No harm telling you,” he said, “as long as you and I are traveling together. Ghuru Nor is only a day’s march from Outer Mongolia, and that’s the same as Russia. Russia will take that line of hills at Ghuru Nor and the road is clear to Kalgan. I know they’re ready for it, because the Prince has been paid to let ’em in. The main thing is to get there before the Japs m
ove in first. Do you get the picture now? Two divisions are up there waiting just one day’s march off—waiting for the proper information. Well, there’s where we come in.”

  “Where?” Calvin asked him, although he half knew where.

  “No harm telling you,” said Captain Hamby. “The Russian Intelligence is sending the message up to Ghuru Nor. It looks like the Japanese caught on, don’t it? Cipher can be decoded. They were using another system. Well, they got Boris good and proper. It was a spot of luck he lighted onto you. Anything you want to say?”

  Calvin Gates was silent for a moment, but he understood about the cigarette case now.

  “If you looked at that cigarette case,” he inquired, “could you tell what it meant? It’s nothing but an ordinary commercial article.”

  Captain Hamby’s reply was prompt and frank.

  “No,” he said, “I couldn’t; but my word, they can read it where it’s going. They’ll be waiting for it at Kalgan.”

  Captain Hamby’s glance darted about the dining car and rested on Calvin Gates. His face was cordial, but his glance was cool and distant.

  “Surprises me that you don’t ask something else,” he said. “This Japanese johnny, Mr. Moto, where does he fit in? The police want one thing, and Mr. Moto wants something else. What about Mr. Moto, Gates? I need to find that out.”

  “I don’t understand him,” Calvin agreed; “not any more than you.”

  Captain Hamby’s expression, though still agreeable, was less reassuring. He put another lump of sugar in his coffee and stirred it delicately; at the same time he began to hum a snatch of that refrain which seemed to have grafted itself like a disease upon his mind.

  “Smile, smile, smile.… I don’t like that coming from you after I’ve been on the up and up. You can’t think I’m so wooly in the head that I don’t know that Moto is one of the tidiest secret agents in Japan. I’ve seen Moto in Nanking and I’ve seen him in Shanghai, and wherever that little blighter goes, trouble comes right after him. Are you going to tell me about Mr. Moto, Gates?”

  The Captain’s expression was mocking but restrained. What this implied was so unexpected that Calvin Gates found it difficult to answer.

  “Look here,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re driving at. I’m going up to join the Gilbreth Expedition at Ghuru Nor. I’ve told you everything I know about Mr. Moto.”

  “Oh my,” said Captain Hamby. “So you don’t want to talk, eh? I’m giving you an out, Gates. I’m making you a proposition, don’t you see?”

  “No,” said Calvin Gates, “I don’t see”—and it was true. He had never been as completely nonplussed as he was when he studied Captain Hamby’s face across the table.

  “My word, it don’t do any good to bluff,” Captain Hamby said, and his voice was placating again. “We’re white men, Gates, and we’re the same sort of white men, looking out where our bread is buttered, aren’t we? My word, you had me puzzled for a while when I saw you there at Shan-hai-kuan. That confused look on your face, it was all done so neat and tidy. My word, it was, until you spoke of Mr. Moto. And then I saw the gun—tourists don’t carry guns.” Captain Hamby spoke more softly and tapped his blunt forefinger on the table emphasizing every word. “Moto gave you that case. You’re carrying it for him. It’s time to sell out, Gates, or else you can let me in. What does Moto want? Are the Japs moving in to Ghuru Nor?”

  The deliberate, unmusical tones of Captain Hamby’s voice struck into Calvin’s ears with an unpleasant physical sensation. At last he could understand completely what Captain Hamby meant. He might talk himself blue in the face and Hamby would not believe him. There was nothing for him to do but accept the situation.

  “I don’t know what Mr. Moto wants,” he said.

  “My word, fellow,” said Captain Hamby, “don’t you see your number’s up? Come now, I don’t know your history. Was it the army? I was cashiered myself. Or maybe it was larceny that got you here, taking somebody’s money, what? When the Japanese get their hands on a white man it’s always something like that. Tell it to your uncle, Gates. Some jam, eh what, and Mr. Moto comes along?”

  “I don’t know what he wants,” said Calvin Gates. The dining room suddenly seemed insufferably hot. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.

  “Got the wind up, have you, Gates?” Captain Hamby said. “Guessed it right, didn’t I? Come now, what’s Moto to you? I’m offering you three thousand gold to tell me what he wants.”

  Calvin Gates put his handkerchief back in his pocket. “I told you I don’t know what he wants,” he said.

  Captain Hamby’s lips pressed themselves tight together; his gray eyes had never looked colder.

  “So that’s the way it lies, is it, Gates? You won’t play in with me?”

  “I’ll paddle my own canoe, thanks,” said Calvin Gates.

  “Oh!” Captain Hamby’s face was ugly. “I’m not offering enough money, am I, Gates?”

  Captain Hamby rested his chin on the palm of his hand, and the wrinkles deepened about the corners of his eyes.

  “I don’t make it out,” he said. “You certainly have guts, Gates. I wonder if you know how much. It don’t pay to run afoul of me, not ever. You’re going to get what’s coming to you just as sure as fate.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Calvin said. Captain Hamby pushed back his chair.

  “Yes,” he said, “you’ve got guts. We know where we stand, don’t we, Gates? I hope you know what you’re doing. We better go back and get off the train. What’s the use of worrying, it never was worth while.”

  Captain Hamby walked out of the car in front of him, still humming his favorite tune.

  “While you’ve a lucifer to light your fag,” Captain Hamby was humming, “smile, boys, that’s the style.”

  But Calvin knew that Captain Hamby was not smiling. He could not forget Captain Hamby’s look as he had arisen from the table. The face had been as hard and as competent as ever, but somehow it had been marked by indecision. The day was sweltering hot but Calvin Gates felt cold.

  Miss Dillaway was in her compartment closing her bag.

  “Here,” said Captain Hamby, “let me lend a hand, Miss Dillaway.”

  Miss Dillaway smiled at him and it seemed to Calvin Gates that there was no reason to be so civil. He walked to his own compartment and sat there waiting. He still could not recover from his surprise at what Captain Hamby thought of him. Mr. Moto knew of him as a fugitive from justice and Captain Hamby considered him an employee of Japan.

  “I must tell Dillaway,” he murmured to himself. “Dillaway will think that’s funny.”

  He sat by the window trying to think. Outside he could see a long gray city wall and he did not need to be told what wall it was. The train had reached Peiping.

  The guidebook had told Calvin Gates a few facts, but it had been his experience that facts very seldom conveyed much useful information. The guidebook had informed him that the Peiping-Mukden line on which they were traveling arrived at the Chien Men East Station which lay inside the Chinese City and just south of the Tartar City Wall. Kalgan, where they were going, was reached by a different railroad, the Peiping-Suiyuan line, and it would be necessary to travel across the city to make the connection. He did not know the dramatic intricacies of the city of Peiping, where walls and gates divided the whole area into quarters like armed camps and where the houses themselves and parts of houses stood behind more walls, making Peiping the most private, remote and mysterious city in the world. He had not even heard, or if he had he could not understand the significance, of the Chinese City, the Tartar City, the Imperial City, and finally the Forbidden City in the center of it all, a vacant shell where the yellow tiled roofs, the pavilions and palaces of a dead empire shone behind high pink stuccoed walls.

  The facts conveyed nothing until he got off the train, and then he saw the massive wall of slate-colored brick, a huge curtain of defense towering above the train shed—a last remnant of the barbaric magnifice
nce of Peiping, when it had been the center of the greatest empire in the world.

  He stood with his trench coat over his arm momentarily forgotten by everyone while the Chinese porters, their breaths heavy with garlic and their shaven heads and faces dripping with perspiration, piled the baggage out of the car and strapped it across their shoulders. Captain Hamby must have sent word ahead, because it was evident that they had been expected. A tall gaunt Chinese in a black silk robe had come running on slippered feet to the Captain the moment they were off the train, and Captain Hamby had moved a yard or so away with him, and now the Captain was talking volubly and earnestly in Chinese, occasionally moving his hand in a quick gesture. Calvin knew that he and Miss Dillaway formed a part of the conversation, for he saw that black solemn man glance towards them once or twice.

  Again Calvin Gates had a helpless feeling. The startling brilliance of the sun, the round, well-fed faces of the khaki-clad Chinese police, the blue and black Chinese gowns, the chatter of the porters and hotel runners while the passengers descended in a steady stream and moved toward the station gate—all had a menacing aspect.

  Those strange sights and the aching of his head and the bright sunlight must have made him stupid, for he did not realize that anything was wrong until Captain Hamby had left him standing on the station platform with Miss Dillaway. Then he saw that something had upset her. She had been happy enough that morning, but now her face was pale and drawn.

  “Gates,” she began, and stopped, and her voice as much as her face startled him. She was looking at him strangely, no longer as a friend might look, but curiously and with a sort of compassion. Something surely had happened in those last minutes on the train, but he could think of nothing which had been unusual.

  “Dillaway,” he said, “what is it?” And he took her by the arm, but she wrenched her arm away.

  “Look here,” said Calvin Gates. “What is it?”

  Her eyes looked back at him in that startled, curious way.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said. “Don’t you ever dare to touch me. Captain Hamby’s told me, Gates.”