Eva Hitchings was looking at him incredulously.
“You really think I am such a cad as that?” she repeated. “Yesterday I thought your precious family was engaged in this whole business, because Mr. Wilkie told me so, and now I know they are not. I don’t tell lies. The Hitchingses are decent people even if I don’t like them. I am afraid I don’t know many decent people.”
Wilson moved toward her, surprised that all his resentment was gone.
“Do you mean that?” he asked her, quickly. “Do you mean that about the family?”
“Yes,” she said. “You are part of it, aren’t you? You are the only part I have ever seen. Except my father.”
There was no doubt that she was telling the truth then—that she had always told the truth; and vaguely she was part of the family. Without actually knowing that he was going to do it, Wilson took her hand.
“It might be better if you told me what you know,” he said.
She did not draw her hand away.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”
“Thanks,” said Wilson, quickly. “Now quickly, before Mr. Moto gets here,—I don’t know what’s keeping him, but thank Heaven he is taking his time,—tell me what you know about this. The money is deposited in the Hitchings Bank. It is drawn out and brought to Hitchings Plantation. Then someone gets on this sampan and catches a vessel out at sea. What happens at the Plantation, Eva?”
Her fingers closed on his more tightly.
“You almost guessed,” she said. “You would have guessed in a little while. They bring the money up a little at a time. It is lost across the table to certain persons or the house. You guessed it was a crooked wheel and I have guessed it too. Three or four win the money but it never goes out of the house. It’s put in the safe. Then once in so often the same man comes, a dark man, a Russian, I think, and he wins more one night. Then he takes all the money in the safe and goes away. I never knew about the boat. I just knew about the crooked wheel and the money being lost.”
Wilson thought for a moment and everything was very clear.
“That ties it,” he said. “We’ve got the story now. Is a lot of money lost, Eva?”
“Yes,” she said. “A lot over a period of weeks, but gradually. I didn’t notice it at first because the house gets a profit just the same. The house is paid, whether it wins or loses. That’s what I noticed first.”
“And the money goes out to-night?” Wilson said.
“Yes,” said Eva Hitchings. “It seems that way. A lot of money.”
“All right,” said Wilson. “That’s the story. I wish I had known it sooner. Listen to me, Eva. The money must go out to-night. There mustn’t be any trouble. Mr. Moto mustn’t make any trouble. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t. I thought you wanted to stop it. Of course, I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you see?” Wilson’s voice was urgent because he saw it perfectly. “The money must go out and there will be no trouble. Everything can be arranged quietly once the money is out. If there is no hitch, there will be no scandal—nothing. I can arrange with Mr. Wilkie after that. I wish to Heaven they had told me, but I suppose they didn’t think I knew so much. It’s the Bank I am thinking about—the family. I don’t care a tinker’s damn about their money. Let the bandits have it in Manchuria as long as no one hears about it. It isn’t a matter for the police, you understand. If Mr. Moto learns any more, he can say enough to ruin the Bank and I don’t trust him, Eva. And you come in it too. No one will know that you are involved in this, if the money goes out to-night. Don’t you see? Do you know what I am going to do?”
“No,” she answered. “What?”
Wilson Hitchings drew in his breath.
“I don’t like it, but I am going to do it. As soon as we get ashore, we are going to the Plantation. I am going to see Mr. Wilkie, or whoever is running this and I think I know who it is. At any rate, I am going to warn them how much Mr. Moto knows. I don’t like it because Mr. Moto has taken me into his confidence. At the same time, it might very well save his life. They tried to shoot him last night and then they tried to poison him. They’ll leave him alone now. They’ll be too anxious to get that money away before they catch him. Mr. Moto is not going to get hurt. No one will get hurt. When it is all over, Mr. Moto can stop the money from going into Manchuria. I can save Mr. Moto’s face, as they say in China. Do you see what I mean?”
“You mean you are not going to hurt anybody?” Eva Hitchings said.
“Yes, that’s just what I mean,” Wilson Hitchings told her. “Not Moto—I like Moto; not even Mr. Wilkie—as long as the Bank is out of this. It’s the only possible thing I can do and the best for everybody. I am thinking of the family.”
“Are you always thinking of the family?” Eva Hitchings asked.
“Almost always,” Wilson said. “But I am thinking of you too.”
Eva Hitchings smiled faintly. But not too anxiously, she said, “I’m not as delicate as a bank.”
“Yes,” said Wilson Hitchings. “I suppose that is true.”
The smile on her lips grew broader and her eyes were mocking.
“You are not very gallant, are you?” she said. “When it comes to Hitchings Brothers, you haven’t got much sense of humor.”
At first Wilson did not understand why she had taken his statement personally. The family banking house was too nearly a part of himself for him to be patient when it was treated lightly. He wanted to explain to her that a bank’s reputation was at the present day, at any rate, more fragile than a woman’s. In the disastrous years of the depression, he had seen how rumor could destroy faith. If a rumor should gain credence that Hitchings Brothers, even indirectly, had been engaged in financing dubious political groups, the whole credit of the firm would fall into disrepute, particularly when financial competition was growing heavy in the East.
“You are right,” he admitted. “I have no sense of humor when it comes to Hitchings Brothers. I don’t suppose I have much, at any rate. But when you are brought up in a certain mold, you can’t laugh about that mold. I wish you could understand how serious this is. Japan is gaining a very strong commercial hold in the East. Japanese financiers who are competing against us would give a good deal to hear how Hitchings Brothers are involved. Mr. Moto is a Japanese. We can’t hope that he’ll be quiet—”
She must have been impressed by something he had said, for she was entirely serious again.
“You mean you would allow yourself to be implicated in this mess, to help the family?” she asked.
Wilson Hitchings sighed and nodded.
“I hate it worse than poison,” he agreed. “I hate being in this thing. I hate having you in it. The only thing that anyone can do is to rely on his best judgment. This seems to me the best way out, that’s all.”
“You don’t think much about yourself, do you?” she asked.
“No,” Wilson Hitchings said. “I haven’t had much time.”
Eva Hitchings moved her shoulders impatiently. Her eyes as she looked at him were wide and dark.
“I wonder if you will ever have time to think about yourself,” she said. “I wonder if you will ever have the time really to be yourself. You’re not so attractive when you are part of a machine. I wish I could get you away from it. I like you when you forget. What would you do right now, if you and I were ordinary people? If we were just out here looking at the sea? If there wasn’t any family?”
Wilson Hitchings looked back at her, and in spite of himself the idea amused him.
“If there wasn’t any family,” he said, “if you weren’t the hostess at the Hitchings Plantation, I’d tell you that you are one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen. I might even go as far as to say, probably incorrectly, that you are one of the nicest girls that I have ever known. I’d probably be quite foolish about you because I wouldn’t have to think. I’d ask you to give me as much time as possible while I was staying here. I should ask you to have d
inner with me to-night. I might even ask you to come back to Shanghai. I should tell you quite irrationally that you are the sort of person I have always been looking for. You are in a way, although I don’t know exactly why.”
“I should certainly change you,” Eva Hitchings said. “You wouldn’t know yourself when I got through with you. You wouldn’t know yourself even in the mirror.”
“Well, I don’t suppose I should mind very much,” Wilson Hitchings said. “Naturally I would try to change you too.”
“I shouldn’t mind either,” Eva Hitchings answered, “but what would your family say?” Wilson Hitchings began to laugh and the shadows left his mind.
“I imagine they would say a good deal,” he answered. The idea was new and it interested him. “I imagine they would be very much surprised.” Then Eva Hitchings was laughing too.
“You’re nicer now,” she said.
“Be careful!” Wilson told her. “Here comes Mr. Moto. Eva, you won’t let me down?” Her hand closed over his.
“No,” she whispered. “I won’t let you down.… Why, Mr. Moto, where have you been?”
Mr. Moto rubbed his hands together.
“I have been telling the boy to bring us some whisky and soda,” he said. “It will be so very refreshing, don’t you think so? There is a coolness on the water when the sun drops and the sun drops in these latitudes so very, very fast.”
Mr. Moto was imperturbable and smiling and Wilson could not tell what Mr. Moto thought. He even had a moment’s suspicion that Mr. Moto had deliberately left him alone with Eva Hitchings.
Kito had come from the cabin bringing a tray and glasses.
“Here’s looking at you,” Mr. Moto said. “It is so very nice the way you say it in America. But I do not know what it means.”
“Neither do I,” Wilson said, and he looked at Mr. Moto over the rim of his glass.
“But even so,” said Mr. Moto, “the expression is very, very nice and the day is very, very nice like a painting upon silk. Do you know our Japanese artists? I think we have had some of the greatest painters in the world.”
As though nothing else were on his mind, Mr. Moto seated himself and began discoursing on the culture of Japan. He seemed lost in the subject, as he sat there talking, making nervous little gestures with his fingers, as if he were painting one of the pictures of which he spoke.
“Yes,” Wilson heard him say, “they are beautiful; very, very beautiful.”
He could not help thinking, as he sat there listening, that Mr. Moto was a most amazing man. Mr. Moto was talking of pictures, while Wilson was sitting doggedly, trying to match his wits against Mr. Moto, trying to gauge in his own mind how much Mr. Moto knew. It was like a bridge game when one tried to place the cards in one’s opponent’s hands. How much did Mr. Moto know? He suspected a great deal, but how much did he know? Wilson could only conjecture, but he was quite sure that Mr. Moto did not know as much as he did. He was very sure, for instance, that Mr. Moto did not know that Mr. Chang had left Shanghai; and the knowledge was a card in Wilson’s hand. Mr. Moto might have guessed everything but he needed knowledge still. He needed definite facts and he must not learn the facts.
“If you will excuse me, please,” Mr. Moto was saying, “my nation’s art is something which I can understand. To me it is reality. Now with your art it is different, please. I have been to so many of your great galleries in Europe. I have tried so hard to appreciate but always there is something which eludes me. So often your artists avoid the facts, the small details, as though they were not pleasant.” Mr. Moto took a sip of his whisky and smiled. “Do you avoid the facts, Mr. Hitchings? Do you, Miss Hitchings?”
The suddenness of Mr. Moto’s question took Wilson off his guard. He could almost believe that Mr. Moto had been guessing his thoughts while he had been talking.
“I try to deal with reality,” Wilson Hitchings said, and Eva Hitchings did not answer.
“I am very, very glad,” said Mr. Moto. “Thank you very much. Excuse me, but could I help you, Mr. Hitchings? We both think so very much. Might I ask what you are dealing with just now?”
Wilson tried to keep his own thoughts steady. When it came to matching his wits with Mr. Moto, he felt like an amateur boxer in the ring with a professional, completely aware of his lack of subtlety, and of his dullness of perception.
“Suppose you guess,” he invited, “and I’ll tell you if you are right.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Moto. “That will be very amusing.”
“I guess that you are worried, Mr. Hitchings. You are not the sort to be worried about yourself. You are worried about your Bank. I am so very, very sorry.”
If Mr. Moto was not to guess too much, Wilson knew that he must tell the truth as nearly as was possible.
“Wouldn’t you be worried, Mr. Moto,” he inquired, “if you found that the Branch Manager of your family’s banking house had mixed himself in a mess like this?”
“I should be very, very worried,” Mr. Moto said. “It is very hard for you and I am very sorry. I wonder what you are going to do? Nothing, I hope that is rash, please—nothing that is foolish.”
“No,” said Wilson. “I am not going to do anything foolish, Mr. Moto. There is nothing I can do. Things are bad enough already. You were right when you told me to keep quietly out of this. The less I am seen in this, the better, Mr. Moto.”
Mr. Moto nodded his head genially.
“Please,” he said, “I am so very, very glad. So glad you see so clearly now. So glad you will do nothing foolish when you get on shore. You can see now how dangerous it is; and Miss Hitchings, she will do nothing, also?”
“Not if I can help it,” Wilson said. “I hope Miss Hitchings will let me look after her.”
“Please,” said Mr. Moto. “I am so very, very glad. You see, everything is so very nearly finished. It has been difficult, since these men have not been very nice. I hope so much they will not trouble you after this evening. You will leave that to me, I hope. When I get ashore I wish to go completely unobserved. And now, Miss Hitchings, will you do me a favor, please?”
“What is it?” Eva asked. Wilson felt his heart give an unexpected leap. Mr. Moto had drawn a photograph from his pocket.
“Miss Hitchings, you see so many interesting people in that very interesting house of yours,” Mr. Moto said. “Please, have you ever seen the man in this picture there? It would save so much trouble if you have seen him. It is the only thing of which I wish to be entirely sure.”
Eva Hitchings was looking at the photograph, holding it carefully in both hands. Wilson wished to give her some signal but he did not dare. She frowned, studying the picture.
“I have seen a number of people like him,” she said. “He seems very well dressed and dark. He is a rather good example of a certain type, but I don’t think I have seen exactly that man before.”
Mr. Moto sighed.
“I am sorry,” he said, “so very, very sorry. I think he is the man who will be carrying the money. I think—but I must be sure. I must go to look, myself. And now, there is only one thing more.”
“What is it?” asked Wilson Hitchings.
Mr. Moto stood up.
“When you get ashore,” Mr. Moto said, “please, I beg you to do nothing. It would be very, very nice, I think, if you went quietly to your hotel and dined, but do not go near the Plantation. Neither of you, please. It will not be very nice out there to-night. They will be so very anxious to get this money on the boat. Remember, you must do nothing, Mr. Hitchings.”
“Yes,” said Wilson. “I’ll remember.”
“I am so glad,” Mr. Moto said. “And now, if you will excuse me, I shall go forward to start the engine. No, please, do not bother, Mr. Hitchings. I shall need no help. Will you stand by the wheel, please? It will be growing dark in a very little while.”
Mr. Moto moved away, forward, and Wilson looked at Eva Hitchings.
“Thanks,” he said, “for not letting me down. Did you kn
ow the man in that picture, Eva?”
She nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He’s the man, the one who takes the money.”
“Well,” said Wilson. “Moto mustn’t see him. We’ve got to tell them, Eva. I hate it. But we’ve got to tell them.”
CHAPTER XII
There was no difficulty in getting the sampan back. The cool efficiency of Mr. Moto, which seemed to make him at home in any situation, made everything move perfectly without any sense of effort.
“Thank you so much for being so polite,” Mr. Moto said. “Yes, I can do many, many things. I can mix drinks and wait on table, and I am a very good valet. I can navigate and manage small boats. I have studied at two foreign universities. I also know carpentry and surveying and five Chinese dialects. So very many things come in useful. Ah, there are the lights in line. You steer so very nicely, Mr. Hitchings.”
“Thanks,” said Wilson. “Yes, Mr. Moto, you are a useful man.”
“It is so very nice to have you say so,” Mr. Moto said. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I think I should go back to the engines, please.”
Everything ran smoothly except Wilson Hitchings’ thoughts and those made him hate himself because he had not been frank with Mr. Moto. He had not realized how much he had grown to like the man who was so different from himself in race and in tradition. He liked him for his courage. He liked him for his wit. And Mr. Moto trusted him—that was the worst of all. Eva Hitchings stood beside him near the wheel and her presence gave him an unexpected sense of security.
“I feel like Judas Iscariot,” Wilson Hitchings said.
“Yes,” she said. “I know the way you feel.”
“But you understand me, don’t you?” he asked.
He saw her face near his, white and shadowy in the dark.
“Do you care if I understand?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
“I am glad of that,” she answered.
He was convinced that he should not feel about her the way he did. It complicated matters and had nothing to do with actuality, but it made no difference.
Think Fast, Mr. Moto Page 16