Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  Hallet turned to Amos. “How long did it take you to reach here, Mr. Winterslip?” he inquired.

  “Not more than ten minutes,” said Amos.

  “You could dress and get here in that time?”

  Amos hesitated. “I—I did not need to dress,” he explained. “I hadn’t gone to bed.”

  Hallet regarded him with a new interest. “Half past one—and you were still up?”

  “I—I don’t sleep very well,” said Amos. “I’m up till all hours.”

  “I see. You weren’t on friendly terms with your brother? An old quarrel between you?”

  “No particular quarrel. I didn’t approve of his manner of living, and we went separate ways.”

  “And stopped speaking to each other, eh?”

  “Yes. That was the situation,” Amos admitted.

  “Humph.” For a moment the captain stared at Amos, and Miss Minerva stared at him too. Amos! It flashed through her mind that Amos had been a long time alone out there on the lanai before the arrival of the police.

  “Those two servants who came down-stairs with you, Miss Winterslip,” Hallet said. “I’ll see them now. The others can go over until morning.”

  Haku and Kamaikui appeared, frightened and wide-eyed. The Jap had nothing to tell, he had been sleeping soundly from nine until the moment Miss Minerva knocked on his door. He swore it. But Kamaikui had something to contribute.

  “I come here with fruit.” She pointed to a basket on the table. “On lanai out there are talking—Mr. Dan, a man, a woman. Oh, very much angry.”

  “What time was that?” Hallet asked.

  “Ten o’clock I think.”

  “Did you recognize any voice except your master’s?”

  Miss Minerva thought the woman hesitated a second. “No. I do not.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Maybe eleven o’clock. I am sitting close to window up-stairs. More talking on lanai. Mr. Dan and other man. Not so much angry this time.”

  “At eleven, eh? Do you know Mr. Jim Egan?”

  “I have seen him.”

  “Could you say if it was his voice?”

  “I could not say.”

  “All right. You two can go now.” He turned to Miss Minerva and Amos. “We’ll see what Charlie has dug up out here,” he said, and led the way to the lanai.

  The huge Chinese man knelt, a grotesque figure, by a table. He rose laboriously as they entered.

  “Find the knife, Charlie?” the captain asked.

  Chan shook his head. “No knife are present in neighborhood of crime,” he announced.

  “On that table,” Miss Minerva began, “there was a Malay kris, used as a paper cutter—”

  The Chinaman nodded, and lifted the kris from the desk. “Same remains here still,” he said, “untouched, unsullied. Person who killed carried individual weapon.”

  “How about finger-prints?” asked Hallet.

  “Considering from recent discovery,” Chan replied, “search for finger-prints are hopeless one.” He held out a pudgy hand, in the palm of which lay a small pearl button. “Torn from kid’s glove,” he elucidated. “Aged trick of criminal mind. No fingerprints.”

  “Is that all you’ve got?” asked his chief.

  “Most sincere endeavors,” said Chan, “have revealed not much. However, I might mention this.” He took up a leatherbound book from the table. “Here are written names of visitors who have enjoyed hospitality of the house. A guest book is, I believe, the term. You will find that one of the earlier pages has been ruthlessly torn out. When I make discovery the volume are lying open at that locality.”

  Captain Hallet took the book in his thin hand. “All right, Charlie,” he said. “This is your case.”

  The slant eyes blinked with pleasure. “Most interesting,” murmured Chan.

  Hallet tapped the note-book in his pocket. “I’ve got a few facts here for you—we’ll run over them later.” He stood for a moment, staring about the lanai. “I must say we seem a little shy on clues. A button torn from a glove, a page ripped from a guest book. And a wrist watch with an illuminated dial on which the figure 2 was damaged.” Chan’s little eyes widened at mention of that. “Not much, Charlie, so far.”

  “Maybe more to come,” suggested the Chinaman. “Who knows it?”

  “We’ll go along now,” Hallet continued. He turned to Miss Minerva and Amos. “I guess you folks would like a little rest. We’ll have to trouble you again to-morrow.”

  Miss Minerva faced the Chinaman. “The person who did this must be apprehended,” she said firmly.

  He looked at her sleepily. “What is to be, will be,” he replied in a high, sing-song voice.

  “I know—that’s your Confucius,” she snapped. “But it’s a do-nothing doctrine, and I don’t approve of it.”

  A faint smile flickered over the Chinaman’s face. “Do not fear,” he said. “The fates are busy, and man may do much to assist. I promise you there will be no do-nothing here.” He came closer. “Humbly asking pardon to mention it, I detect in your eyes slight flame of hostility. Quench it, if you will be so kind. Friendly cooperation are essential between us.” Despite his girth, he managed a deep bow. “Wishing you good morning,” he added, and followed Hallet.64

  Miss Minerva turned weakly to Amos. “Well, of all things—”

  “Don’t you worry about Charlie,” Amos said. “He has a reputation for getting his man. Now you go to bed. I’ll stay here and notify the—the proper people.”

  “Well, I will lie down for a little while,” Miss Minerva said. “I shall have to go early to the dock. Poor Barbara! And there’s John Quincy coming too.” A grim smile crossed her face. “I’m afraid John Quincy won’t approve of this.”

  She saw from her bedroom window that the night was breaking, the rakish cocoanut palms and the hau tree were wrapped in a gray mist. Changing her dress for a kimono, she lay down under the mosquito netting on the bed. She slept but briefly, however, and presently was at her window again. Day had come, the mist had lifted, and it was a rose and emerald world that sparkled before her tired eyes.

  The freshness of that scene revivified her. The trades were blowing now—poor Dan, he had so longed for their return. The night, she saw, had worked its magic on the blossoms of the hau tree, transformed them from yellow to a rich mahogany; through the morning they would drop one by one upon the sand. In a distant algaroba a flock of myna birds screamed at the new day. A party of swimmers appeared from a neighboring cottage and plunged gaily into the surf.

  A gentle knock sounded on the door, and Kamaikui entered. She placed a small object in Miss Minerva’s hand.

  Miss Minerva looked down. She saw a quaint old piece of jewelry, a brooch. Against a background of onyx stood the outline of a tree, with emeralds forming the leaves, rubies the fruit, and a frost of diamonds over all.

  “What is this, Kamaikui?” she asked.

  “Many, many years Mr. Dan have that. One month ago he gives it to a woman down the beach.”

  Miss Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “To the woman they call the Widow of Waikiki?”

  “To her, yes.”

  “How do you happen to have it, Kamaikui?”

  “I pick it up from floor of lanai. Before policemen come.”

  “Very good.” Miss Minerva nodded. “Say nothing of this, Kamaikui. I will attend to the matter.”

  “Yes. Of course.” The woman went out.

  Miss Minerva sat very still, staring down at that odd bit of jewelry in her hand. It must date back to the ’eighties, at least.

  Close above the house sounded the loud whir of an aeroplane. Miss Minerva turned again to the window. A young lieutenant in the air service, in love with a sweet girl on the beach, was accustomed to serenade her thus every morning at dawn. His thoughtfulness was not appreciated by many innocent bystanders, but Miss Minerva’s eyes were sympathetic as she watched him sweep exultantly out, far out, over the harbor.

  Youth and love, the beginn
ing of life. And on that cot down on the lanai, Dan—and the end.

  61.Indeed, there was a police department. County police departments were established in 1905. A. M. Brown served as sheriff of Honolulu, 1905–1906, Curtis P. Iaukea, 1907–1909, William P. Jarrett, 1910-1914, Charles G. Rose, 1915–1923, David K. Trask, 1924–1926, and David L. Desha, from 1927 until the job was abolished in 1931. In 1931, the Honolulu Police Department was formed, and Charles F. Weeber was appointed as the Chief of Police by the newly created Police Commission. In 1898, when the model for Charlie Chan, Chang Apana, joined the force, it numbered more than 200 men, with principally Hawaiian officers and white supervisors. For more on Apana, see p. xv, and note 63, as well as the excellent Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous with American History by Yuente Huang (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010).

  62.A dagger, with hilt and sheath.

  A Malay kris and scabard

  63.The discovery of gold in California in mid-century led to a wave of Chinese immigration. Only 325 Chinese arrived in 1849, but over 20,000 immigrated in 1852, and by 1870, the Chinese population of the United States was estimated at about 63,000 (with almost 80 percent in California). Forbidden by law from obtaining citizenship (as were all who were “nonwhite”), the Chinese gold miners were taxed heavily but largely resented. By the mid-1860s, the Chinese were incorporated into the workforce of the railroads and pressed into the work on the transcontinental rail project. When that work ended, thousands of Chinese rail workers were unemployed, but many were scooped up by other industries as cheap labor, leading to resentment among white workers. Vigilante violence erupted, and anti-Chinese legislation was widely enacted, including An Act to Discourage the Immigration to this State of Persons Who Cannot Become Citizens Thereof (1855). In 1862, Governor Leland Stanford decried “the presence among us of a degraded and distinct people” and called for legislation against the Chinese.

  Nor were these sentiments limited to California. In 1882, Congress passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, suspending the immigration of Chinese laborers for ten years and confirming that the Chinese immigrants were ineligible for citizenship. This law was renewed in 1892 and 1902, and in 1924, in the so-called Johnson-Reed Act (the Immigration Act of 1924), the exclusion was affirmed and expanded to forbid entry into the United States of anyone ineligible for citizenship. The ban on Chinese immigration lasted until 1943.

  According to the U.S. Census (which of course did not include Hawaii prior to annexation), Chinese population of the United States peaked in 1890, at over 107,000. It then began to drop steadily, so that by 1920, it shrank to just over 60,000. By the 1930 census, it began to grow again. In contrast, according to the 1920 census, Hawaii had a huge Asian population, with over 40 percent Japanese and almost 10 percent Chinese.

  When Chang Apana joined the Honolulu police force in 1898, he was the only Chinese officer, out of a force of over 200; by 1925, however, the presence of a Chinese officer on the force would have been no surprise to a long-time resident of Honolulu. Minerva’s dramatic response is that of a mainlander—less than 0.2 percent of the U.S. population in 1920 were Chinese.

  64.Chan’s mode of speech has been incorrectly characterized as “pidgin English” and widely aped in popular culture. That is unfair: Chan (as John Quincy acknowledges later) aspires to a level of articulation not then found in the average Chinese resident of Hawaii. This point was made by Chester A. Doyle, who handled “oriental criminals” for the Hawaii police department, in a letter to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin dated December 7, 1935: “No Chinese, unless he was an educated Chinese mandarin of Canton, China, would use the language attributed to the Chinese detective . . .”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Steamer Day

  Out in the harbor, by the channel entrance, the President Tyler stood motionless as Diamond Head, and from his post near the rail outside his stateroom, John Quincy Winterslip took his first look at Honolulu. He had no feeling of having been here before; this was an alien land. Several miles away he saw the line of piers and unlovely warehouses that marked the water-front; beyond that lay a vast expanse of brilliant green pierced here and there by the top of a modest skyscraper. Back of the city a range of mountains stood on guard, peaks of crystal blue against the azure sky.

  A trim little launch from Quarantine chugged importantly up to the big liner’s side, and a doctor in a khaki uniform ran briskly up the accommodation ladder to the deck not far from where the boy stood. John Quincy wondered at the man’s vitality. He felt like a spent force himself. The air was moist and heavy, the breeze the ship had stirred in moving gone for ever. The flood of energy that had swept over him in San Francisco was but a happy memory now. He leaned wearily on the rail, staring at the bright tropical landscape before him—and not seeing it at all.

  He saw instead a quiet, well-furnished Boston office where at this very moment the typewriters were clicking amiably and the stock ticker was busily writing the story of another day. In a few hours—there was a considerable difference of time—the market would close and the men he knew would be piling into automobiles and heading for the nearest country club. A round of golf, then a calm, perfectly served dinner, and after that a quiet evening with a book. Life running along as it was meant to go, without rude interruption or disturbing incident; life devoid of ohia wood boxes, attic encounters, unwillingly witnessed love scenes, cousins with blackbirding pasts. Suddenly John Quincy remembered, this was the morning when he must look Dan Winterslip in the eye and tell him he had been a bit dilatory with his fists. Oh, well—he straightened resolutely—the sooner that was done, the better.

  Harry Jennison came along the deck, smiling and vigorous, clad in spotless white from head to foot. “Here we are,” he cried. “On the threshold of paradise!”

  “Think so?” said John Quincy.

  “Know it,” Jennison answered. “Only place in the world, these islands. You remember what Mark Twain said—”65

  “Ever visited Boston?” John Quincy cut in.

  “Once,” replied Jennison briefly. “That’s Punch Bowl Hill back of the town—and Tantalus beyond. Take you up to the summit some day—wonderful view. See that tallest building?66 The Van Patten Trust Company—my office is on the top floor. Only drawback about getting home—I’ll have to go to work again.”

  “I don’t see how any one can work in this climate,” John Quincy said.

  “Oh, well, we take it easy. Can’t manage the pace of you mainland people. Every now and then some go-getter from the States comes out here and tries to hustle us.” He laughed. “He dies of disgust and we bury him in a leisurely way. Been down to breakfast?”

  John Quincy accompanied him to the dining saloon. Madame Maynard and Barbara were at the table. The old lady’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled; Barbara, too, was in her gayest mood. The excitement of coming home had made her very happy—or was her happiness all due to that? John Quincy noted her smile of greeting for Jennison, and rather wished he knew less than he did.

  “Prepare for a thrill, John Quincy,” the girl said. “Landing in Hawaii is like landing nowhere else on the globe.67 Of course, this is a through boat, and it isn’t welcomed as the Matson liners are. But there’ll be a crowd waiting for the Matsonia this morning, and we’ll steal a little of her aloha.”

  “A little of her what?” inquired John Quincy.

  “Aloha—meaning loving welcome.68 You shall have all my leis, John Quincy. Just to show you how glad Honolulu is you’ve come at last.”

  The boy turned to Madame Maynard. “I suppose this is an old story to you?”

  “Bless you, my boy,” she said. “It’s always new. A hundred and twenty-eight times—yet I’m as thrilled as though I were coming home from college.” She sighed. “A hundred and twenty-eight times. So many of those who once hung leis about my neck are gone for ever now. They’ll not be waiting for me—not on this dock.”

  “None of that,” Barbara chided. “Only hap
py thoughts this morning. It’s steamer day.”

  Nobody seemed hungry, and breakfast was a sketchy affair. John Quincy returned to his cabin to find Bowker strapping up his luggage.

  “I guess you’re all ready, sir,” said the steward. “I finished that book last night, and you’ll find it in your suitcase. We’ll be moving on to the dock shortly. All good luck to you—and don’t forget about the okolehau.”

  “It’s graven on my memory,” smiled John Quincy. “Here—this is for you.”

  Bowker glanced at the banknote and pocketed it. “You’re mighty kind, sir,” he remarked feelingly. “That will sort of balance up the dollar each I’ll get from those two missionaries when we reach China—if I’m lucky. Of course, it’s rather distasteful to me to accept anything. From a friend of Tim’s, you know.”

  “Oh, that’s for value received,” said John Quincy, and followed Bowker on deck.

  “There she is,” announced Bowker, pausing by the rail. “Honolulu. The South Seas with a collar on, driving a Ford car. Polynesia with a private still and all the other benefits of the white man’s civilization. We’ll go out at eight to-night, thank heaven.”

  “Paradise doesn’t appeal to you,” suggested John Quincy.

  “No. Nor any other of these bright-colored lands my poor old feet must tread. I’m getting fed up, sir.” He came closer. “I want to hang my hat somewhere and leave it there. I want to buy a little newspaper in some country town and starve to death on the proceeds of running it. What a happy finish! Well, maybe I can manage it, before long.”

  “I hope so,” said John Quincy.

  “I hope so, too,” said Bowker. “Here’s wishing you a happy time in Honolulu. And one other word of warning—don’t linger there.”

  “I don’t intend to,” John Quincy assured him.

  “That’s the talk. It’s one of those places—you know—dangerous. Lotus on the menu every day.69 The first thing you know, you’ve forgot where you put your trunk. So long, sir.”