Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  With a wave of the hand, Tim’s friend disappeared down the deck. Amid much confusion, John Quincy took his place in line for the doctor’s inspection, passed the careful scrutiny of an immigration official who finally admitted that maybe Boston was in the Union, and was then left to his own devices and his long, long thoughts.

  The President Tyler was moving slowly toward the shore. Excited figures scurried about her decks, pausing now and then to stare through lifted glasses at the land. John Quincy perceived that early though the hour was, the pier toward which they were heading was alive with people. Barbara came and stood by his side.

  “Poor old dad,” she said, “he’s been struggling along without me for nine months. This will be a big morning in his life. You’ll like dad, John Quincy.”

  “I’m sure I shall,” he answered heartily.

  “Dad’s one of the finest—” Jennison joined them. “Harry, I meant to tell the steward to take my luggage ashore when we land.”

  “I told him,” Jennison said. “I tipped him, too.”

  “Thanks,” the girl replied. “I was so excited, I forgot.”

  She leaned eagerly over the rail, peering at the dock. Her eyes were shining. “I don’t see him yet,” she said. They were near enough now to hear the voices of those ashore, gay voices calling flippant greetings. The big ship edged gingerly closer.

  “There’s Aunt Minerva,” cried John Quincy suddenly. That little touch of home in the throng was very pleasant. “Is that your father with her?” He indicated a tall anemic man at Minerva’s side.

  “I don’t see—where—” Barbara began. “Oh—that—why, that’s Uncle Amos!”

  “Oh, is that Amos?” remarked John Quincy, without interest. But Barbara had gripped his arm, and as he turned he saw a wild alarm in her eyes.

  “What do you suppose that means?” she cried. “I don’t see dad. I don’t see him anywhere.”

  “Oh, he’s in that crowd somewhere—”

  “No, no—you don’t understand! Uncle Amos! I’m—I’m frightened.”

  John Quincy didn’t gather what it was all about, and there was no time to find out. Jennison was pushing ahead through the crowd, making a path for Barbara, and the boy meekly brought up the rear. They were among the first down the plank. Miss Minerva and Amos were waiting at the foot.

  “My dear.” Miss Minerva put her arms about the girl and kissed her gently. She turned to John Quincy. “Well, here you are—”

  There was something lacking in this welcome. John Quincy sensed it at once.

  “Where’s dad?” Barbara cried.

  “I’ll explain in the car—” Miss Minerva began.

  “No, now! Now! I must know now!”

  The crowd was surging about them, calling happy greetings, the Royal Hawaiian Band was playing a gay tune, carnival was in the air.

  “Your father is dead, my dear,” said Miss Minerva.

  John Quincy saw the girl’s slim figure sway gently, but it was Harry Jennison’s strong arm that caught her.70

  For a moment she stood, with Jennison’s arm about her. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready to go home.” And walked like a true Winterslip toward the street.

  Amos melted away into the crowd, but Jennison accompanied them to the car. “I’ll go out with you,” he said to Barbara. She did not seem to hear. The four of them entered the limousine, and in another moment the happy clamor of steamer day was left behind.

  No one spoke. The curtains of the car were drawn, but a warm streak of sunlight fell across John Quincy’s knees. He was a little dazed. Shocking, this news about Cousin Dan. Must have died suddenly—but no doubt that was how things always happened out this way. He glanced at the white stricken face of the girl beside him, and because of her his heart was heavy.

  She laid her cold hand on his. “It’s not the welcome I promised you, John Quincy,” she said softly.

  “Why, my dear girl, I don’t matter now.”

  No other word was spoken on the journey, and when they reached Dan’s house, Barbara and Miss Minerva went immediately up-stairs. Jennison disappeared through a doorway at the left; evidently he knew his way about. Haku volunteered to show John Quincy his quarters, so he followed the Jap to the second floor.

  When his bags were unpacked, John Quincy went down-stairs again. Miss Minerva was waiting for him in the living-room. From beyond the bamboo curtain leading to the lanai came the sound of men’s voices, mumbling and indistinct.

  “Well,” said John Quincy, “how have you been?”

  “Never better,” his aunt assured him.

  “Mother’s been rather worried about you. She’d begun to think you were never coming home.”

  “I’ve begun to think it myself,” Miss Minerva replied.

  He stared at her. “Some of those bonds you left with me have matured. I haven’t known just what you wanted me to do about them.”

  “What,” inquired Miss Minerva, “is a bond?”

  That sort of wild reckless talk never did make a hit with John Quincy. “It’s about time somebody came out here and brought you to your senses,” he remarked.

  “Think so?” said his aunt.

  A sound up-stairs recalled John Quincy to the situation. “This was rather sudden—Cousin Dan’s death?” he inquired.

  “Amazingly so.”

  “Well, it seems to me that it would be rather an intrusion—our staying on here now. We ought to go home in a few days. I’d better see about reservations—”

  “You needn’t trouble,” snapped Miss Minerva. “I’ll not stir from here until I see the person who did this brought to justice.”

  “The person who did what?” asked John Quincy.

  “The person who murdered Cousin Dan,” said Miss Minerva.

  John Quincy’s jaw dropped. His face registered a wide variety of emotions. “Good lord!” he gasped.

  “Oh, you needn’t be so shocked,” said his aunt. “The Winterslip family will still go on.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised,” remarked John Quincy, “when I stop to think. The things I’ve learned about Cousin Dan. It’s a wonder to me—”

  “That will do,” said Miss Minerva. “You’re talking like Amos, and that’s no compliment. You didn’t know Dan. I did—and I liked him. I’m going to stay here and do all I can to help run down the murderer. And so are you.”

  “Pardon me. I am not.”

  “Don’t contradict. I intend you shall take an active part in the investigation. The police are rather informal in a small place like this. They’ll welcome your help.”

  “My help! I’m no detective. What’s happened to you, anyhow? Why should you want me to go round hobnobbing with policemen—”

  “For the simple reason that if we’re not careful some rather unpleasant scandal may come out of this. If you’re on the ground you may be able to avert needless publicity. For Barbara’s sake.”

  “No, thank you,” said John Quincy. “I’m leaving for Boston in three days, and so are you. Pack your trunks.”

  Miss Minerva laughed. “I’ve heard your father talk like that,” she told him. “But I never knew him to gain anything by it in the end. Come out on the lanai and I’ll introduce you to a few policemen.”

  John Quincy received this invitation with the contemptuous silence he thought it deserved. But while he was lavishing on it his best contempt, the bamboo curtain parted and the policemen came to him. Jennison was with them.

  “Good morning, Captain Hallet,” said Miss Minerva brightly. “May I present my nephew, Mr. John Quincy Winterslip of Boston.”

  “I’m very anxious to meet Mr. John Quincy Winterslip,” the captain replied.

  “How do you do,” said John Quincy. His heart sank. They’d drag him into this affair if they could.

  “And this, John Quincy,” went on Miss Minerva, “is Mr. Charles Chan, of the Honolulu detective force.”

  John Quincy had thought himself prepared for anything, but—“Mr.—Mr. Chan,” he
gasped.

  “Mere words,” said Chan, “can not express my unlimitable delight in meeting a representative of the ancient civilization of Boston.”

  Harry Jennison spoke. “This is an appalling business, Miss Winterslip,” he said. “As perhaps you know, I was your cousin’s lawyer. I was also his friend. Therefore I hope you won’t think I am intruding if I show a keen interest in what is going forward here.”

  “Not at all,” Miss Minerva assured him. “We shall need all the help we can get.”

  Captain Hallet had taken a paper from his pocket. He faced John Quincy.

  “Young man,” he began, “I said I wanted to meet you. Last night Miss Winterslip told me of a cablegram received by the dead man about a week ago, which she said angered him greatly. I happen to have a copy of that message, turned over to me by the cable people. I’ll read it to you:

  “John Quincy sailing on President Tyler stop owing to unfortunate accident he leaves here with empty hands. Signed, Roger Winterslip.”71

  “Yes?” said John Quincy haughtily.

  “Explain that, if you will.”

  John Quincy stiffened. “The matter was strictly private,” he said. “A family affair.”

  Captain Hallet glared at him. “You’re mistaken,” he replied. “Nothing that concerns Mr. Dan Winterslip is private now. Tell me what that cable meant, and be quick about it. I’m busy this morning.”

  John Quincy glared back. The man didn’t seem to realize to whom he was talking. “I’ve already said—” he began.

  “John Quincy,” snapped Miss Minerva. “Do as you’re told!”

  Oh, well, if she wanted family secrets aired in public! Reluctantly John Quincy explained about Dan Winterslip’s letter, and the misadventure in the attic of Dan’s San Francisco house.

  “An ohia wood box bound with copper,” repeated the captain. “Initials on it, T.M.B. Got that, Charlie?”

  “It is written in the book,” said Chan.

  “Any idea what was in that box?” asked Hallet.

  “Not the slightest,” John Quincy told him.

  Hallet turned to Miss Minerva. “You knew nothing about this?” She assured him she did not. “Well,” he continued, “one thing more and we’ll go along. We’ve been making a thorough search of the premises by daylight—without much success, I’m sorry to say. However, by the cement walk just outside that door”—he pointed to the screen door leading from the living-room into the garden—“Charlie made a discovery.”

  Chan stepped forward, holding a small white object in the palm of his hand.

  “One-half cigarette, incompletely consumed,” he announced. “Very recent, not weather stained. It are of the brand denominated Corsican, assembled in London and smoked habitually by Englishmen.”

  Hallet again addressed Miss Minerva. “Did Dan Winterslip smoke cigarettes?”

  “He did not,” she replied. “Cigars and a pipe, but never cigarettes.”

  “You were the only other person living here.”

  “I haven’t acquired the cigarette habit,” snapped Miss Minerva. “Though undoubtedly it’s not too late yet.”

  “The servants, perhaps?” went on Hallet.

  “Some of the servants may smoke cigarettes, but hardly of this quality. I take it these are not on sale in Honolulu?”

  “They’re not,” said the captain. “But Charlie tells me they’re put up in air-tight tins and shipped to Englishmen the world over. Well, stow that away, Charlie.” The Chinaman tenderly placed the half cigarette, incompletely consumed, in his pocketbook. “I’m going on down the beach now to have a little talk with Mr. Jim Egan,” the captain added.

  “I’ll go with you,” Jennison offered. “I may be able to supply a link or two there.”

  “Sure, come along,” Hallet replied cordially.

  “Captain Hallet,” put in Miss Minerva, “it is my wish that some member of the family keep in touch with what you are doing, in order that we may give you all the aid we can. My nephew would like to accompany you—”

  “Pardon me,” said John Quincy coldly, “you’re quite wrong. I have no intention of joining the police force.”

  “Well, just as you say,” remarked Hallet. He turned to Miss Minerva. “I’m relying on you, at any rate. You’ve got a good mind. Anybody can see that.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “As good as a man’s,” he added.

  “Oh, now you’ve spoiled it. Good morning.”

  The three men went through the screen door into the bright sunshine of the garden. John Quincy was aware that he was not in high favor with his aunt.

  “I’ll go up and change,” he said uncomfortably. “We’ll talk things over later—”

  He went into the hall. At the foot of the stairs he paused.

  From above came a low, heart-breaking moan of anguish. Barbara. Poor Barbara, who had been so happy less than an hour ago.

  John Quincy felt his head go hot, the blood pound in his temples. How dare any one strike down a Winterslip! How dare any one inflict this grief on his Cousin Barbara! He clenched his fists and stood for a moment, feeling that he, too, could kill.

  Action—he must have action! He rushed through the living-room, past the astonished Miss Minerva. In the drive stood a car, the three men were already in it.

  “Wait a minute,” called John Quincy. “I’m going with you.”

  “Hop in,” said Captain Hallet.

  The car rolled down the drive and out on to the hot asphalt of Kalia Road. John Quincy sat erect, his eyes flashing, by the side of a huge grinning Chinaman.

  65.Twain said many things about Hawaii in a series of twenty-five letters for the Sacramento Union written in 1866, some of which he later adapted into chapters of Roughing It (1872). Jennison probably had in mind Twain’s most oft-quoted description of Hawaii: “The loveliest fleet of islands that lies anchored in any ocean.” However, perhaps Twain’s most haunting remarks about Hawaii were reminiscences in 1889, more than twenty years after his trip there: “No alien land in all the world has any deep strong charm for me but that one, no other land could so longingly and so beseechingly haunt me, sleeping and waking, through half a lifetime, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but it abides; other things change, but it remains the same. For me the balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun; the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ear; I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud wrack; I can feel the spirit of its wildland solitudes, I can hear the splash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.” From after-dinner remarks on April 8, 1889, published in Mark Twain Speaking, Paul Fatout, ed. (Iowa City: Univ. of Iowa Press, 1976), p. 246.

  66.In the 1925 Hawaiian Almanac, construction of a five-story building was announced. The Aloha Tower, opened in 1926 as the tallest building in Honolulu, was only ten floors. There was, of course, no Van Patten Trust Company.

  67.Hawaii was still an exotic destination in 1924. The Immigration Service provided the following statistics regarding 1924 trips: 7,392 individuals arrived in Hawaii from foreign ports, with 15,002 arriving from the mainland; in comparison, more than 8.94 million visitors arrived in Hawaii in 2016, with 5.6 million coming from the United States alone.

  68.Andrews calls it “[a] word expressing different feelings; as, love; affection; gratitude; kindness; pity; compassion; grief; the modern salutation at meeting and parting.”

  69.In the ninth book of The Odyssey, Odysseus and his men are swept by storms onto the island of the lotus-eaters. According to legend, the inhabitants of the island live on the fruit and blossoms of the lotus plant becoming intensely apathetic, and so Odysseus must struggle to induce his crew to leave. There are several species of lotus, and yet none quite match Odysseus’s description of appearance and tranquilizing qualities.

  70.Jennison is one “cool customer,” in th
e words of Sir Walter Scott, as we will see.

  71.Indeed, a “guarded cable”—see note 35.

  CHAPTER IX

  At the Reef and Palm

  They reached Kalakaua Avenue and swerving sharply to the right, Captain Hallet stepped on the gas. Since the car was without a top, John Quincy was getting an unrestricted view of this land that lay at his journey’s end. As a small boy squirming about on the hard pew in the First Unitarian Church, he had heard much of Heaven, and his youthful imagination had pictured it as something like this. A warm, rather languid country freshly painted in the gaudiest colors available.

  Creamy white clouds wrapped the tops of the distant mountains, and their slopes were bright with tropical foliage. John Quincy heard near at hand the low monotone of breakers lapping the shore. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of apple-green water and a dazzling white stretch of sand. “Oh, Waikiki! Oh, scene of peace—” What was the rest of that poem his Aunt Minerva had quoted in her last letter—the one in which she had announced that she was staying on indefinitely. “And looking down from tum-tum72 skies, the angels smile on Waikiki.” Sentimental, but sentiment was one of Hawaii’s chief exports. One had only to look at the place to understand and forgive.

  John Quincy had not delayed for a hat, and the sun was beating down fiercely on his brown head. Charlie Chan glanced at him.

  “Humbly begging pardon,” the Chinaman remarked, “would say it is unadvisable to venture forth without headgear. Especially since you are a malihini.”

  “A what?”

  “The term carries no offense. Malihini—stranger, newcomer.”

  “Oh.” John Quincy looked at him curiously. “Are you a malihini?”

  “Not in the least,” grinned Chan. “I am kamaaina—old-timer.73 Pursuing the truth further, I have been twenty-five years in the Islands.”

  They passed a huge hotel, and presently John Quincy saw Diamond Head standing an impressive guardian at the far end of that lovely curving beach. A little farther along the captain drew up to the curb and the four men alighted. On the other side of a dilapidated fence was a garden that might have been Eden at its best.