The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers

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      "All expressed most clearly," approved Chan.

      "Oh—but it isn't clear at all. Was Hilary Galt's murder connected somehow with the disappearance of that young girl from Peshawar? The velvet slippers—where are they now? Did the murderer of Sir Frederic take them? And if so—why?"

      "Many questions arise," admitted Chan. "All in good time you get the answers."

      "We'll never get them," sighed the girl, "without your help."

      Chan smiled. "How sweet your flattery sounds." He considered. "I made no search of the office last night. But Captain Flannery did. What was found? Records? A case-book?"

      "Nothing," said Kirk, "that had any bearing on the matter. Nothing that mentioned Hilary Galt or Eve Durand."

      Chan frowned. "Yet without question of doubt, Sir Frederic kept records. Were those records the prize for which the killer made frantic search? Doubtless so. Did he—or she—then, find them? That would seem to be true, unless—"

      "Unless what?" asked the girl quickly.

      "Unless Sir Frederic had removed same to safe and distant place. On face of things, he expected marauder. He may have baited trap with pointless paper. You have hunted his personal effects, in bedroom?"

      "Everything," Kirk assured him. "Nothing was found. In the desk down-stairs were some newspaper clippings—accounts of the disappearance of other women who walked off into the night. Sir Frederic evidently made such cases his hobby."

      "Other women?" Chan was thoughtful.

      "Yes. But Flannery thought those clippings meant nothing, and I believe he was right."

      "And the cutting about Eve Durand remained in Sir Frederic's purse?" continued Chan.

      "By gad!" Kirk looked at the girl. "I never thought of that. The clipping was gone!"

      Miss Morrow's dark eyes were filled with dismay. "Oh—how stupid," she cried. "It was gone, and the fact made no impression on me at all. I'm afraid I'm just a poor, weak woman."

      "Calm your distress," said Chan soothingly. "It is a matter to note, that is all. It proves that the quest of Eve Durand held important place in murderer's mind. You must, then, cherchez la femme. You understand?"

      "Hunt the woman," said Miss Morrow.

      "You have it. And in such an event, a huntress will be far better than a hunter. Let us think of guests at party. Mr. Kirk, you have said a portion of these people are there because Sir Frederic requested their presence. Which?"

      "The Enderbys," replied Kirk promptly. "I didn't know them. But Sir Frederic wanted them to come."

      "That has deep interest. The Enderbys. Mrs. Enderby approached state of hysteria all evening. Fear of dark might mean fear of something else. Is it beyond belief that Eve Durand, with new name, marries again into bigamy?"

      "But Eve Durand was a blonde," Miss Morrow reminded him.

      "Ah, yes. And Eileen Enderby has hair like night. It is, I am told, a matter that is easily arranged. Color of hair may be altered, but color of eyes—that is different. And Mrs. Enderby's eyes are blue, matching oddly raven locks."

      "Never miss a trick, do you?" smiled Kirk.

      "Mrs. Enderby goes to garden, sees man on fire-escape. So she informs us. But does she? Or does she know her husband, smoking cigarette on stairs, has not been so idly occupied? Is man on fire-escape a myth of her invention, to protect her husband? Why are stains on her gown? From leaning with too much hot excitement against garden rail, damp with the fog of night? Or from climbing herself onto fire-escape—you apprehend my drift? What other guests did Sir Frederic request?"

      Kirk thought. "He asked me to invite Gloria Garland," the young man announced.

      Chan nodded. "I expected it. Gloria Garland—such is not a name likely to fall to human lot. Sounds like a manufacture. And Australia is so placed on map it might be appropriate end of journey from Peshawar. Blonde, blue-eyed, she breaks necklace on the stair. Yet you discover a pearl beneath the office desk."

      Miss Morrow nodded. "Yes—Miss Garland certainly is a possibility."

      "There remains," continued Chan, "Mrs. Tupper-Brock. A somewhat dark lady —but who knows? Sir Frederic did not ask her presence?"

      "No—I don't think he knew she existed," said Kirk.

      "Yes? But it is wise in our work, Miss Morrow, that even the smallest improbabilities be studied. Men stumble over pebbles, never over mountains. Tell me, Mr. Kirk—was Colonel John Beetham the idea of Sir Frederic, too?"

      "Not at all. And now that I remember, Sir Frederic seemed a bit taken aback when he heard Beetham was coming. But he said nothing."

      "We have now traversed the ground. You have, Miss Morrow, three ladies to receive your most attentive study—Mrs. Enderby, Miss Garland, Mrs. Tupper-Brock. All of proper age, so near as a humble man can guess it in this day of beauty rooms with their appalling tricks. These only of the dinner party—"

      "And one outside the dinner party," added the girl, to Chan's surprise.

      "Ah—on that point I have only ignorance," he said blankly.

      "You remember the elevator operator spoke of a girl employed by the Calcutta Importers, on the twentieth floor? A Miss Lila Barr. She was at work in her office there last night."

      "Ah, yes," nodded Chan.

      "Well, a newspaper man, Rankin of the Globe, came to see me a few minutes ago. He said that the other evening—night before last—he went to call on Sir Frederic in Mr. Kirk's office, rather late. Just as he approached the door, a girl came out. She was crying. Rankin saw her dab at her eyes and disappear into the room of the Calcutta Importers. A blonde girl, he said."

      Chan's face was grave. "A fourth lady to require your kind attention. The matter broadens. So much to be done—and you in the midst of it all, like a pearl in a muddy pool." He stood up. "I am sorry. But the Maui must even now be straining at her moorings—"

      "One other thing," put in the girl. "You made quite a point of that Cosmopolitan Club year-book lying beside Sir Frederic. You thought it important?"

      Chan shrugged. "I fear I was in teasing mood. I believed it hardest puzzle of the lot. Therefore I am mean enough to press it on Captain Flannery's mind. What it meant, I can not guess. Poor Captain Flannery will never do so."

      He looked at his watch. The girl rose. "I won't keep you longer," she sighed. "I'm very busy, but somehow I can't let you go. I'm trailing along to the dock with you, if you don't mind. Perhaps I'll think of something else on the way."

      "Who am I," smiled Chan, "to win such overwhelming honor? You behold me speechless with delight, Mr. Kirk."

      "Oh, I'm going along," said Kirk. "Always like to see a boat pull out. The Lord meant me for a traveling salesman."

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