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

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СКАЧАТЬ pained," said Chan, "if I interfered with your plans in any way. Tell me—our Colonel Beetham—you have seen him at Cosmopolitan Club?"

      "Yes. Somebody's given him a card. I meet him around there occasionally. I must take you over to the club one of these days."

      "The honor will be immense," Chan said gravely.

      "Paradise will give you dinner," Kirk told him.

      "Not to be considered," Chan protested. "Your staff in kitchen deserves holiday after last night's outburst. I am doing too much eating at your gracious board. I too will dine elsewhere—there are little matters into which I would peer inquiringly."

      "As you wish," nodded Kirk. He went into his bedroom, leaving Chan to the book.

      At six thirty, after Kirk had left, Chan also descended to the street. He had dinner at an inexpensive little place and when it was finished, strolled with what looked like an aimless step in the direction of Chinatown.

      The Chinese are a nocturnal people; Grant Avenue's shops were alight and thronged with customers; its sidewalk crowded with idlers who seemed at a loose end for the evening. The younger men were garbed like their white contemporaries; the older, in the black satin blouse and trousers of China, shuffled along on felt shod feet. Here and there walked with ponderous dignity a Chinese matron who had all too obviously never sought to reduce. A sprinkling of bright-eyed flappers lightened the picture.

      Chan turned up Washington Street, then off into the gloomy stretch of Waverly Place. He climbed dimly lighted stairs and knocked at a familiar door.

      Surprise is not in the lexicon of the Chinese people, and Chan Kee Lim admitted him with stolid face. Though they had said farewell only that morning, the detective's call was accepted calmly by his cousin.

      "I am here again," Chan said in Cantonese. "It was my thought that I was leaving the mainland, but the fates have decreed otherwise."

      "Enter," his cousin said. "Here in my poor house the welcome never cools. Deign to sit on this atrociously ugly stool."

      "You are too kind," Charlie returned. "I am, as you must surmise, the victim of my despicable calling. If you will so far condescend, I require information."

      Kee Lim's eyes narrowed, and he stroked his thin gray beard. He did not approve of that calling, as Charlie well knew.

      "You are involved," he said coldly, "with the white devil police?"

      Chan shrugged. "Unfortunately, yes. But I ask no betrayal of confidence from you. A harmless question, only. Perhaps you could tell me of a stranger, a tourist, who has been guest of relatives in Jackson Street? The name Li Gung."

      Kee Lim nodded. "I have not met him, but I have heard talk at the Tong House. He is one who has traveled much in foreign lands. For some time he has been domiciled with his cousin Henry Li, the basket importer, who lives American style in the big apartment-house on Jackson Street. The Oriental Apartments, I believe. I have not been inside, but I understand there are bathrooms and other strange developments of what the white devil is pleased to call his civilization."

      "You are an acquaintance of Henry Li?" Charlie asked.

      Kee Lim's eyes hardened. "I have not the honor," he replied.

      Charlie understood. His cousin would have no part in whatever he proposed. He rose from his ebony stool.

      "You are extremely kind," he said. "That was the extent of my desire. Duty says I must walk my way."

      Kee Lim also rose. "The briefness of your stop makes it essential you come again. There is always a welcome here."

      "Only too well do I know it," nodded Charlie. "I am busy man, but we will meet again. I am saying good-by."

      His cousin followed to the door. "I hope you have a safe walk," he remarked, and there was, it seemed, something more in his mind than the conventional farewell wish.

      Chan set out at once for Jackson Street. Half-way up the hill he encountered the gaudy front of the Oriental Apartments. Here the more prosperous members of the Chinese colony lived in the manner of their adopted country.

      He entered the lobby and studied the letter boxes. Henry Li, he discovered, lived on the second floor. Ignoring the push buttons, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and he went inside. He climbed to the third floor, walking softly as he passed the apartment occupied by Henry Li. For a moment he stood at the head of the stairs, then started down. He had proceeded about half-way to the floor below, when suddenly he appeared to lose his footing, and descended with a terrific clatter to the second-floor landing. The door of Henry Li's apartment opened, and a fat little Chinese in a business suit peered out.

      "You are concerned in an accident?" he inquired solicitously.

      "Haie!" cried Chan, picking himself up, "the evil spirits pursue me. I have lost my footing on these slippery stairs." He tried to walk, but limped painfully. "I fear I have given my ankle a bad turn. If I could sit quietly for a moment—"

      The little man threw wide his door. "Condescend to enter my contemptible house. My chairs are plain and uncomfortable, but you must try one."

      Profuse in thanks, Chan followed him into an astonishing living-room. Hang-chau silk hangings and a few pieces of teak-wood mingled with blatant plush furniture from some department store. A small boy, about thirteen, was seated at a radio, which ground out dance music. He wore the khaki uniform of a boy scout, with a bright yellow handkerchief about his throat.

      "Please sit here," invited Henry Li, indicating a huge chair of green plush. "I trust the pain is not very acute."

      "It begins to subside," Chan told him. "You are most kind."

      The boy had shut off the radio, and was standing before Charlie Chan with keen interest in his bright eyes.

      "A most regrettable thing," explained his father. "The gentleman has turned his ankle on our detestable stairs."

      "So sorry," the boy announced. His eyes grew even brighter. "All boy scouts know how to make bandages. I will get my first-aid kit—"

      "No, no," protested Chan hastily. "Do not trouble yourself. The injury is not serious."

      "It would be no trouble at all," the boy assured him. With some difficulty Charlie dissuaded him, and to the detective's great relief, the boy disappeared.

      "I will sit and rest for a moment," Chan said to Henry Li. "I trust I am no great obstacle here. The accident overwhelmed me when I was on the search for an old friend of mine—Li Gung by name."

      Henry Li's little eyes rested for a moment on the picture of a middle-aged Chinese in a silver frame on the mantel. "You are a friend of Li Gung?" he inquired.

      The moment had been enough for Chan. "I am—and I see his photograph above there, tastefully framed. Is it true, then, that he is stopping here? Has my search ended so fortunately after all?"

      "He was here," Li replied, "but only this morning he walked his way."

      "Gone!" Chan's face fell. "Alas, then I am too late. Would you be so kind as to tell me where he went?"

      Henry Li became discreet. СКАЧАТЬ