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

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      "I went back to my hotel down-town. I had to pack."

      "Back to your hotel, eh? Can you prove it?"

      Leatherbee considered. "I don't know. The boy at the desk may remember when I came in, though I didn't stop there for my key—I had it with me. Anyhow, I didn't see Winterslip after that. I just went ahead with my preparations to sail on the Niagara, and I must say you've got your nerve—"

      "Never mind that!" Hallet turned to the woman. "And after Leatherbee left—what happened then?"

      "Well, Dan started in on that brooch again," she said. "It made me sore, too—I never did like a tight-wad. Besides, my nerves was all on edge, I'm funny that way, rows get me all upset. I like everybody pleasant around me. He went on arguing, so finally I ripped off the brooch and threw it at him, and it rolled away under the table somewhere. Then he said he was sorry, and that was when he offered to replace it with something more up-to-date. The best money could buy—that was what he promised. Pretty soon we was friends again—just as good friends as ever when I came away, about ten-fifteen. His last words was that we'd look round the jewelry stores this morning. I ask you, Captain, is it reasonable to think I'd have anything to do with murdering a man who was in a buying mood like that?"

      Hallet laughed. "So you left him at ten-fifteen—and went home alone?"

      "I did. And when I saw him last he was alive and well—I'll swear to that on a stack of Bibles as high as the Times Building. Gee, don't I wish I was safe on Broadway to-night!"

      Hallet thought for a moment. "Well, we'll look into all this. You can both go—I'm not going to hold you at present. But I expect you both to remain in Honolulu until this affair is cleared up, and I advise you not to try any funny business. You've seen to-night what chance you've got to get away."

      "Oh, that's all right." The woman stood, looking her relief. "We've got no reason to beat it, have we, Steve?"

      "None in the world," agreed Steve. His facetious manner returned. "Speaking for myself," he added, "innocent is my middle name."

      "Good night, all," said Mrs. Compton, and they went out.

      Hallet sat staring at the brooch. "A pretty straight story," he remarked, looking at Chan.

      "Nice and neat," grinned the Chinaman.

      "If true." Hallet shrugged his shoulders. "Well, for the present, I'm willing to believe it." He turned to John Quincy. "Now, Mr. Winterslip," he said severely, "I want it understood that any other evidence your family digs up—"

      "Oh, that's all right," interrupted the boy. "We'll turn it over at once. I've already given to Chan the newspaper my cousin was reading that night he wrote the letter to Roger Winterslip."

      Chan took the paper from his pocket. "Such a busy evening," he explained, "the journal was obscure in my mind. Thanks for the recollection." He called to his chief's attention the mutilated corner.

      "Look into that," said Hallet.

      "Before sleeping," promised Chan. "Mr. Winterslip, we pursue similar paths. The honor of your company in my humble vehicle would pleasure me deeply." Once in the car on the deserted street, the Chinaman spoke again. "The page ripped from guest book, the brooch lying silent on floor. Both are now followed into presence of immovable stone wall. We sway about, looking for other path."

      "Then you think those two were telling the truth?" John Quincy asked.

      "As to that, I do not venture to remark," Chan replied.

      "How about those psychic powers?" inquired John Quincy.

      Chan smiled. "Psychic powers somewhat drowsy just now," he admitted. "Need prodding into wakefulness."

      "Look here," said John Quincy, "there's no need for you to take me out to Waikiki. Just drop me on King Street, and I'll get a trolley."

      "Making humble suggestion," Chan replied, "is it not possible you will accompany me to newspaper rooms, where we set out on different path?"

      John Quincy looked at his watch; it was ten minutes past eleven. "I'll be glad to, Charlie," he said.

      Chan beamed with pleasure. "Greatly honored by your friendly manner," he remarked. He turned into a side street. "Newspaper of this nature burst out at evening, very quiet now. Somebody may loiter in rooms, if we have happy luck."

      They had just that, for the building of the evening journal was open, and in the city room an elderly man with a green shade over his eyes hammered on a typewriter.

      "Hello, Charlie," he said cordially.

      "Hello, Pete. Mr. Winterslip of Boston, I have all the honor to present this Pete Mayberry. For many years he explore water-front ferreting for whatever news are hiding there."

      The elderly man rose and removed his eye-shade, revealing a pleasant twinkle. He was evidently interested to meet a Winterslip.

      "We pursue," continued Chan, "one copy of paper marked June sixteen, present year. If you have no inclination for objecting."

      Mayberry laughed. "Go to it, Charlie. You know where the files are."

      Chan bowed and disappeared. "Your first appearance out here, Mr. Winterslip?" inquired the newspaper man.

      John Quincy nodded. "I've only just got here," he said, "but I can see it's a rather intriguing place."

      "You've said it," smiled Mayberry. "Forty-six years ago I came out from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to visit relatives. I've been in the newspaper game here ever since—most of the time on the water-front. There's a life-work for you!"

      "You must have seen some changes," remarked John Quincy inanely.

      Mayberry nodded. "For the worse. I knew Honolulu in the glamourous days of its isolation, and I've watched it fade into an eighth carbon copy of Babbittville, U. S. A. The water-front's just a water-front now—but once, my boy! Once it oozed romance at every pore."

      Chan returned, carrying a paper. "Much to be thankful for," he said to Mayberry. "Your kindness are quite overwhelming—"

      "Anything doing?" asked Mayberry eagerly.

      Chan shook his head. "Presently speaking, no. Our motions just now must be blackly clouded in secrecy."

      "Well," said the reporter, "when it comes time to roll them clouds away, don't forget me."

      "Impossibility," protested Chan. "Good night."

      They left Mayberry bending over his typewriter, and at Chan's suggestion went to the All American Restaurant, where the Chinaman ordered two cups of "your inspeakable coffee." While they waited to be served, he spread out on the table his complete copy of the newspaper, and laying the torn page on its counterpart, carefully removed the upper right-hand corner.

      "The missing fragment," he explained. For a time he studied it thoughtfully, and finally shook his head. "I apprehend nothing to startle," he admitted. He handed it across the table. "If you will condescend greatly—"

      John Quincy took the bit of newspaper. On one side was the advertisement of a Japanese dealer in shirtings СКАЧАТЬ