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

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СКАЧАТЬ life. I was her house-boy, and memories of her kindness will survive while life hangs out."

      "Well, she told me how you repaid that kindness recently. A thousand-fold, she put it."

      Chan shrugged. "My old employer has only one weakness. She exaggerates stupendously."

      "Oh, don't be modest," said Mrs. Kirk. "Gone out of fashion, long ago. These young people will accuse you of something terrible if you try that tune. However, I like you for it."

      A diversion at the door interrupted her. Colonel John Beetham entered the living-room. John Beetham the explorer, whose feet had stood in many dark and lonely places, who knew Tibet and Turkestan, Tsaidam and southern Mongolia. He had lived a year in a house-boat on the largest river in the heart of Asia, had survived two heart-breaking, death-strewn retreats across the snowy plateau of Tibet, had walked amid the ruins of ancient desert cities that had flourished long before Christ was born.

      For once, here was a man who looked the part. Lean, tall, bronzed, there was a living flame in his gray eyes. But like Charlie Chan, he came of a modest race, and his manner was shy and aloof as he acknowledged the introductions.

      "So glad," he muttered. "So glad." A mere formula.

      Suddenly Sir Frederic Bruce was again in the room. He seized Colonel Beetham's hand.

      "I met you several years ago," he said. "You wouldn't recall it. You were the lion of the hour, and I a humble spectator. I was present at the dinner of the Royal Geographical Society in London when they gave you that enormous gold doodad—the Founders' Medal—wasn't that it?"

      "Ah yes—of course. To be sure," murmured Colonel Beetham.

      His eyes bright as buttons in the subdued light, Charlie Chan watched Sir Frederic being presented to the ladies—to Mrs. Tupper-Brock and Eileen Enderby. Paradise arrived with something on a tray.

      "All here except Miss Garland," Kirk announced. "We'll wait just a moment." The bell rang, and he motioned to his servant that he would go.

      When Kirk returned, he was accompanied by a handsome woman whose face was flushed and who carried some burden in her jeweled hands. She hurried to a table, and deposited there a number of loose pearls.

      "I had the most ridiculous accident on the stairs," she explained. "The string of my necklace broke, and I simply shed pearls right and left. I do hope I haven't lost any."

      One of the pearls rolled to the floor, and Kirk retrieved it. The woman began counting them off into a gold mesh handbag. Finally she stopped.

      "Got them all?" Barry Kirk inquired.

      "I—I think so. I never can remember the number. And now—you really must forgive my silly entrance. It would be rather effective on the stage, I fancy, but I'm not on the stage now. In real life, I'm afraid it was rather rude."

      Paradise took her cloak, and Kirk introduced her. Charlie Chan studied her long and carefully. She was no longer young, but her beauty was still triumphant. It would have to be, for her profession was the stage, and she was well-beloved in the Australian theaters.

      At the table, Charlie found himself at Mrs. Kirk's right, with June Morrow on his other side. If he was a bit awed by the company in which he had landed, he gave no sign. He listened to several anecdotes of Sally Jordan's past from Mrs. Kirk, then turned to the girl beside him. Her eyes were shining.

      "I'm thrilled to the depths," she whispered. "Sir Frederic and that marvelous Beetham man all in one evening—and you, too."

      Chan smiled. "I am pretty lonely fly in this menagerie of lions," he admitted.

      "Tell me—that about being psychic. You don't really think Sir Frederic has found Eve Durand?"

      Chan shrugged. "For one word a man may be adjudged wise, and for one word he may be adjudged foolish."

      "Oh, please don't be so Oriental. Just think—Eve Durand may be at this table to-night."

      "Strange events permit themselves the luxury of occurring," Chan conceded. His eyes traveled slowly about the board, they rested on Mrs. Tupper-Brock silent and aloof, on the vivacious Eileen Enderby, longest of all on the handsome Gloria Garland, now completely recovered from her excitement over the scattered pearls.

      "Tell me, Sir Frederic," remarked Mrs. Kirk. "How are you making out here in Barry's womanless Eden?"

      "Splendidly," smiled the detective. "Mr. Kirk has been very kind. I not only have the run of this charming bungalow, but he has also installed me in the offices below." He looked at Kirk. "Which reminds me—I'm afraid I quite forgot to close the safe downstairs."

      "Paradise can attend to it," suggested Kirk.

      "Oh, no," said Sir Frederic. "Please don't trouble. It doesn't matter— as far as I am concerned."

      Carrick Enderby spoke in a loud, booming voice. "I say, Colonel Beetham. I've just read your book you know."

      "Ah, yes—er—which one?" inquired Beetham blandly.

      "Don't be a fool, Carry," said Eileen Enderby rather warmly. "Colonel Beetham has written many books. And he's not going to be impressed by the fact that, knowing you were to meet him here to-night, you hastily ran through one of them."

      "But it wasn't hastily," protested Enderby. "I gave it my best attention. The Life, I mean, you know. All your adventures—and by jove, they were thrilling. Of course, I can't understand you, sir. For me, the cheery old whisky and soda in the comfortable chair by the warm fire. But you—how you do yearn for the desolate places, my word."

      Beetham smiled. "It's the white spots—the white spots on the map. They call to me. I—I long to walk there, where no man has walked before. It is an odd idea, isn't it?"

      "Well, of course, getting home must be exciting," Enderby admitted. "The Kings and the Presidents pinning decorations on you, and the great dinners, and the eulogies—"

      "Quite the most terrible part of it, I assure you," said Beetham.

      "Nevertheless, I'd take it in preference to your jolly old deserts," continued Enderby. "That time you were lost on the—er— the—"

      "The desert of Takla-makan," finished Beetham. "I was in a bit of a jam, wasn't I? But I wasn't lost, my dear fellow. I had simply embarked on the crossing with insufficient water and supplies."

      Mrs. Kirk spoke. "I was enthralled by that entry you quoted from your diary. What you thought was the last entry you would ever make. I know it by heart. 'Halted on a high dune, where the camels fell exhausted. We examined the East through the field-glasses; mountains of sand in all directions; not a straw, no life. All, men as well as camels, are extremely weak. God help us.'"

      "But it wasn't my last entry, you know," Beetham reminded her. "The next night, in a dying condition, I crept along on my hands and knees until I reached a forest, the bed of a dry river—a pool. Water. I came out much better than I deserved."

      "Pardon me if I make slight inquiry," said Charlie Chan. "What of old superstition, Colonel? Mention was made of it by Marco Polo six hundred fifty years ago. When a traveler is moving across desert by night, he hears strange voices calling his name. In bewitched state, he follows ghostly voices to his early doom."

      "It СКАЧАТЬ