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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ got his bag, paid his bill, and the three of them entered Kirk's car, parked round the corner.

      "Now that the moment arrives," said Chan, "I withdrew from this teeming mainland with some regret. Fates have been in smiling mood with me here."

      "Why go?" suggested Kirk.

      "Long experience," replied Chan, "whispers not to strain fates too far. Their smile might fade."

      "Want to stop anywhere on the way?" Kirk asked. "You've got thirty minutes until sailing time."

      "I am grateful, but all my farewells are said. Only this morning I have visited Chinatown—" He stopped. "So fortunate you still hang on," he added to the girl. "I was forgetting most important information for you. Still another path down which you must travel."

      "Oh, dear," she sighed. "I'm dizzy now. What next?"

      "You must at once inflict this information on Captain Flannery. He is to find a Chinese, a stranger here, stopping with relatives on Jackson Street. The name, Li Gung."

      "Who is Li Gung?" asked Miss Morrow.

      "Yesterday, when delicious lunch was ended, I hear of Li Gung from Sir Frederic." He repeated his conversation with the great man. "Li Gung had information much wanted by Sir Frederic. That alone I can say. Captain Flannery must extract this information from Li!"

      "He'll never get it," replied the girl pessimistically. "Now you, Sergeant—"

      Chan drew a deep breath. "I am quite overcome," he remarked, "by the bright loveliness of this morning on which I say farewell to the mainland."

      They rode on in silence, while the girl thought hard. If only she could find some way of reaching this stolid man by her side, some appeal that would not roll off like water from a duck's back. She hastily went over in her mind all she had ever read of the Chinese character.

      Kirk drove his smart roadster onto the pier, a few feet from the Maui's gang-plank. The big white ship was gay with the color of women's hats and frocks. Taxis were sweeping up, travelers were alighting, white-jacketed stewards stood in a bored line ready for another sailing. Good-bys and final admonitions filled the air.

      A steward stepped forward and took Chan's bag. "Hello, Sergeant," he said. "Going home, eh? What room, please?"

      Chan told him, then turned to the young people at his side. "At thought of your kindness," he remarked, "I am choking. Words escape me. I can only say—good-by."

      "Give my regards to the youngest Chan," said Kirk. "Perhaps I'll see him some day."

      "Reminding me," returned Chan, "that only this morning I scour my brain to name him. With your kind permission, I will denote him Barry Chan."

      "I'm very much flattered," Kirk answered gravely. "Wish to heaven I had something to send him—er—a mug—or a what-you-may-call-it. You'll hear from me later."

      "I only trust," Chan said, "he grows up worthy of his name. Miss Morrow— I am leaving on this dock my heartiest good wishes—"

      She looked at him oddly. "Thank you," she remarked in a cool voice. "I wish you could have stayed, Mr. Chan. But of course I realize your point of view. The case was too difficult. For once, Charlie Chan is running away. I'm afraid the famous Sergeant of the Honolulu police has lost face to-day."

      A startled expression crossed that usually bland countenance. For a long moment Chan looked at her with serious eyes, then he bowed, very stiffly. "I wish you good-by," he said, and walked with offended dignity up the gang-plank.

      Kirk was staring at the girl in amazement. "Don't look at me like that," she cried ruefully. "It was cruel, but it was my last chance. I'd tried everything else. Well, it didn't work. Shall we go?"

      "Oh—let's wait," pleaded Kirk. "They're sailing in a minute. I always get a thrill out of it. Look—up there on the top deck." He nodded toward a pretty girl in gray, with a cluster of orchids pinned to her shoulder. "A bride, if you ask me. And I suppose that vacant-faced idiot at her side is the lucky man."

      Miss Morrow looked, without interest.

      "A great place for a honeymoon, Hawaii," went on Kirk. "I've often thought—I hope I'm not boring you?"

      "Not much," she said.

      "I know. Brides leave you cold. I suppose divorce is more in your line. You and Blackstone. Well, you shan't blast my romantic young nature." He took out a handkerchief and waved it toward the girl on the top deck. "So long, my dear," he called. "All the luck in the world."

      "I don't see Mr. Chan," said the young woman from the district attorney's office.

      Mr. Chan was sitting thoughtfully on the edge of the berth in his stateroom, far below. The great happiness of his long anticipated departure for home had received a rude jolt. Running away—was that it? Afraid of a difficult case? Did Miss Morrow really think that? If she did, then he had lost face indeed.

      His gloomy reactions were interrupted by a voice in the next stateroom— a voice he had heard before. His heart stood still as he listened.

      "I fancy that's all, Li," said the familiar voice. "You have your passport, your money. You are simply to wait for me in Honolulu. Better lie low there."

      "I will do so," replied a high-pitched, singsong voice.

      "And if any one asks any questions, you know nothing. Understand?"

      "Yes-s-s. I am silent. I understand."

      "Very good. You're a wonderful servant, Li Gung. I don't like to flatter you, you grinning beggar, but I couldn't do without you. Good-by—and a pleasant journey."

      Chan was on his feet now, peering out into the dim passageway along which opened the rooms on the lowest deck. In that faint light he saw a familiar figure emerge from the room next door, and disappear in the distance.

      The detective stood for a moment, undecided. Of all the guests at Barry Kirk's party, one had interested him beyond all others—almost to the exclusion of the others. The tall, grim, silent man who had made his camps throughout the wastelands of the world, who had left a trail of the dead but who had always moved on, relentlessly, toward his goal. Colonel John Beetham, whom he had just seen emerging from the stateroom next to his with a last word of farewell to Li Gung.

      Chan looked at his watch. It was never his habit to hurry, but he must hurry now. He sighed a great sigh that rattled the glasses in their rings, and snatched up his bag. On the saloon deck he met the purser.

      "Homeward bound, Charlie?" inquired that gentleman breezily.

      "So I thought," replied Chan, "but it seems I was mistaken. At the last moment, I am rudely wrenched ashore. Yet I have ticket good only on this boat."

      "Oh, they'll fix that up for you at the office. They all know you, Charlie."

      "Thanks for the suggestion. My trunk is already loaded. Will you kindly deliver same to my oldest son, who will call for it when you have docked at Honolulu?"

      "Sure." The "visitors ashore" call was sounding for the last time. "Don't you linger too long on this wicked mainland, Charlie," the purser admonished.

СКАЧАТЬ