The Project Gutenberg eBook of The House Without A Key, by Earl Derr Biggers. (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73771 ***

by EARL DERR BIGGERS

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1925
By Earl Derr Biggers

Printed in the United States of America

TO
MY MOTHER AND FATHER

THE HOUSE WITHOUT A KEY

CHAPTER I

KONA WEATHER

Miss Minerva Winterslip was a Bostonian in good standing, and long pastthe romantic age. Yet beauty thrilled her still, even the semi-barbaricbeauty of a Pacific island. As she walked slowly along the beach shefelt the little catch in her throat that sometimes she had known inSymphony Hall, Boston, when her favorite orchestra rose to some new andunexpected height of loveliness.

It was the hour at which she liked Waikiki best, the hour just precedingdinner and the quick tropic darkness. The shadows cast by the tallcocoanut palms lengthened and deepened, the light of the falling sunflamed on Diamond Head and tinted with gold the rollers sweeping in fromthe coral reef. A few late swimmers, reluctant to depart, dotted thosewaters whose touch is like the caress of a lover. On the springboard ofthe nearest float a slim brown girl poised for one delectable instant.What a figure! Miss Minerva, well over fifty herself, felt a mild twingeof envy—youth, youth like an arrow, straight and sure and flying. Likean arrow the slender figure rose, then fell; the perfect dive, silentand clean.

Miss Minerva glanced at the face of the man who walked beside her. ButAmos Winterslip was oblivious to beauty, he had made that the first ruleof his life. Born in the Islands, he had never known the mainland beyondSan Francisco. Yet there could be no doubt about it, he was the NewEngland conscience personified—the New England conscience in a whiteduck suit.

"Better turn back, Amos," suggested Miss Minerva. "Your dinner'swaiting. Thank you so much."

"I'll walk as far as the fence," he said. "When you get tired of Dan andhis carryings-on, come to us again. We'll be glad to have you."

"That's kind of you," she answered, in her sharp crisp way. "But Ireally must go home. Grace is worried about me. Of course, she can'tunderstand. And my conduct is scandalous, I admit. I came over toHonolulu for six weeks, and I've been wandering about these islands forten months."

"As long as that?"

She nodded. "I can't explain it. Every day I make a solemn vow I'llstart packing my trunks—to-morrow."

"And to-morrow never comes," said Amos. "You've been taken in by thetropics. Some people are."

"Weak people, I presume you mean," snapped Miss Minerva. "Well, I'venever been weak. Ask anybody on Beacon Street."

He smiled wanly. "It's a strain in the Winterslips," he said. "Supposedto be Puritans, but always sort of yearning toward the lazy latitudes."

"I know," answered Miss Minerva, her eyes on that exotic shore line."It's what sent so many of them adventuring out of Salem harbor. Thosewho stayed behind felt that the travelers were seeing things noWinterslip should look at. But they envied them just the same—or maybefor that very reason." She nodded. "A sort of gypsy strain. It's whatsent your father over here to set up as a whaler, and got you born sofar from home. You know you don't belong here, Amos. You should beliving in Milton or Roxbury, carrying a little green bag and poppinginto a Boston office every morning."

"I've often thought it," he admitted. "And who knows—I might have madesomething of my life—"

They had come to a barbed-wire fence, an unaccustomed barrier on thatfriendly shore. It extended well down on to the beach; a wave rushed upand lapped the final post, then receded.

Miss Minerva smiled. "Well, this is where Amos leaves off and Danbegins," she said. "I'll watch my chance and run around the end. Luckyyou couldn't build it so it moved with the tide."

"You'll find your luggage in your room at Dan's, I guess," Amos toldher. "Remember what I said about—" He broke off suddenly. A stocky,white-clad man had appeared in the garden beyond the barrier, and wasmoving rapidly toward them. Amos Winterslip stood rigid for a moment, anangry light flaming in his usually dull eyes. "Good-by," he said, andturned.

"Amos!" cried Miss Minerva sharply. He moved on, and she followed."Amos, what nonsense! How long has it been since you spoke to Dan?"

He paused under an algaroba tree. "Thirty-one years," he said."Thirty-one years the tenth of last August."

"That's long enough," she told him. "Now, come around that foolish fenceof yours, and hold out your hand to him."

"Not me," said Amos. "I guess you don't know Dan, Minerva, and the sortof life he's led. Time and again he's dishonored us all—"

"Why, Dan's regarded as a big man," she protested. "He's respected—"

"And rich," added Amos bitterly. "And I'm poor. Yes, that's the way itoften goes in this world. But there's a world to come, and over there Ireckon Dan's going to get his."

Hardy soul though she was, Miss Minerva was somewhat frightened by thelook of hate on his thin face. She saw the uselessness of furtherargument. "Good-by, Amos," she said. "I wish I might persuade you tocome East some day—" He gave no sign of hearing, but hurried along thewhite stretch of sand.

When Miss Minerva turned, Dan Winterslip was smiling at her from beyondthe fence. "Hello, there," he cried. "Come this side of the wire andenjoy life again. You're mighty welcome."

"How are you, Dan?" She watched her chance with the waves and joinedhim. He took both her hands in his.

"Glad to see you," he said, and his eyes backed him up. Yes, he did havea way with women. "It's a bit lonely at the old homestead these days.Need a young girl about to brighten things up."

Miss Minerva sniffed. "I've tramped Boston in galoshes too manywinters," she reminded him, "to lose my head over talk like that."

"Forget Boston," he urged. "We're all young in Hawaii. Look at me."

She did look at him, wonderingly. He was sixty-three, she knew, but onlythe mass of wavy white hair overhanging his temples betrayed his age.His face, burned to the deepest bronze by long years of wandering underthe Polynesian sun, was without a line or wrinkle. Deep-chested andmuscular, he could have passed on the mainland for a man of forty.

"I see my precious brother brought you as far as the dead-line," heremarked as they moved on through the garden. "Sent me his love, Ipresume?"

"I tried to get him to come round and shake hands," Miss Minerva said.

Dan Winterslip laughed. "Don't deprive poor Amos of his hate for me," heurged. "It's about all he lives for now. Comes over every night andstands under that algaroba tree of his, smoking cigarettes and staringat my house. Know what he's waiting for? He's waiting for the Lord tostrike me down for my sins. Well, he's a patient waiter, I'll say thatfor him."

Miss Minerva did not reply. Dan's great rambling house of many rooms wasset in beauty almost too poignant to be borne. She stood, drinking itall in again, the poinciana trees like big crimson umbrellas, thestately golden glow, the gigantic banyans casting purple shadows, herfavorite hau tree, seemingly old as time itself, covered with aprofusion of yellow blossoms. Loveliest of all were the flowering vines,the bougainvillea burying everything it touched in brick-red splendor.Miss Minerva wondered what her friends who every spring went into sedateecstasies over the Boston Public Gardens would say if they could seewhat she saw now. They would be a bit shocked, perhaps, for this was toolurid to be quite respectable. A scarlet background—and a fitting one,no doubt, for Cousin Dan.

They reached the door at the side of the house that led directly intothe living-room. Glancing to her right, Miss Minerva caught through thelush foliage glimpses of the iron fence and tall gates that fronted onKalia Road. Dan opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. Likemost apartments of its sort in the Islands, the living-room was walledon but three sides, the fourth was a vast expanse of wire screening.They crossed the polished floor and entered the big hall beyond. Nearthe front door a Hawaiian woman of uncertain age rose slowly from herchair. She was a huge, high-breasted, dignified specimen of thatvanishing race.

"Well, Kamaikui, I'm back," Miss Minerva smiled.

"I make you welcome," the woman said. She was only a servant, but shespoke with the gracious manner of a hostess.

"Same room you had when you first came over, Minerva," Dan Winterslipannounced. "Your luggage is there—and a bit of mail that came in on theboat this morning. I didn't trouble to send it up to Amos's. We dinewhen you're ready."

"I'll not keep you long," she answered, and hurried up the stairs.

Dan Winterslip strolled back to his living-room. He sat down in a rattanchair that had been made especially for him in Hong-Kong, and glancedcomplacently about at the many evidences of his prosperity. His butlerentered, bearing a tray with co*cktails.

"Two, Haku?" smiled Winterslip. "The lady is from Boston."

"Yes-s," hissed Haku, and retired soundlessly.

In a moment Miss Minerva came again into the room. She carried a letterin her hand, and she was laughing.

"Dan, this is too absurd," she said.

"What is?"

"I may have told you that they were getting worried about me at home.Because I haven't been able to tear myself away from Honolulu, I mean.Well, they're sending a policeman for me."

"A policeman?" He lifted his bushy eyebrows.

"Yes, it amounts to that. It's not being done openly, of course. Gracewrites that John Quincy has six weeks' vacation from the banking house,and has decided to make the trip out here. 'It will give you some one tocome home with, my dear,' says Grace. Isn't she subtle?"

"John Quincy Winterslip? That would be Grace's son."

Miss Minerva nodded. "You never met him, did you, Dan? Well, you will,shortly. And he certainly won't approve of you."

"Why not?" Dan Winterslip bristled.

"Because he's proper. He's a dear boy, but oh, so proper. This journeyis going to be a great cross for him. He'll start disapproving as hepasses Albany, and think of the long weary miles of disapproval he'llhave to endure after that."

"Oh, I don't know. He's a Winterslip, isn't he?"

"He is. But the gypsy strain missed him completely. He's all Puritan."

"Poor boy." Dan Winterslip moved toward the tray on which stood theamber-colored drinks. "I suppose he'll stop with Roger in San Francisco.Write him there and tell him I want him to make this house his homewhile he's in Honolulu."

"That's kind of you, Dan."

"Not at all. I like youth around me—even the Puritan brand. Now thatyou're going to be apprehended and taken back to civilization, you'dbetter have one of these co*cktails."

"Well," said his guest, "I'm about to exhibit what my brother used tocall true Harvard indifference."

"What do you mean?" asked Winterslip.

"I don't mind if I do," twinkled Miss Minerva, lifting a co*cktail glass.

Dan Winterslip beamed upon her. "You're a good sport, Minerva," heremarked, as he escorted her across the hall.

"When in Rome," she answered, "I make it a point not to do as theBostonians do. I fear it would prove a rather thorny path topopularity."

"Precisely."

"Besides, I shall be back in Boston soon. Tramping about to art exhibitsand Lowell Lectures, and gradually congealing into senility."

But she was not in Boston now, she reflected, as she sat down at thegleaming table in the dining-room. Before her, properly iced, was agenerous slice of papaia, golden yellow and inviting. Somewhere beyondthe foliage outside the screens, the ocean murmured restlessly. Thedinner would be perfect, she knew, the Island beef dry and stringy,perhaps, but the fruits and the salad more than atoning.

"Do you expect Barbara soon?" she inquired presently.

Dan Winterslip's face lighted like the beach at sunrise. "Yes, Barbarahas graduated. She'll be along any day now. Nice if she and your perfectnephew should hit on the same boat."

"Nice for John Quincy, at any rate," Miss Minerva replied. "We thoughtBarbara a lively charming girl when she visited us in the East."

"She's all of that," he agreed proudly. His daughter was his dearestpossession. "I tell you, I've missed her. I've been mighty lonesome."

Miss Minerva gave him a shrewd look. "Yes, I've heard rumors," sheremarked, "about how lonesome you've been."

He flushed under his tan. "Amos, I suppose?"

"Oh, not only Amos. A great deal of talk, Dan. Really, at your age—"

"What do you mean, my age? I told you we're all young out here." He atein silence for a moment. "You're a good sport—I said it and I meant it.You must understand that here in the Islands a man may behave a—a bitdifferently than he would in the Back Bay."

"At that," she smiled, "all men in the Back Bay are not to be trusted.I'm not presuming to rebuke you, Dan. But—for Barbara's sake—why notselect as the object of your devotion a woman you could marry?"

"I could marry this one—if we're talking about the same woman."

"The one I refer to," Miss Minerva replied, "is known, rather widely, asthe Widow of Waikiki."

"This place is a hotbed of gossip. Arlene Compton is perfectlyrespectable."

"A former chorus girl, I believe."

"Not precisely. An actress—small parts—before she married LieutenantCompton."

"And a self-made widow."

"Just what do you mean by that?" he flared. His gray eyes glittered.

"I understand that when her husband's aeroplane crashed on Diamond Head,it was because he preferred it that way. She had driven him to it."

"Lies, all lies!" Dan Winterslip cried. "Pardon me, Minerva, but youmustn't believe all you hear on the beach." He was silent for a moment."What would you say if I told you I proposed to marry this woman?"

"I'm afraid I'd become rather bromidic," she answered gently, "andremind you that there's no fool like an old fool." He did not speak."Forgive me, Dan. I'm your first cousin, but a distant relative for allthat. It's really none of my business. I wouldn't care—but I like you.And I'm thinking of Barbara—"

He bowed his head. "I know," he said, "Barbara. Well, there's no need toget excited. I haven't said anything to Arlene about marriage. Not yet."

Miss Minerva smiled. "You know, as I get on in years," she remarked, "somany wise old saws begin to strike me as utter nonsense. Particularlythat one I just quoted." He looked at her, his eyes friendly again."This is the best avocado I ever tasted," she added. "But tell me, Dan,are you sure the mango is a food? Seems more like a spring tonic to me."

By the time they finished dinner the topic of Arlene Compton wasforgotten and Dan had completely regained his good nature. They hadcoffee on his veranda—or, in Island parlance, lanai—which opened offone end of the living-room. This was of generous size, screened on threesides and stretching far down on to the white beach. Outside the brieftropic dusk dimmed the bright colors of Waikiki.

"No breeze stirring," said Miss Minerva.

"The trades have died," Dan answered. He referred to the beneficentwinds which—save at rare, uncomfortable intervals—blow across theIslands out of the cool northeast. "I'm afraid we're in for a stretch ofKona weather."

"I hope not," Miss Minerva said.

"It saps the life right out of me nowadays," he told her, and sank intoa chair. "That about being young, Minerva—it's a little bluff I'm fondof."

She smiled gently. "Even youth finds the Kona hard to endure," shecomforted. "I remember when I was here before—in the 'eighties. I wasonly nineteen, but the memory of the sick wind lingers still."

"I missed you then, Minerva."

"Yes. You were off somewhere in the South Seas."

"But I heard about you when I came back. That you were tall and blondeand lovely, and nowhere near so prim as they feared you were going tobe. A wonderful figure, they said—but you've got that yet."

She flushed, but smiled still. "Hush, Dan. We don't talk that way whereI come from."

"The 'eighties," he sighed. "Hawaii was Hawaii then. Unspoiled, a landof opera bouffe, with old Kalakaua sitting on his golden throne."

"I remember him," Miss Minerva said. "Grand parties at the palace. Andthe afternoons when he sat with his disreputable friends on the royallanai, and the Royal Hawaiian Band played at his feet, and he haughtilytossed them royal pennies. It was such a colorful, naive spot then,Dan."

"It's been ruined," he complained sadly. "Too much aping of themainland. Too much of your damned mechanical civilization—automobiles,phonographs, radios—bah! And yet—and yet, Minerva—away downunderneath there are deep dark waters flowing still."

She nodded, and they sat for a moment busy with their memories.Presently Dan Winterslip snapped on a small reading light at his side."I'll just glance at the evening paper, if you don't mind."

"Oh, do," urged Miss Minerva.

She was glad of a moment without talk. For this, after all, was the timeshe loved Waikiki best. So brief, this tropic dusk, so quick the comingof the soft alluring night. The carpet of the waters, apple-green byday, crimson and gold at sunset, was a deep purple now. On top of thatextinct volcano called Diamond Head a yellow eye was winking, as thoughto hint there might still be fire beneath. Three miles down, the harborlights began to twinkle, and out toward the reef the lanterns ofJapanese sampans glowed intermittently. Beyond, in the road-stead,loomed the battered hulk of an old brig slowly moving toward the channelentrance. Always, out there, a ship or two, in from the East with acargo of spice or tea or ivory, or eastward bound with a load of tractorsalesmen. Ships of all sorts, the spic and span liner and the rakishtramp, ships from Melbourne and Seattle, New York and Yokohama, Tahitiand Rio, any port on the seven seas. For this was Honolulu, theCrossroads of the Pacific—the glamourous crossroads where, they said,in time all paths crossed again. Miss Minerva sighed.

She was conscious of a quick movement on Dan's part. She turned andlooked at him. He had laid the paper on his knee, and was staringstraight ahead. That bluff about being young—no good now. For his facewas old, old.

"Why, Dan—" she said.

"I—I'm wondering, Minerva," he began slowly. "Tell me again about thatnephew of yours."

She was surprised, but hid it. "John Quincy?" she said. "He's just theusual thing, for Boston. Conventional. His whole life has been plannedfor him, from the cradle to the grave. So far he's walked the line. Theinevitable preparatory school, Harvard, the proper clubs, the familybanking house—even gone and got himself engaged to the very girl hismother would have picked for him. There have been times when I hoped hemight kick over—the war—but no, he came back and got meekly into theold rut."

"Then he's reliable—steady?"

Miss Minerva smiled. "Dan, compared with that boy, Gibraltar wabblesoccasionally."

"Discreet, I take it?"

"He invented discretion. That's what I'm telling you. I love him—but alittle bit of recklessness now and then—However, I'm afraid it's toolate now. John Quincy is nearly thirty."

Dan Winterslip was on his feet, his manner that of a man who had made animportant decision. Beyond the bamboo curtain that hung in the doorleading to the living-room a light appeared. "Haku!" Winterslip called.The Jap came swiftly.

"Haku, tell the chauffeur—quick—the big car! I must get to the dockbefore the President Tyler sails for San Francisco. Wikiwiki!"

The servant disappeared into the living-room, and Winterslip followed.Somewhat puzzled, Miss Minerva sat for a moment, then rose and pushedaside the curtain. "Are you sailing, Dan?" she asked.

He was seated at his desk, writing hurriedly. "No, no—just a note—Imust get it off on that boat—"

There was an air of suppressed excitement about him. Miss Minervastepped over the threshold into the living-room. In another moment Hakuappeared with an announcement that was unnecessary, for the engine of anautomobile was humming in the drive. Dan Winterslip took his hat fromthe Jap. "Make yourself at home, Minerva—I'll be back shortly," hecried, and rushed out.

Some business matter, no doubt. Miss Minerva strolled aimlessly aboutthe big airy room, pausing finally before the portrait of JedediahWinterslip, the father of Dan and Amos, and her uncle. Dan had had itpainted from a photograph after the old man's death; it was the work ofan artist whose forte was reputed to be landscapes—oh, it mustassuredly have been landscapes, Miss Minerva thought. But even so therewas no mistaking the power and personality of this New Englander who hadset up in Honolulu as a whaler. The only time she had seen him, in the'eighties, he had been broken and old, mourning his lost fortune, whichhad gone with his ships in an Arctic disaster a short time before.

Well, Dan had brought the family back, Miss Minerva reflected. Won againthat lost fortune and much more. There were queer rumors about hismethods—but so there were about the methods of Bostonians who had neverstrayed from home. A charming fellow, whatever his past. Miss Minervasat down at the grand piano and played a few old familiar bars—TheBeautiful Blue Danube. Her thoughts went back to the 'eighties.

Dan Winterslip was thinking of the 'eighties too as his car spedtownward along Kalakaua Avenue. But it was the present that concernedhim when they reached the dock and he ran, panting a little, through adim pier shed toward the gangplank of the President Tyler. He had notime to spare, the ship was on the point of sailing. Since it was athrough boat from the Orient it left without the ceremonies that attendthe departure of a liner plying only between Honolulu and the mainland.Even so, there were cries of "Aloha," some hearty and some tremulous,most of the travelers were bedecked with leis, and a confused littlecrowd milled about the foot of the plank.

Dan Winterslip pushed his way forward and ran up the sharp incline. Ashe reached the deck he encountered an old acquaintance, Hepworth, thesecond officer.

"You're the man I'm looking for," he cried.

"How are you, sir," Hepworth said. "I didn't see your name on the list."

"No, I'm not sailing. I'm here to ask a favor."

"Glad to oblige, Mr. Winterslip."

Winterslip thrust a letter into his hand. "You know my cousin Roger in'Frisco. Please give him that—him and no one else—as soon after youland as you possibly can. I'm too late for the mail—and I prefer thisway anyhow. I'll be mighty grateful."

"Don't mention it—you've been very kind to me and I'll be only toohappy—I'm afraid you'll have to go ashore, sir. Just a minute, there—"He took Winterslip's arm and gently urged him back on to the plank. Theinstant Dan's feet touched the dock, the plank was drawn up behind him.

For a moment he stood, held by the fascination an Islander always feelsat sight of a ship outward bound. Then he turned and walked slowlythrough the pier-shed. Ahead of him he caught a glimpse of a slenderlithe figure which he recognized at once as that of Dick Kaohla, thegrandson of Kamaikui. He quickened his pace and joined the boy.

"Hello, Dick," he said.

"Hello." The brown face was sullen, unfriendly.

"You haven't been to see me for a long time," Dan Winterslip said."Everything all right?"

"Sure," replied Kaohla. "Sure it's all right." They reached the street,and the boy turned quickly away "Good night," he muttered.

Dan Winterslip stood for a moment, thoughtfully looking after him. Thenhe got into the car. "No hurry now," he remarked to the chauffeur.

When he reappeared in his living-room, Miss Minerva glanced up from thebook she was reading. "Were you in time, Dan?" she asked.

"Just made it," he told her.

"Good," she said, rising. "I'll take my book and go up-stairs. Pleasantdreams."

He waited until she reached the door before he spoke."Ah—Minerva—don't trouble to write your nephew about stopping here."

"No, Dan?" she said, puzzled again.

"No. I've attended to the invitation myself. Good night."

"Oh—good night," she answered, and left him.

Alone in the great room, he paced restlessly back and forth over thepolished floor. In a moment he went out on to the lanai, and found thenewspaper he had been reading earlier in the evening. He brought it backto the living-room and tried to finish it, but something seemed totrouble him. His eyes kept straying—straying—with a sharp exclamationhe tore one corner from the shipping page, savagely ripped the fragmentto bits.

Again he got up and wandered about. He had intended paying a call downthe beach, but that quiet presence in the room above—Boston in its moretolerant guise but Boston still—gave him pause.

He returned to the lanai. There, under a mosquito netting, was the cotwhere he preferred to sleep; his dressing-room was near at hand.However, it was too early for bed. He stepped through the door on to thebeach. Unmistakable, the soft treacherous breath of the Kona fanned hischeek—the "sick wind" that would pile the breakers high along the coastand blight temporarily this Island paradise. There was no moon, thestars that usually seemed so friendly and so close were now obscured.The black water rolled in like a threat. He stood staring out into thedark—out there to the crossroads where paths always crossed again. Ifyou gave them time—if you only gave them time—

As he turned back, his eyes went to the algaroba tree beyond the wire,and he saw the yellow flare of a match. His brother Amos. He had asudden friendly feeling for Amos, he wanted to go over and talk to him,talk of the far days when they played together on this beach. No use, heknew. He sighed, and the screen door of the lanai banged behind him—thescreen door without a lock in a land where locks are few.

Tired, he sat in the dark to think. His face was turned toward thecurtain of bamboo between him and the living-room. On that curtain ashadow appeared, was motionless a second, then vanished. He caught hisbreath—again the shadow. "Who's there?" he called.

A huge brown arm was thrust through the bamboo. A friendly brown facewas framed there.

"Your fruit I put on the table," said Kamaikui. "I go bed now."

"Of course. Go ahead. Good night."

The woman withdrew. Dan Winterslip was furious with himself. What wasthe matter with him, anyhow? He who had fought his way throughunspeakable terrors in the early days—nervous—on edge—

"Getting old," he muttered. "No, by heaven—it's the Kona. That's it.The Kona. I'll be all right when the trades blow again."

When the trades blew again! He wondered. Here at the crossroads onecould not be sure.

CHAPTER II

THE HIGH HAT

John Quincy Winterslip walked aboard the ferry at Oakland feeling ratherlimp and weary. For more than six days he had been marooned onsleepers—his pause at Chicago had been but a flitting from one train toanother—and he was fed up. Seeing America first—that was what he hadbeen doing. And what an appalling lot of it there was! He felt that foran eternity he had been staring at endless plains, dotted here and thereby unesthetic houses the inmates of which had unquestionably never hearda symphony concert.

Ahead of him ambled a porter, bearing his two suit-cases, his golf clubsand his hat-box. One of the man's hands was gone—chewed off, no doubt,in some amiable frontier scuffle. In its place he wore a steel hook.Well, no one could question the value of a steel hook to a man in theporter's profession. But how quaint—and western!

The boy indicated a spot by the rail on the forward deck, and the porterbegan to unload. Carefully selecting the man's good hand, John Quincydropped into it a tip so generous as to result in a touching of hook tocap in a weird salute. The object of this attention sank down amid hiselaborate trappings, removed the straw hat from his perspiring head, andtried to figure out just what had happened to him.

Three thousand miles from Beacon Street, and two thousand miles still togo! Why, he inquired sourly of his usually pleasant self, had he everagreed to make this absurd expedition into heathen country? Here it waslate June, Boston was at its best. Tennis at Longwood, long mildevenings in a single shell on the Charles, week-ends and golf withAgatha Parker at Magnolia. And if one must travel, there was Paris. Hehadn't seen Paris in two years and had been rather planning a quick runover, when his mother had put this preposterous notion into his head.

Preposterous—it was all of that. Traveling five thousand miles just asa gentle hint to Aunt Minerva to return to her calm, well-ordered lifebehind purple window-panes on Beacon Street. And was there any chancethat his strong-minded relative would take the hint? Not one in athousand. Aunt Minerva was accustomed to do as she pleased—he had anuncomfortable, shocked recollection of one occasion when she had saidshe would do as she damn well pleased.

John Quincy wished he was back. He wished he was crossing Boston Commonto his office on State Street, there to put out a new issue of bonds. Hewas not yet a member of the firm—that was an honor accorded only toWinterslips who were bald and a little stooped—but his heart was in hiswork. He put out a bond issue with loving apprehension, waiting for theverdict as a play-wright waits behind the scenes on a first night. Wouldthose First Mortgage Sixes go over big, or would they flop at his feet?

The hoarse boom of a ferry whistle recalled John Quincy to his presentunbelievable location on the map. The boat began to move. He was dimlyconscious of a young person of feminine gender who came and sat at hisside. Away from the slip and out into the harbor the ferry carried JohnQuincy, and he suddenly sat up and took notice, for he was never blindto beauty, no matter where he encountered it.

And he was encountering beauty now. The morning air was keen and dry andbright. Spread out before him was that harbor which is like a tirednavigator's dream come true. They passed Goat Island, and he heard thefaint echo of a bugle, he saw Tamalpais lifting its proud head towardthe sparkling sky, he turned, and there was San Francisco scatteredblithely over its many hills.

The ferry plowed on, and John Quincy sat very still. A forest of mastsand steam funnels—here was the water front that had supplied theatmosphere for those romantic tales that held him spellbound when he wasa boy at school—a quiet young Winterslip whom the gypsy strain hadmissed. Now he could distinguish a bark from Antwerp, a great liner fromthe Orient, a five-masted schooner that was reminiscent of thosesupposedly forgotten stories. Ships from the Treaty Ports, ships fromcocoanut islands in southern seas. A picture as intriguing and colorfulas a back drop in a theater—but far more real.

Suddenly John Quincy stood up. A puzzled look had come into his calmgray eyes. "I—I don't understand," he murmured.

He was startled by the sound of his own voice. He hadn't intended tospeak aloud. In order not to appear too utterly silly, he looked aroundfor some one to whom he might pretend he had addressed that remark.There was no one about—except the young person who was obviouslyfeminine and therefore not to be informally accosted.

John Quincy looked down at her. Spanish or something like that,blue-black hair, dark eyes that were alight now with the amusem*nt shewas striving to hide, a delicate oval face tanned a deep brown. Helooked again at the harbor—beauty all about the boat, and beauty on it,Much better than traveling on trains!

The girl looked up at John Quincy. She saw a big, broad-shouldered youngman with a face as innocent as a child's. A bit of friendliness, shedecided instantly, would not be misunderstood.

"I beg your pardon," she said.

"Oh—I—I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean—I spoke withoutintending—I said I didn't understand—"

"You didn't understand what?"

"A most amazing thing has happened," he continued. He sat down, andwaved his hand toward the harbor. "I've been here before."

She looked perplexed. "Lots of people have," she admitted.

"But—you see—I mean—I've never been here before."

She moved away from him. "Lots of people haven't." She admitted that,too.

John Quincy took a deep breath. What was this discussion he had gotinto, anyhow? He had a quick impulse to lift his hat gallantly and walkaway, letting the whole matter drop. But no, he came of a race that seesthings through.

"I'm from Boston," he said.

"Oh," said the girl. That explained everything.

"And what I'm trying to make clear—although of course there's no reasonwhy I should have dragged you into it—"

"None whatever," she smiled. "But go on."

"Until a few days ago I was never west of New York, never in my wholelife, you understand. Been about New England a bit, and abroad a fewtimes, but the West—"

"I know. It didn't interest you."

"I wouldn't say that," protested John Quincy with careful politeness."But there was such a lot of it—exploring it seemed a hopelessundertaking. And then—the family thought I ought to go, you see—so Irode and rode on trains and was—you'll pardon me—a bit bored. Now—Icome into this harbor, I look around me, and I get the oddest feeling. Ifeel that I've been here before."

The girl's face was sympathetic. "Other people have had thatexperience," she told him. "Choice souls, they are. You've been a longtime coming, but you're home at last." She held out a slim brown hand."Welcome to your city," she said.

John Quincy solemnly shook hands. "Oh, no," he corrected gently."Boston's my city. I belong there, naturally. But this—this isfamiliar." He glanced northward at the low hills sheltering the Valleyof the Moon, then back at San Francisco. "Yes, I seem to have known myway about here once. Astonishing, isn't it?"

"Perhaps—some of your ancestors—"

"That's true. My grandfather came out here when he was a young man. Hewent home again—but his brothers stayed. It's the son of one of themI'm going to visit in Honolulu."

"Oh—you're going on to Honolulu?"

"To-morrow morning. Have you ever been there?"

"Ye—es." Her dark eyes were serious. "See—there are the docks—that'swhere the East begins. The real East. And Telegraph Hill—" she pointed;no one in Boston ever points, but she was so lovely John Quincyoverlooked it—"and Russian Hill, and the Fairmont on Nob Hill."

"Life must be full of ups and downs," he ventured lightly. "Tell meabout Honolulu. Sort of a wild place, I imagine?"

She laughed. "I'll let you discover for yourself how wild it is," shetold him. "Practically all the leading families came originally fromyour beloved New England. 'Puritans with a touch of sun,' my fathercalls them. He's clever, my father," she added, in an odd childish tonethat was wistful and at the same time challenging.

"I'm sure of it," said John Quincy heartily. They were approaching theFerry Building and other passengers crowded about them. "I'd help youwith that suit-case of yours, but I've got all this truck. If we couldfind a porter—"

"Don't bother," she answered. "I can manage very well." She was staringdown at John Quincy's hat box. "I—I suppose there's a silk hat inthere?" she inquired.

"Naturally," replied John Quincy.

She laughed—a rich, deep-throated laugh. John Quincy stiffenedslightly. "Oh, forgive me," she cried. "But—a silk hat in Hawaii!"

John Quincy stood erect. The girl had laughed at a Winterslip. He filledhis lungs with the air sweeping in from the open spaces, the broad openspaces where men are men. A weird reckless feeling came over him. Hestooped, picked up the hat box, and tossed it calmly over the rail. Itbobbed indignantly away. The crowd closed in, not wishing to miss anyfurther exhibition of madness.

"That's that," said John Quincy quietly.

"Oh," gasped the girl, "you shouldn't have done it."

And indeed, he shouldn't. The box was an expensive one, the gift of hisadmiring mother at Christmas. And the topper inside, worn in thegloaming along the water side of Beacon Street, had been known to add atouch of distinction even to that distinguished scene.

"Why not?" asked John Quincy. "The confounded thing's been a nuisanceever since I left home. And besides—we do look ridiculous at times,don't we? We easterners? A silk hat in the tropics! I might have beenmistaken for a missionary." He began to gather up his luggage. "Shan'tneed a porter any more," he announced gaily. "I say—it was awfully kindof you—letting me talk to you like that."

"It was fun," she told him. "I hope you're going to like us out here.We're so eager to be liked, you know. It's almost pathetic."

"Well," smiled John Quincy, "I've met only one Californian to date.But—"

"Yes?"

"So far, so good!"

"Oh, thank you." She moved away.

"Please—just a moment," called John Quincy. "I hope—I mean, I wish—"

But the crowd surged between them. He saw her dark eyes smiling at himand then, irrevocably as the hat, she drifted from his sight.

CHAPTER III

MIDNIGHT ON RUSSIAN HILL.

A few moments later John Quincy stepped ashore in San Francisco. He hadtaken not more than three steps across the floor of the Ferry Buildingwhen a dapper Japanese chauffeur pushed through the crowd and singlingout the easterner with what seemed uncanny perspicacity, took completecharge of him.

Roger Winterslip, the Jap announced, was too busy to meet ferries, buthad sent word that the boy was to go up to the house and afterestablishing himself comfortably there, join his host for lunchdown-town. Gratified to feel solid ground once more beneath his feet,John Quincy followed the chauffeur to the street. San Franciscoglittered under the morning sun.

"I always thought this was a foggy town," John Quincy said.

The Jap grinned. "Maybe fog come, maybe it do not. Just now one timemaybe it do not. Please." He held open the car door.

Through bright streets where life appeared to flow with a pleasantrhythm, they bowled along. Beside the curbs stood the colorful carts ofthe flower venders, unnecessarily painting the lily of existence. Wearytraveler though he was, John Quincy took in with every breath a freshsupply of energy. New ambitions stirred within him, bigger, better bondissues than ever before seemed ridiculously easy of attainment.

Roger Winterslip had not been among those lured to suburban life downthe peninsula; he resided in bachelor solitude on Nob Hill. It was anancient, battered house viewed from without, but within, John Quincyfound, were all known comforts. A bent old Chinaman showed him his roomand his heart leaped up when he beheld, at last, a veritable bath.

At one o'clock he sought out the office where his relative carried on,with conspicuous success, his business as an engineer and builder. Rogerproved a short florid man in his late fifties.

"Hello, son," he cried cordially. "How's Boston?"

"Every one is quite well," said John Quincy. "You're being extremelykind—"

"Nonsense. It's a pleasure to see you. Come along."

He took John Quincy to a famous club for lunch. In the grill he pointedout several well-known writers. The boy was not unduly impressed, forLongfellow, Whittier and Lowell were not among them. Nevertheless it wasa pleasant place, the service perfect, the food of an excellence rare onthe codfish coast.

"And what," asked Roger presently, "do you think of San Francisco?"

"I like it," John Quincy said simply.

"No? Do you really mean that?" Roger beamed. "Well, it's the sort ofplace that ought to appeal to a New Englander. It's had a history,brief, but believe me, my boy, one crowded hour of glorious life. It'ssophisticated, knowing, subtle. Contrast it with other cities—forinstance, take Los Angeles—"

He was off on a favorite topic and he talked well.

"Writers," he said at last, "are for ever comparing cities to women. SanFrancisco is the woman you don't tell the folks at home an awful lotabout. Not that she wasn't perfectly proper—I don't mean that—but herstockings were just a little thinner and her laugh a littlegayer—people might misunderstand. Besides, the memory is too preciousto talk about. Hello."

A tall, lean, handsome Englishman was crossing the grill on his way out."Cope! Cope, my dear fellow!" Roger sped after him and dragged him back."I knew you at once," he was saying, "though it must be more than fortyyears since I last saw you."

The Britisher dropped into a chair. He smiled a wry smile. "My dear oldchap," he said. "Not so literal, if you don't mind."

"Rot!" protested Roger. "What do years matter? This is a young cousin ofmine, John Quincy Winterslip, of Boston. Ah—er—just what is your titlenow?"

"Captain. I'm in the Admiralty."

"Really? Captain Arthur Temple Cope, John Quincy." Roger turned to theEnglishman. "You were a midshipman, I believe, when we met in Honolulu.I was talking to Dan about you not a year ago—"

An expression of intense dislike crossed the captain's face. "Ah, yes,Dan. Alive and prospering, I presume?"

"Oh, yes," answered Roger.

"Isn't it damnable," remarked Cope, "how the wicked thrive?"

An uncomfortable silence fell. John Quincy was familiar with thefrankness of Englishmen, but he was none the less annoyed by this opendisplay of hostility toward his prospective host. After all, Dan's lastname was Winterslip.

"Ah—er—have a cigarette," suggested Roger.

"Thank you—have one of mine," said Cope, taking out a silver case."Virginia tobacco, though they are put up in Piccadilly. No? And you,sir—" He held the case before John Quincy, who refused a bit stiffly.

The captain nonchalantly lighted up. "I beg your pardon—what I saidabout your cousin," he began. "But really, you know—"

"No matter," said Roger cordially. "Tell me what you're doing here."

"On my way to Hawaii," explained the captain. "Sailing at three to-dayon the Australian boat. A bit of a job for the Admiralty. From HonoluluI drop down to the Fanning Group—a little flock of islands that belongsto us," he added with a fine paternal air.

"A possible coaling station," smiled Roger.

"My dear fellow—the precise nature of my mission is, of course, asecret." Captain Cope looked suddenly at John Quincy. "By the way, Ionce knew a very charming girl from Boston. A relative of yours, nodoubt."

"A—a girl," repeated John Quincy, puzzled.

"Minerva Winterslip."

"Why," said John Quincy, amazed, "you mean my Aunt Minerva."

The captain smiled. "She was no one's aunt in those days," he said."Nothing auntish about her. But that was in Honolulu in the'eighties—we'd put in there on the old wooden Reliance—the poorunlucky ship was limping home crippled from Samoa. Your aunt wasvisiting at that port—there were dances at the palace, swimmingparties—ah, me, to be young again."

"Minerva's in Honolulu now," Roger told him.

"No—really?"

"Yes. She's stopping with Dan."

"With Dan." The captain was silent for a moment "Her husband—"

"Minerva never married," Roger explained.

"Amazing," said the captain. He blew a ring of smoke toward the paneledceiling. "The more shame to the men of Boston. My time is hardly my own,but I shall hope to look in on her." He rose. "This was a bit ofluck—meeting you again, old chap. I'm due aboard the boat veryshortly—you understand, of course." He bowed to them both, anddeparted.

"Fine fellow," Roger said, staring after him. "Frank and British, but asplendid chap."

"I wasn't especially pleased," John Quincy admitted, "by the way hespoke of Cousin Dan."

Roger laughed. "Better get used to it," he advised. "Dan is notpassionately beloved. He's climbed high, you know, and he's trampleddown a few on his way up. By the way, he wants you to do an errand forhim here in San Francisco."

"Me!" cried John Quincy. "An errand?"

"Yes. You ought to feel flattered. Dan doesn't trust everybody. However,it's something that must wait until dark."

"Until dark," repeated the puzzled young man from Boston.

"Precisely. In the meantime I propose to show you about town."

"But—you're busy. I couldn't think of taking you away—"

Roger laid his hand on John Quincy's shoulder. "My boy, no westerner isever too busy to show a man from the East about his city. I've beenlooking forward to this chance for weeks. And since you insist onsailing to-morrow at ten, we must make the most of our time."

Roger proved an adept at making the most of one's time in San Francisco.After an exhilarating afternoon of motoring over the town and thesurrounding country, he brought John Quincy back to the house at six,urging him to dress quickly for a dinner of which he apparently hadgreat hopes.

The boy's trunk was in his room, and as he put on a dinner coat helooked forward with lively anticipation to a bit of San Francisco nightlife in Roger's company. When he came down-stairs his host was waiting,a distinguished figure in his dinner clothes, and they set out blithelythrough the gathering dusk.

"Little place I want you to try." Roger explained as they sat down at atable in a restaurant that was outwardly of no special note. "Afterwardwe'll look in on that musical show at the Columbia."

The restaurant more than justified Roger's hopes of it. John Quincybegan to glow with a warm friendly feeling for all the world,particularly this city by the western gate. He did not think of himselfas a stranger here. He wasn't a stranger, anyhow. The sensation he hadfirst experienced in the harbor returned to him. He had been herebefore, he was treading old familiar ground. In far, forgotten, happytimes he had known the life of this city's streets. Strange, but true.He spoke to Roger about it.

Roger smiled. "A Winterslip, after all," he said. "And they told me youwere just a sort of—of Puritan survival. My father used to know thatsensation you speak of, only he felt it whenever he entered a new town.Might be something in reincarnation, after all."

"Nonsense," said John Quincy.

"Probably. Just the blood of the roaming Winterslips in your veins." Heleaned across the table. "How would you like to come to San Francisco tolive?"

"Wha-what?" asked John Quincy, startled.

"I'm getting along in years, and I'm all alone. Lots of financialdetails in my office—take you in there and let you look after them.Make it worth your while."

"No, no, thank you," said John Quincy firmly. "I belong back east.Besides, I could never persuade Agatha to come out here."

"Agatha who?"

"Agatha Parker—the girl I'm engaged to—in a way. Been sort ofunderstood between us for several years. No," he added, "I guess I'dbetter stay where I belong."

Roger Winterslip looked his disappointment. "Probably had," he admitted."I fancy no girl with that name would follow you here. Though a girlworth having will follow her man anywhere—but no matter." He studiedJohn Quincy keenly for a moment. "I must have been wrong about you,anyhow."

John Quincy felt a sudden resentment. "Just what do you mean by that?"he inquired.

"In the old days," Roger said, "Winterslips were the stuff of whichpioneers are made. They didn't cling to the apron-strings ofcivilization. They got up some fine morning and nonchalantly strolledoff beyond the horizon. They lived—but there, you're of anothergeneration. You can't understand."

"Why can't I?" demanded John Quincy.

"Because the same old rut has evidently been good enough for you. You'venever known a thrill. Or have you? Have you ever forgot to go to bedbecause of some utterly silly reason—because, for example, you wereyoung and the moon was shining on a beach lapped by southern seas? Haveyou ever lied like a gentleman to protect a woman not worth the trouble?Ever made love to the wrong girl?"

"Of course not," said John Quincy stiffly.

"Ever run for your life through crooked streets in the rowdy quarter ofa strange town? Ever fought with a ship's officer—the old-fashionedkind with fists like flying hams? Ever gone out on a man hunt and whenyou got your quarry cornered, leaped upon him with no weapon but yourbare hands? Have you ever—"

"The type of person you describe," John Quincy cut in, "is hardlyadmirable."

"Probably not," Roger agreed. "And yet—those are incidents from my ownpast, my boy." He regarded John Quincy sadly. "Yes, I must have beenwrong about you. A Puritan survival, after all."

John Quincy deigned no reply. There was an odd light in the older man'seyes—was Roger secretly laughing at him? He appeared to be, and the boyresented it.

But he forgot to be resentful at the revue, which proved to be witty andgay, and Roger and he emerged from the theater at eleven the best offriends again. As they stepped into Roger's car, the older man gave thechauffeur an address on Russian Hill.

"Dan's San Francisco house," he explained, as he climbed in after JohnQuincy. "He comes over about two months each year, and keeps a placehere. Got more money than I have."

Dan's San Francisco house? "Oh," said John Quincy, "the errand youmentioned?"

Roger nodded. "Yes." He snapped on a light in the top of the limousine,and took an envelope from his pocket. "Read this letter. It wasdelivered to me two days ago by the Second Officer of the PresidentTyler."

John Quincy removed a sheet of note paper from the envelope. The messageappeared to be rather hastily scrawled.

"Dear Roger," he read. "You can do me a great service—you and thatdiscreet lad from Boston who is to stop over with you on his wayout here. First of all, give John Quincy my regards and tell himthat he must make my house his home while he is in the Islands.I'll be delighted to have him.

"About the errand. You have a key to my house on Russian Hill. Goup there—better go at night when the caretaker's not likely to bearound. The lights are off, but you'll find candles in the pantry.In the store room on the top floor is an old brown trunk. Locked,probably—smash the lock if it is. In the lower section you'll finda battered strong box made of ohia wood and bound with copper.Initials on it—T. M. B.

"Wrap it up and take it away. It's rather an armful, but you canmanage it. Have John Quincy conceal it in his luggage and some darknight when the ship's about half-way over, I want him to take it ondeck and quietly drop it overboard. Tell him to be sure nobody seeshim. That's all. But send me a guarded cable when you get the box,and tell him to send me a radio when the Pacific has it at last.I'll sleep better then.

"Not a word, Roger. Not a word to any one. You'll understand.Sometimes the dead past needs a bit of help in burying its dead.

"Your Cousin Dan."

Solemnly John Quincy handed the letter back into Roger's keeping. Theolder man thoughtfully tore it to bits and tossed them through the carwindow open beside him. "Well," said John Quincy. "Well—" A fittingcomment eluded him.

"Simple enough," smiled Roger. "If we can help poor old Dan to sleepbetter as easily as that, we must do it, eh?"

"I—I suppose so," John Quincy agreed.

They had climbed Russian Hill, and were speeding along a deserted avenuelined by imposing mansions. Roger leaned forward. "Go on to the corner,"he said to the chauffeur. "We can walk back," he explained to JohnQuincy. "Best not to leave the car before the house. Might excitesuspicion."

Still John Quincy had no comment to make. They alighted at the cornerand walked slowly back along the avenue. In front of a big stone house,Roger paused. He looked carefully in all directions, then ran withsurprising speed up the steps. "Come on," he called softly.

John Quincy came. Roger unlocked the door and they stepped into a darkvestibule. Beyond that, darker still, was a huge hall, the dimsuggestion of a grand staircase. Here and there an article of furniture,shrouded in white, stood like a ghost, marooned but patient. Roger tookout a box of matches.

"Meant to bring a flashlight," he said, "but I clean forgot. Waithere—I'll hunt those candles in the pantry."

He went off into the dark. John Quincy took a few cautious steps. He wasabout to sit down on a chair—but it was like sitting on the lap of aghost. He changed his mind, stood in the middle of the floor, waited.Quiet, deathly quiet. The black had swallowed Roger, with not so much asa gurgle.

After what seemed an age, Roger returned, bearing two lighted candles.One each, he explained. John Quincy took his, held it high. Theflickering yellow flame accentuated the shadows, was really of smallhelp.

Roger led the way up the grand staircase, then up narrower flight. Atthe foot of still another flight, in a stuffy passage on the thirdfloor, he halted.

"Here we are," he said. "This leads to the storage room under the roof.By gad, I'm getting too old for this sort of thing. I meant to bring achisel to use on that lock. I know where the tools are—I'll be goneonly a minute. You go on up and locate the trunk."

"All—all right," answered John Quincy.

Again Roger left him. John Quincy hesitated. Something about a desertedhouse at midnight to dismay the stoutest heart—but nonsense! He was agrown man. He smiled, and started up the narrow stair. High above hishead the yellow light of the candle flickered on the brown rafters ofthe unfinished store room.

He reached the top of the stairs, and paused. Gloom, gloom everywhere.Odd how floor boards will creak even when no one is moving over them.One was creaking back of him now.

He was about to turn when a hand reached from behind him and knocked thecandle out of his grasp. It rolled on the floor, extinguished.

This was downright rude! "See here," cried John Quincy, "wh—who areyou?"

A bit of moonlight struggled in through a far window, and suddenlybetween John Quincy and that distant light there loomed the determinedfigure of a man. Something told the boy he had better get ready, butwhere he came from one had a moment or two for preparation. He had nonehere. A fist shot out and found his face, and John Quincy Winterslip ofBoston went down amid the rubbish of a San Francisco attic. He heard,for a second, the crash of planets in collision, and then the clatterof large feet on the stairs. After that, he was alone with the debris.

He got up, thoroughly angry, and began brushing off the dinner coat thathad been his tailor's pride. Roger arrived. "Who was that?" he demandedbreathlessly. "Somebody went down the back stairs to the kitchen. Whowas it?"

"How should I know?" inquired John Quincy with pardonable peevishness."He didn't introduce himself to me." His cheek was stinging; he put hishandkerchief to it and noted in the light of Roger's candle that it wasred when it came away. "He wore a ring," added John Quincy. "Damned badtaste!"

"Hit you, eh?" inquired Roger.

"I'll say he did."

"Look!" Roger cried. He pointed. "The trunk-lock smashed." He went overto investigate. "And the box is gone. Poor old Dan!"

John Quincy continued to brush himself off. Poor old Dan's plight gavehim a vast pain, a pain which had nothing to do with his throbbing jaw.A fine nerve poor old Dan had to ask a complete stranger to offer hisface for punishment in a dusty attic at midnight. What was it all about,anyhow?

Roger continued his search. "No use," he announced. "The box is gone,that's plain. Come on, we'll go down-stairs and look about. There's yourcandle on the floor."

John Quincy picked up the candle and relighted it from Roger's flame.Silently they went below. The outer door of the kitchen stood open."Left that way," said Roger. "And, see"—he pointed to a window with abroken pane—"that's where he came in."

"How about the police?" suggested John Quincy.

Roger stared at him. "The police? I should say not! Where's yourdiscretion, my boy? This is not a police matter. I'll have a new glassput in that window to-morrow. Come on—we might as well go home. We'vefailed."

The note of reproof in his voice angered John Quincy anew. They left theextinguished candles on a table in the hall, and returned to the street.

"Well, I'll have to cable Dan," Roger said, as they walked toward thecorner. "I'm afraid he'll be terribly upset by this. It won't tend toendear you to him, either."

"I can struggle along," said John Quincy, "without his affection."

"If you could only have held that fellow till I came—"

"Look here," said John Quincy, "I was taken unawares. How could I knowthat I was going up against the heavyweight champion in that attic? Hecame at me out of the dark—and I'm not in condition—"

"No offense, my boy," Roger put in.

"I see my mistake," went on John Quincy. "I should have trained for thistrip out here. A stiff course in a gymnasium. But don't worry. The nextlad that makes a pass at me will find a different target. I'll do adaily three dozen and I'll take boxing lessons. From now on until I gethome, I'll be expecting the worst."

Roger laughed. "That's a nasty cut on your cheek," he remarked. "We'dbetter stop at this drug store and have it dressed."

A solicitous drug clerk ministered to John Quincy with iodine, cottonand court plaster, and he reentered the limousine bearing honorably thescar of battle. The drive to Nob Hill was devoid of light chatter.

Just inside the door of Roger's house, a whirlwind in a gay gowndescended upon them. "Barbara!" Roger said. "Where did you come from?"

"Hello, old dear," she cried, kissing him. "I motored up fromBurlingame. Spending the night with you—I'm sailing on the PresidentTyler in the morning. Is this John Quincy?"

"Cousin John," smiled Roger. "He deserves a kiss too. He's had a badevening."

The girl moved swiftly toward the defenseless John Quincy. Again he wasunprepared, and this time it was his other cheek that suffered, thoughnot unpleasantly. "Just by way of welcome," Barbara laughed. She wasblonde and slender. John Quincy thought he had never seen so much energyimprisoned in so slight a form, "I hear you're bound for the Islands?"she said.

"To-morrow," John Quincy answered. "On your boat."

"Splendid!" she cried. "When did you get in?"

"John Quincy came this morning," Roger told her.

"And he's had a bad evening?" the girl said. "How lucky I came along.Where are you taking us, Roger?"

John Quincy stared. Taking them? At this hour?

"I'll be getting along up-stairs," he ventured.

"Why, it's just after twelve," said Barbara. "Lots of places open. Youdance, don't you? Let me show you San Francisco. Roger's a dear oldthing—we'll let him pay the checks."

"Well—I—I—" stammered John Quincy. His cheek was throbbing and hethought longingly of that bed in the room up-stairs. What a place, thisWest!

"Come along!" The girl was humming a gay little tune. All vivacity, alllife. Rather pleasant sort at that. John Quincy took up his hat.

Roger's chauffeur had lingered a moment before the house to inspect hisengine. When he saw them coming down the steps, he looked as though herather wished he hadn't. But escape was impossible; he climbed to hisplace behind the wheel.

"Where to, Barbara?" Roger asked. "Tait's?"

"Not Tait's," she answered. "I've just come from there."

"What! I thought you motored in from Burlingame?"

"So I did—at five. I've traveled a bit since then. How about somechop-suey for this Boston boy?"

Good lord, John Quincy thought. Was there anything in the world hewanted less? No matter. Barbara took him among the Chinese.

He didn't give a hang about the Chinese. Nor the Mexicans, whoserestaurants interested the girl next. At the moment, he wasunsympathetic toward Italy. And even toward France. But he struggled onthe international round, affronting his digestion with queer dishes, anddancing thousands of miles with the slim Barbara in his arms. Afterscrambled eggs at a place called Pete's Fashion, she consented to callit an evening.

As John Quincy staggered into Roger's house, the great clock in the hallwas striking three. The girl was still alert and sparkling. John Quincyhastily concealed a yawn.

"All wrong to come home so early," she cried. "But we'll have a dance ortwo on the boat. By the way, I've been wanting to ask. What does itmean? The injured cheek?"

"Why—er—I—" John Quincy remarked. Over the girl's shoulder he sawRoger violently shaking his head. "Oh, that," said John Quincy, lightlytouching the wound. "That's where the West begins. Good night. I've hada bully time." And at last he got up-stairs.

He stood for a moment at his bedroom window, gazing down at thetorchlight procession of the streets through this amazing city. He was alittle dazed. That soft warm presence close by his side in thecar—pleasant, very pleasant. Remarkable girls out here. Different!

Beyond shone the harbor lights. That other girl—wonderful eyes she had.Just because she had laughed at him his treasured hat box floated nowforlorn on those dark waters. He yawned again. Better be careful.Mustn't be so easily influenced. No telling where it would end.

CHAPTER IV

A FRIEND OF TIM'S

It was another of those mornings on which the fog maybe did not come.Roger and his guests were in the limousine again; it seemed to JohnQuincy that they had left it only a few minutes before. So it must haveseemed to the chauffeur too as, sleepy-eyed, he hurried them toward thewater-front.

"By the way, John Quincy," Roger said, "you'll want to change your moneybefore you go aboard."

John Quincy gathered his wandering thoughts. "Oh, yes, of course," heanswered.

Roger smiled. "Just what sort of money would you like to change it for?"he inquired.

"Why—" began John Quincy. He stopped. "Why, I always thought—"

"Don't pay any attention to Roger," Barbara laughed. "He's spoofingyou." She was fresh and blooming, a little matter like three A. M. madeno difference to her. "Only about one person out of a thousand in thiscountry knows that Hawaii is a part of the United States, and the factannoys us deeply over in the Islands. Dear old Roger was trying to getyou in wrong with me by enrolling you among the nine hundred andninety-nine."

"Almost did it, too," chuckled Roger.

"Nonsense," said Barbara. "John Quincy is too intelligent. He's notlike that congressman who wrote a letter to 'the American Consul atHonolulu.'"

"Did one of them do that?" smiled John Quincy.

"He certainly did. We almost gave up the struggle after that. Then therewas the senator who came out on a junket, and began a speech with: 'WhenI get home to my country—' Some one in the audience shouted: 'You'rethere now, you big stiff!' It wasn't elegant, of course, but itexpressed our feeling perfectly. Oh, we're touchy, John Quincy."

"Don't blame you a bit," he told her. "I'll be very careful what I say."

They had reached the Embarcadero, and the car halted before one of thepiers. The chauffeur descended and began to gather up the baggage. Rogerand John Quincy took a share of it, and they traversed the pier-shed tothe gangplank.

"Get along to your office, Roger," Barbara said.

"No hurry," he answered. "I'll go aboard with you, of course."

Amid the confusion of the deck, a party of girls swept down on Barbara,pretty lively girls of the California brand. John Quincy learned withsome regret that they were there only to see Barbara off. A bigbroad-shouldered man in white pushed his way through the crowd.

"Hello there!" he called to Barbara.

"Hello, Harry," she answered. "You, know Roger, don't you? John Quincy,this is an old friend of mine, Harry Jennison."

Mr. Jennison was extremely good-looking, his face was deeply tanned bythe Island sun, his hair blond and wavy, his gray eyes amused andcynical. Altogether, he was the type of man women look at twice andnever forget; John Quincy felt himself at once supplanted in the eyesof Barbara's friends.

Jennison seized the boy's hand in a firm grip. "Sailing too, Mr.Winterslip?" he inquired. "That's good. Between us we ought to be ableto keep this young woman entertained."

The shore call sounded, and the confusion increased. Along the deck camea little old lady, followed by a Chinese woman servant. They walkedbriskly, and the crowd gave way before them.

"Hello—this is luck," cried Roger. "Madame Maynard—just a moment. Iwant you to meet a cousin of mine from Boston." He introduced JohnQuincy. "I give him into your charge. Couldn't find a better guide,philosopher and friend for him if I combed the Islands."

The old lady glanced at John Quincy. Her black eyes snapped. "AnotherWinterslip, eh?" she said. "Hawaii's all cluttered up with 'em now.Well, the more the merrier. I know your aunt."

"Stick close to her, John Quincy," Roger admonished.

She shook her head. "I'm a million years old," she protested. "The boysdon't stick so close any more. They like 'em younger. However, I'll keepmy eye on him. My good eye. Well, Roger, run over some time." And shemoved away.

"A grand soul," said Roger, smiling after her. "You'll like her. Oldmissionary family, and her word's law over there."

"Who's this Jennison?" asked John Quincy.

"Him?" Roger glanced over to where Mr. Jennison stood, the center of anadmiring feminine group. "Oh, he's Dan's lawyer. One of the leadingcitizens of Honolulu, I believe. John J. Adonis himself, isn't he?" Anofficer appeared, herding the reluctant throng toward the gangplank."I'll have to leave you, John Quincy. A pleasant journey. When you comethrough on your way home, give me a few more days to try to convince youon my San Francisco offer."

John Quincy laughed. "You've been mighty kind."

"Not at all." Roger shook his hand warmly. "Take care of yourself overthere. Hawaii's a little too much like Heaven to be altogether safe. Solong, my boy, so long."

He moved away. John Quincy saw him kiss Barbara affectionately and withher friends join the slow procession ashore.

The young man from Boston stepped to the rail. Several hundred voiceswere calling admonitions, promises, farewells. With that holiday spiritso alien to John Quincy's experience, those ashore were throwingconfetti. The streamers grew in number, making a tangle of color, a lastfrail bond with the land. The gangplank was taken up, clumsily thePresident Tyler began to draw away from the pier. On the topmost decka band was playing—Aloha-oe, the sweetest, most melancholy song ofgood-by ever written. John Quincy was amazed to feel a lump rising inhis throat.

The frail, gay-colored bond was breaking now. A thin veined hand at JohnQuincy's side waved a handkerchief. He turned to find Mrs. Maynard.There were tears on her cheeks.

"Silly old woman," she said. "Sailed away from this town a hundred andtwenty-eight times. Actual count—I keep a diary. Cried every time. Whatabout? I don't know."

The ship was well out in the harbor now. Barbara came along, Jennisontrailing her. The girl's eyes were wet.

"An emotional lot, we Islanders," said the old lady. She put her armabout the girl's slim waist. "Here's another one of 'em. Living way offthe way we do, any good-by at all—it saddens us." She and Barbara movedon down the deck.

Jennison stopped. His eyes were quite dry. "First trip out?" heinquired.

"Oh, yes," replied John Quincy.

"Hope you'll like us," Jennison said. "Not Massachusetts, of course, butwe'll do our best to make you feel at home. It's a way we have withstrangers."

"I'm sure I shall have a bully time," John Quincy remarked. But he feltsomewhat depressed. Three thousand miles from Beacon Street—and movingon! He waved to some one he fancied might be Roger on the dock, and wentto find his stateroom.

He learned that he was to share his cabin with two missionaries. One wasa tall, gloomy old man with a lemon-colored face—an honored veteran ofthe foreign field named Upton. The other was a ruddy-cheeked boy whosemartyrdom was still before him. John Quincy suggested drawing lots for achoice of berths, but even this mild form of gambling appeareddistasteful to these emissaries of the church.

"You boys take the berths," said Upton. "Leave me the couch. I don'tsleep well anyhow." His tone was that of one who prefers to suffer.

John Quincy politely objected. After further discussion it was settledthat he was to have the upper berth, the old man the lower, and the boythe couch. The Reverend Mr. Upton seemed disappointed. He had playedthe role of martyr so long he resented seeing any one else in the part.

The Pacific was behaving in a most unfriendly manner, tossing the greatship about as though it were a piece of driftwood. John Quincy decidedto dispense with lunch, and spent the afternoon reading in his berth. Byevening he felt better, and under the watchful and somewhat disapprovingeyes of the missionaries, arrayed himself carefully for dinner.

His name being Winterslip, he had been invited to sit at the captain'stable. He found Madame Maynard, serene and twinkling, at the captain'sright, Barbara at his left, and Jennison at Barbara's side. It appearedthat oddly enough there was an aristocracy of the Islands, and JohnQuincy, while he thought it quaint there should be such distinctions inan outpost like Hawaii, took his proper place as a matter of course.

Mrs. Maynard chatted brightly of her many trips over this route.Suddenly she turned to Barbara. "How does it happen, my dear," sheasked, "that you're not on the college boat?"

"All booked up," Barbara explained.

"Nonsense," said the frank old lady. "You could have got on. Butthen"—she looked meaningly toward Jennison—"I presume this ship wasnot without its attraction."

The girl flushed slightly and made no reply.

"What," John Quincy inquired, "is the college boat?"

"So many children from Hawaii at school on the mainland," the old ladyexplained, "that every June around this time they practically fill aship. We call it the college boat. This year it's the Matsonia. Sheleft San Francisco to-day at noon."

"I've got a lot of friends aboard her," Barbara said. "I do wish wecould beat her in. Captain, what are the chances?"

"Well, that depends," replied the captain cautiously.

"She isn't due until Tuesday morning," Barbara persisted. "Wouldn't itbe a lark if you could land us the night before? As a favor to me,Captain."

"When you look at me like that," smiled the officer, "I can only saythat I'll make a supreme effort. I'm just as eager as you to make porton Monday—it would mean I could get off to the Orient that muchsooner."

"Then it's settled," Barbara beamed.

"It's settled that we'll try," he said. "Of course, if I speed upthere's always the chance I may arrive off Honolulu after sundown, andbe compelled to lay by until morning. That would be torture for you."

"I'll risk it," Barbara smiled. "Wouldn't dear old dad be pleased if Ishould burst upon his vision Monday evening?"

"My dear girl," the captain said gallantly, "any man would be pleased tohave you burst upon his vision any time."

There was, John Quincy reflected, much in what the captain said. Up tothat moment there had been little of the romantic in his relations withgirls; he was accustomed to look upon them merely as tennis or golfopponents or a fourth at bridge. Barbara would demand a differentclassification. There was an enticing gleam in her blue eyes, a hint ofthe eternal feminine in everything she did or said, and John Quincy wasno wooden man. He was glad that when he left the dinner table, sheaccompanied him.

They went on deck and stood by the rail. Night had fallen, there was nomoon, and it seemed to John Quincy that the Pacific was the blackest,angriest ocean he had ever seen. He stood gazing at it gloomily.

"Homesick, John Quincy?" Barbara asked. One of his hands was resting onthe rail. She laid her own upon it.

He nodded. "It's a funny thing. I've been abroad a lot, but I never feltlike this. When the ship left port this morning, I nearly wept."

"It's not so very funny," she said gently. "This is an alien worldyou're entering now. Not Boston, John Quincy, nor any other old,civilized place. Not the kind of place where the mind rules. Out hereit's the heart that charts our course. People you're fond of do thewildest, most unreasonable things, simply because their minds aresleeping and their hearts are beating fast. Just—just remember, please,John Quincy."

There was an odd note of wistfulness in her voice. Suddenly at theirside appeared the white-clad figure of Harry Jennison.

"Coming for a stroll, Barbara?" he inquired.

For a moment she did not reply. Then she nodded. "Yes," she said. Andcalled over her shoulder as she went: "Cheer up, John Quincy."

He watched her go, reluctantly. She might have stayed to assuage hisloneliness. But there she walked along the dim deck, close to Jennison'sside.

After a time, he sought the smoking-room. It was deserted, but on one ofthe tables lay a copy of the Boston Transcript. Delighted, John Quincypounced upon it, as Robinson Crusoe might have pounced on news fromhome.

The issue was ten days old, but no matter. He turned at once to thefinancial pages. There it was, like the face of a well-beloved friend,the record of one day's trading on the Stock Exchange. And up in onecorner, the advertisem*nt of his own banking house, offering an issue ofpreferred stock in a Berkshire cotton mill. He read eagerly, but with anodd detached feeling. He was gone, gone from that world, away out hereon a black ocean bound for picture-book islands. Islands where, not solong ago, brown tribes had battled, brown kings ruled. There seemed nolink with that world back home, those gay-colored streamers of confettibreaking so readily had been a symbol. He was adrift. What sort of portwould claim him in the end?

He threw the paper down. The Reverend Mr. Upton entered thesmoking-room.

"I left my newspaper here," he explained. "Ah—did you care to look atit?"

"Thank you, I have," John Quincy told him.

The old man picked it up in a great bony hand. "I always buy aTranscript when I get the chance," he said. "It carries me back. Youknow, I was born in Salem, over seventy years ago."

John Quincy stared at him. "You've been a long time out here?" he asked.

"More than fifty years in the foreign field," answered the old man. "Iwas one of the first to go to the South Seas. One of the first to carrythe torch down there—and a dim torch it was, I'm afraid. Afterward Iwas transferred to China." John Quincy regarded him with a new interest."By the way, sir," the missionary continued, "I once met anothergentleman named Winterslip. Mr. Daniel Winterslip."

"Really?" said John Quincy. "He's a cousin of mine. I'm to visit him inHonolulu."

"Yes? I heard he had returned to Hawaii, and prospered. I met him justonce—in the 'eighties, it was, on a lonely island in the Gilbert group.It was—rather a turning point in his life, and I have never forgotten."John Quincy waited to hear more, but the old missionary moved away."I'll go and enjoy my Transcript," he smiled. "The church news is verycompetently handled."

John Quincy rose and went aimlessly outside. A dreary scene, the swishof turbulent waters, dim figures aimless as himself, an occasionalship's officer hurrying by. His stateroom opened directly on the deck,and he sank into a steamer chair just outside the door.

In the distance he saw his room steward, weaving his way in and out ofthe cabins under his care. The man was busy with his last duties for thenight, refilling water carafes, laying out towels, putting thingsgenerally to rights.

"Evening, sir," he said as he entered John Quincy's room. Presently hecame and stood in the door, the cabin light at his back. He was a smallman with gold-rimmed eye-glasses and a fierce gray pompadour.

"Everything O. K., Mr. Winterslip?" he inquired.

"Yes, Bowker," smiled John Quincy. "Everything's fine."

"That's good," said Bowker. He switched off the cabin light and steppedout on to the deck. "I aim to take particular care of you, sir. Saw yourhome town on the sailing list. I'm an old Boston man myself."

"Is that so?" said John Quincy cordially. Evidently the Pacific was aBoston suburb.

"Not born there, I don't mean," the man went on. "But a newspaper manthere for ten years. It was just after I left the University."

John Quincy stared through the dark. "Harvard?" he asked.

"Dublin," said the steward. "Yes, sir—" He laughed an embarrassedlittle laugh. "You might not think it now, but the University of Dublin,Class of 1901. And after that, for ten years, working in Boston on theGazette—reporting, copy desk, managing editor for a time. Maybe Ibumped into you there—at the Adams House bar, say, on a night before afootball game."

"Quite possible," admitted John Quincy. "One bumped into so many peopleon such occasions."

"Don't I know it?" Mr. Bowker leaned on the rail, in reminiscent mood."Great times, sir. Those were the good old days when a newspaper man whowasn't tanked up was a reproach to a grand profession. The Gazette wasedited mostly from a place called the Arch Inn. We'd bring our copy tothe city editor there—he had a regular table—a bit sloppy on top, buthis desk. If we had a good story, maybe he'd stand us a co*cktail."

John Quincy laughed.

"Happy days," continued the Dublin graduate, with a sigh. "I knew everybartender in Boston well enough to borrow money. Were you ever in thatplace in the alley back of the Tremont Theater—?"

"Tim's place," suggested John Quincy, recalling an incident of collegedays.

"Yeah, bo. Now you're talking. I wonder what became of Tim. Say, andthere was that place on Boylston—but they're all gone now, of course.An old pal I met in 'Frisco was telling me it would break your heart tosee the cobwebs on the mirrors back in Beantown. Gone to the devil, justlike my profession. The newspapers go on consolidating, doubling up,combining the best features of both, and an army of good men go on thetown. Good men and true, moaning about the vanished days and maybelanding in jobs like this one of mine." He was silent for a moment."Well, sir, anything I can do for you—as a mutual friend of Tim's—"

"As a friend of Tim's," smiled John Quincy, "I'll not hesitate tomention it."

Sadly Bowker went on down the deck. John Quincy sat lonely again. Acouple passed, walking close, talking in low tones. He recognizedJennison and his cousin. "Between us we ought to be able to keep thisyoung woman entertained," Jennison had said. Well, John Quincyreflected, his portion of the entertainment promised to be small.

CHAPTER V

THE BLOOD OF THE WINTERSLIPS

The days that followed proved that he was right. He seldom had a momentalone with Barbara; when he did, Jennison seemed always to be hoveringnear by, and he did not long delay making the group a threesome. Atfirst John Quincy resented this, but gradually he began to feel that itdidn't matter.

Nothing appeared to matter any more. A great calm had settled over thewaters and over John Quincy's soul. The Pacific was one vast sheet ofglass, growing a deeper blue with every passing hour. They seemed to befloating in space in a world where nothing ever happened, nothing couldhappen. Quiet restful days gave way to long brilliant nights. A littlewalk, a little talk, and that was life.

Sometimes John Quincy chatted with Madame Maynard on the deck. She whohad known the Islands so many years had fascinating tales to tell, talesof the monarchy and the missionaries. The boy liked her immensely, shewas a New Englander at heart despite her glamourous lifetime in Hawaii.

Bowker, too, he found excellent company. The steward was that rarityeven among college graduates, an educated man; there was no topic uponwhich he could not discourse at length and brilliantly. In JohnQuincy's steamer trunk were a number of huge imposing volumes—books hehad been meaning to tackle long ago, but it was Bowker who read them,not John Quincy.

As the days slipped by, the blue of the water deepened to ultramarine,the air grew heavier and warmer. Under-foot throbbed the engines thatwere doing their best for Barbara and an early landing. The captain wasoptimistic, he predicted they would make port late Monday afternoon. ButSunday night a fierce sudden storm swept down upon them, and lashed theship with a wet fury until dawn. When the captain appeared at luncheonMonday noon, worn by a night on the bridge, he shook his head.

"We've lost our bet, Miss Barbara," he said. "I can't possibly arriveoff Hololulu before midnight."

Barbara frowned. "But ships sail at any hour," she reminded him. "Idon't see why—if we sent radios ahead—"

"No use," he told her. "The Quarantine people keep early hours. No, I'llhave to lay by near the channel entrance until official sunrise—aboutsix. We'll get in ahead of the Matsonia in the morning. That's thebest I can offer you."

"You're a dear, anyhow," Barbara smiled. "That old storm wasn't yourfault. We'll drown our sorrow to-night with one last glorious dance—acostume party." She turned to Jennison. "I've got the loveliest fancydress—Marie Antoinette—I wore it at college. What do you say, Harry?"

"Fine!" Jennison answered. "We can all dig up some sort of costume.Let's go."

Barbara hurried off to spread the news. After dinner that evening sheappeared, a blonde vision straight from the French Court, avid fordancing. Jennison had rigged up an impromptu pirate dress, and was astriking figure. Most of the other passengers had donned weird outfits;on the Pacific boats a fancy dress party is warmly welcomed andamusingly carried out.

John Quincy took small part in the gaiety, for he still suffered fromNew England inhibitions. At a little past eleven he drifted into themain saloon and found Madame Maynard seated there alone.

"Hello," she said. "Come to keep me company? I've sworn not to go to beduntil I see the light on Diamond Head."

"I'm with you," John Quincy smiled.

"But you ought to be dancing, boy. And you're not in costume."

"No," admitted John Quincy. He paused, seeking an explanation. "A—afellow can't make a fool of himself in front of a lot of strangers."

"I understand," nodded the old lady. "It's a fine delicacy, too. Butrather rare, particularly out this way."

Barbara entered, flushed and vibrant. "Harry's gone to get me a drink,"she panted. She sat down beside Mrs. Maynard. "I've been looking foryou, my dear. You know, you haven't read my palm since I was a child.She's simply wonderful—" this to John Quincy. "Can tell you the mostamazing things."

Mrs. Maynard vehemently shook her head. "I don't read 'em any more," shesaid. "Gave it up. As I've grown older, I've come to understand howfoolish it is to peer into the future. To-day—that's enough for me.That's all I care to think about."

"Oh, please," the girl pouted.

The old woman took Barbara's slim hand in hers, and studied the palmfor a moment. John Quincy thought he saw a shadow cross her face. Againshe shook her head.

"Carpe diem," she said. "Which my nephew once translated as 'grab theday.' Dance and be happy to-night, and let's not try to look behind thecurtain. It doesn't pay, my dear. Take an old woman's word for that."

Harry Jennison appeared in the door. "Oh, here you are," he said. "I'vegot your drink waiting in the smoking-room."

"I'm coming," the girl said, and went. The old woman stared after her.

"Poor Barbara," she murmured. "Her mother's life was none too happy,either—"

"You saw something in her hand—" John Quincy suggested.

"No matter," the old lady snapped. "There's trouble waiting for us all,if we look far enough ahead. Now, let's go on deck. It's getting ontoward midnight."

She led him out to the starboard rail. A solitary light, like a star,gleamed in the distance. Land, land at last. "Diamond Head?" John Quincyasked.

"No," she said. "That's the beacon on Makapuu Point. We shall have toround Koko Head before we sight Honolulu." She stood for a moment by therail, one frail hand resting upon it. "But that's Oahu," she saidgently. "That's home. A sweet land, boy. Too sweet, I often think. Ihope you'll like it."

"I'm sure I shall," replied John Quincy gallantly.

"Let's sit down here." They found deck chairs. "Yes, a dear land," shewent on. "But we're all sorts, in Hawaii—just as it is the whole worldover—honest folks and rascals. From the four corners of the globe mencome to us—often because they were no longer welcome at home. We offerthem a paradise, and some repay us by becoming good citizens, whileothers rot away. I often think it will take a lot of stamina to makegood in Heaven—and Hawaii is the same."

The tall emaciated figure of the Reverend Mr. Upton appeared beforethem. He bowed. "Good evening, Madame. You're nearly home."

"Yes," she said. "Glad of it, too."

He turned to John Quincy. "You'll be seeing Dan Winterslip in themorning, young man."

"I expect I shall," John Quincy replied.

"Just ask him if he recalls that day on Apiang Island in the 'eighties.The Reverend Frank Upton."

"Of course," replied John Quincy. "But you haven't told me much aboutit, you know."

"No, I haven't." The missionary dropped into a chair. "I don't like toreveal any secrets about a man's past," he said. "However, I understandthat the story of Dan Winterslip's early life has always been known inHonolulu." He glanced toward Madame Maynard.

"Dan was no saint," she remarked. "We all know that."

He crossed his thin legs. "As a matter of fact, I'm very proud of mymeeting with Dan Winterslip," he went on. "I feel that in my humble wayI persuaded him to change his course—for the better."

"Humph," said the old lady. She was dubious, evidently.

John Quincy was not altogether pleased at the turn the conversation hadtaken. He did not care to have the name of a Winterslip thus bandiedabout. But to his annoyance, the Reverend Mr. Upton was continuing.

"It was in the 'eighties, as I told you," said the missionary. "I had alonely station on Apiang, in the Gilbert group. One morning a briganchored just beyond the reef, and a boat came ashore. Of course, Ijoined the procession of natives down to the beach to meet it. I saw fewenough men of my own race.

"There was a ruffianly crew aboard, in charge of a dapper, ratherhandsome young white man. And I saw, even before they beached her,midway in the boat, a long pine box.

"The white man introduced himself. He said he was First OfficerWinterslip, of the brig Maid of Shiloh. And when he mentioned the nameof the ship, of course I knew at once. Knew her unsavory trade andhistory. He hurried on to say that their captain had died the daybefore, and they had brought him ashore to bury him on land. It had beenthe man's last wish.

"Well." The Reverend Mr. Upton stared at the distant shore line of Oahu."I looked over at that rough pine box—four Malay sailors were carryingit ashore. 'So Tom Brade's in there,' I said. Young Winterslip nodded.'He's in there, right enough,' he answered. And I knew I was looking onat the final scene in the career of a famous character of the SouthSeas, a callous brute who knew no law, a pirate and adventurer, themaster of the notorious Maid of Shiloh. Tom Brade, the blackbirder."

"Blackbirder?" queried John Quincy.

The missionary smiled. "Ah, yes—you come from Boston. A blackbirder, myboy, is a shipping-master who furnishes contract labor to theplantations at so much a head. It's pretty well wiped out now, but inthe eighties! A horrible business—the curse of God was on it.Sometimes the laborers came willingly. Sometimes. But mostly they cameat the point of a knife or the muzzle of a gun. A bloody, brutalbusiness.

"Winterslip and his men went up the beach and began to dig a grave undera cocoanut palm. I followed. I offered to say a prayer. Wintersliplaughed—not much use, he said. But there on that bright morning underthe palm I consigned to God the soul of a man who had so much to answerfor. Winterslip agreed to come to my house for lunch. He told me thatsave for a recruiting agent who had remained aboard the brig, he was nowthe only white man on the ship.

"During lunch, I talked to him. He was so young—I discovered this washis first trip. 'It's no trade for you,' I told him. And after a time,he agreed with me. He said he had two hundred blacks under the hatchesthat he must deliver to a plantation over in the Kings-mill group, andthat after he'd done that, he was through. 'I'll take the Maid back toSydney, Dominie,' he promised, 'and turn her over. Then I'm pau. I'mgoing home to Honolulu.'"

The Reverend Mr. Upton rose slowly. "I learned later that he kept hisword," he finished. "Yes, Dan Winterslip went home, and the South Seassaw him no more. I've always been a little proud of my part in thatdecision. I've had few rewards. It's not everywhere that themissionaries have prospered in a worldly way—as they did in Hawaii." Heglanced at Madame Maynard. "But I've had satisfactions. And one of themarose from that meeting on the shore at Apiang. It's long past my bedhour—I must say good night."

He moved away. John Quincy sat turning this horror over and over in hismind. A Winterslip in the blackbirding business! That was pretty. Hewished he was back on Beacon Street.

"Sweet little dig for me," the old lady was muttering indignantly. "Thatabout the missionaries in Hawaii. And he needn't be so co*cky. If DanWinterslip dropped blackbirding, it was only because he'd foundsomething more profitable, I fancy." She stood up suddenly. "At last,"she said.

John Quincy rose and stood beside her. Far away a faint yellow eye waswinking. For a moment the old lady did not speak.

"Well, that's that," she said finally, in a low voice. "I've seenDiamond Head again. Good night, my boy."

"Good night," John Quincy answered.

He stood alone by the rail. The pace of the President Tyler wasslowing perceptibly. The moon came from behind a cloud, crept backagain. A sort of unholy calm was settling over the hot, airless, deepblue world. The boy felt a strange restlessness in his heart.

He ascended to the boat deck, seeking a breath of air. There, in asecluded spot, he came upon Barbara and Jennison—and stopped, shocked.His cousin was in the man's arms, and their bizarre costumes added aweird touch to the scene. They did not see John Quincy, for in theirworld at that moment there were only two. Their lips were crushedtogether, fiercely—

John Quincy fled. Good lord! He had kissed a girl or two himself, but ithad been nothing like that.

He went to the rail outside his stateroom. Well, what of it? Barbara wasnothing to him, a cousin, yes, but one who seemed to belong to an alienrace. He had sensed that she was in love with Jennison; this was nosurprise. Why did he feel that frustrated pang deep in his heart? He wasengaged to Agatha Parker.

He gripped the rail, and sought to see again Agatha's aristocratic face.But it was blurred, indistinct. All Boston was blurred in his memory.The blood of the roaming Winterslips, the blood that led on toblackbirding and hot breathless kisses in the tropic night—was itflowing in his veins too? Oh, lord—he should have stayed at home wherehe belonged.

Bowker, the steward, came along. "Well, here we are," he said. "We'llanchor in twelve fathoms and wait for the pilot and the doctor in themorning. I heard they'd been having Kona weather out this way, but Iimagine this is the tail end of it. There'll be a moon shortly, and bydawn the old trades will be on the job again, God bless them."

John Quincy did not speak. "I've returned all your books, sir," thesteward went on, "except that one by Adams on Revolutionary NewEngland. It's a mighty interesting work. I intend to finish itto-night, so I can give it to you before you go ashore."

"Oh, that's all right," John Quincy said. He pointed to dim harborlights in the distance. "Honolulu's over there, I take it."

"Yeah—several miles away. A dead town, sir. They roll up the sidewalksat nine. And let me give you a tip. Keep away from the okolehau."

"The what?" asked John Quincy.

"The okolehau. A drink they sell out here."

"What's it made of?"

"There," said Bowker, "you have the plot for a big mystery story. Whatis it made of? Judging by the smell, of nothing very lovely. A fewgulps, and you hit the ceiling of eternity. But oh, boy—when you drop!Keep off it, sir. I'm speaking as one who knows."

"I'll keep off it," John Quincy promised.

Bowker disappeared. John Quincy remained by the rail, that restlessfeeling growing momentarily. The moon was hidden still, the ship creptalong through the muggy darkness. He peered across the black waterstoward the strange land that awaited him.

Somewhere over there, Dan Winterslip waited for him too. Dan Winterslip,blood relative of the Boston Winterslips, and ex-blackbirder. For thefirst time, the boy wished he had struck first in that dark attic in SanFrancisco, wished he had got that strong box and cast it overboard inthe night. Who could say what new scandal, what fresh blot on thehonored name of Winterslip, might have been averted had he been quickerwith his fists?

As John Quincy turned and entered his cabin, he made a firm resolution.He would linger but briefly at this, his journey's end. A few days toget his breath, perhaps, and then he would set out again for Boston. AndAunt Minerva would go with him, whether she wanted to or not.

CHAPTER VI

BEYOND THE BAMBOO CURTAIN

Had John Quincy been able to see his Aunt Minerva at that moment, hewould not have been so sure that he could persuade her to fall in withhis plans. He would, indeed, have been profoundly shocked at the picturepresented by his supposedly staid and dignified relative.

For Miss Minerva was sitting on a grass mat in a fragrant garden in theHawaiian quarter of Honolulu. Pale golden Chinese lanterns, inscribedwith scarlet letters, hung above her head. Her neck was garlanded withropes of buff ginger blossoms twined with maile. The sleepy, sensuousmusic of ukulele and steel guitar rose on the midnight air and beforeher, in a cleared space under the date palms, Hawaiian boys and girlswere performing a dance she would not be able to describe in greatdetail when she got back to Beacon Street.

Miss Minerva was, in her quiet way, very happy. One of the ambitions ofher life had been realized, and she was present at a luau, or nativeHawaiian feast. Few white people are privileged to attend this intimateceremony, but Honolulu friends had been invited on this occasion, andhad asked her to go with them. At first she had thought she must refuse,for Dan was expecting Barbara and John Quincy on Monday afternoon. Whenon Monday evening he had informed her that the President Tyler wouldnot land its passengers until the next day, she had hastened to thetelephone and asked to reconsider her refusal.

And she was glad she had. Before her, on another mat, lay the remnantsof a dinner unique in her experience. Dan had called her a good sport,and she had this evening proved him to be correct. Without a qualm shehad faced the queer food wrapped in brown bundles, she had tastedeverything, poi served in individual calabashes, chicken stewed incocoanut milk, squid and shrimps, limu, or sea-weed, even raw fish. Shewould dream to-night!

Now the feasting had given way to the dance. The moonlight was tracinglacy patterns on the lawn, the plaintive wail of the music rose everlouder, the Hawaiian young people, bashful at first in the presence ofstrangers, were bashful no longer. Miss Minerva closed her eyes andleaned back against the trunk of a tall palm. Even in Hawaiian lovesongs there is a note of hopeless melancholy, it touched her emotions asno symphony ever could. A curtain was lifted and she was looking intothe past, the primitive, barbaric past of these Islands in the daysbefore the white men came.

A long, heart-breaking crescendo, and the music stopped, the swayingbodies of the dancers were momentarily still. It seemed to MissMinerva's friends an opportune moment to depart. They entered the houseand in the stuffy little parlor, took leave of their brown, smiling hostand hostess. The baby whose arrival in the world was the inspiration forthe luau awoke for a second and smiled at them too. Outside in thenarrow street their car was waiting.

Through silent, deserted Honolulu they motored toward Waikiki. As theypassed the Judiciary Building on King Street the clock in the towerstruck the hour of one. She had not been out so late, Miss Minervareflected, since that night when a visiting company sang Parsifal atthe Boston Opera House.

The iron gates that guarded the drive at Dan's house were closed.Leaving the car at the curb, Miss Minerva bade her friends good nightand started up the walk toward the front door. The evening had thrilledher, and she moved with the long confident stride of youth. Dan'sscarlet garden was shrouded in darkness, for the moon, which had beenplaying an in-and-out game with the fast-moving clouds all evening, wasagain obscured. Exotic odors assailed her nostrils, she heard all abouther the soft intriguing noises of the tropic night. She really shouldget to bed, she knew, but with a happy truant feeling she turned fromthe front walk and went to the side of the house for a last look at thebreakers.

She stood there under a poinciana tree near the door leading into Dan'sliving-room. For nearly two weeks the Kona wind had prevailed, but nowon her cheek, she thought she felt the first kindly breath of thetrades. Very wide awake, she stared out at the dim foaming lines of surfbetween the shore and the coral reef. Her mind strayed back to theHonolulu she had known in Kalakaua's day, to that era when the Islandswere so naive, so colorful—unspoiled. Ruined now, Dan had said, ruinedby a damned mechanical civilization. "But away down underneath, Minerva,there are deep dark waters flowing still."

The moon came out, touching with silver the waters at the crossroads,then was lost again under fleecy clouds. With a little sigh that wasperhaps for her lost youth and the 'eighties, Miss Minerva pushed openthe unlocked door leading into the great living-room, and closed itgently so as not to waken Dan.

An intense darkness engulfed her. But she knew her way across thepolished floor and set out confidently, walking on tiptoe. She had gonehalf-way to the hall door when she stopped, her heart in her mouth. Fornot five feet away she saw the luminous dial of a watch, and as shestared at it with frightened eyes, it moved.

Not for nothing had Miss Minerva studied restraint through more thanfifty years. Many women would have screamed and fainted, Miss Minerva'sheart pounded madly, but that was all. Standing very still, she studiedthat phosphorescent dial. Its movement had been slight, it was now atrest again. A watch worn on some one's wrist. Some one who had been onthe point of action, but had now assumed an attitude of cautiouswaiting.

Well, Miss Minerva grimly asked herself, what was she going to do aboutit? Should she cry out a sharp: "Who's there?" She was a brave woman,but the fool-hardiness of such a course was apparent. She had a visionof that dial flashing nearer, a blow, perhaps strong hands at herthroat.

She took a tentative step, and then another. Now, surely, the dial wouldstir again. But it remained motionless, steady, as though the arm thatwore it were rigid at the intruder's side.

Suddenly Miss Minerva realized the situation. The wearer of the watchhad forgotten the tell-tale numerals on his wrist, he thought himselfhidden in the dark. He was waiting for her to go on through the room. Ifshe made no sound, gave no sign of alarm, she might be safe. Once beyondthat bamboo curtain leading into the hall, she could rouse thehousehold.

She was a woman of great will power, but it took all she had to moveserenely on her way. She shut her lips tightly and accomplished it,veering a bit from that circle of light that menaced her, looking backat it over her shoulder as she went. After what seemed an eternity thebamboo curtain received her, she was through it, she was on the stairs.But it seemed to her that never again would she be able to look at awatch or a clock and find that the hour was anything save twenty minutespast one!

When she was half-way up the stairs, she recalled that it had been herintention to snap on the lights in the lower hall. She did not turnback, nor did she search for the switch at the head of the stairs.Instead, she went hastily on into her room, and just as though she hadbeen an ordinary woman she closed her door and dropped down, trembling alittle, on a chair.

But she was no ordinary woman, and in two seconds she was up and hadreopened her door. Her sudden terror was evaporating; she felt her heartbeat in a strong regular rhythm again. Action was what was required ofher now, calm confident action; she was a Winterslip and she was ready.

The servants' quarters were in a wing over the kitchen, she went thereat once and knocked on the first door she came to. She knocked once,then again, and finally the head of a very sleepy Jap appeared.

"Haku," said Miss Minerva, "there is some one in the living-room. Youmust go down and investigate at once."

He stared at her, seeming unable to comprehend.

"We must go down," amended Miss Minerva.

"Wikiwiki!"

He disappeared, and Miss Minerva waited impatiently. Where was hernerve, she wondered, why hadn't she seen this through alone? At home, nodoubt, she could have managed it, but here there was something strangeand terrifying in the very air. The moonlight poured in through a smallwindow beside her, forming a bright square at her feet. Haku reappeared,wearing a gaudy kimono that he often sported on the beach.

Another door opened suddenly, and Miss Minerva started. Bah! What ailedher, anyhow, she wondered. It was only Kamaikui, standing there amassive figure in the dim doorway, a bronze statue clad in a holoku.

"Some one in the living-room," Miss Minerva explained again. "I saw himas I came through."

Kamaikui made no reply, but joined the odd little procession. In theupper hall Haku switched on the lights, both up-stairs and down. At thehead of the stairs there was a brief pause—then Miss Minerva took herrightful place at the head of the line. She descended with a firm step,courageous and competent, Boston at its best. After her followed astolid little Jap in a kimono gay with passionate poppies, and aPolynesian woman who wore the fearful Mother Hubbard of the missionariesas though it were a robe of state.

In the lower hall Miss Minerva did not hesitate. She pushed on throughthe bamboo curtain and her hand—it trembled ever so slightly—found theelectric switch and flooded the living-room with light. She heard thecrackle of bamboo behind her as her strange companions followed whereshe led. She stood looking curiously about her.

There was no one in sight, no sign of any disturbance, and it suddenlyoccurred to Miss Minerva that perhaps she was behaving in a rathersilly fashion. After all, she had neither seen nor heard a living thing.The illuminated dial of a watch that moved a little—might it not havebeen a figment of her imagination? She had experienced a stirringevening. Then, too, she remembered, there had been that small glass ofokolehau. A potent concoction!

Kamaikui and Haku were looking at her with the inquiring eyes of littlechildren. Had she roused them for a fool's errand? Her cheeks flushedslightly. Certainly in this big brilliant room, furnished withmagnificent native woods and green with many potted ferns, everythingseemed proper and in order.

"I—I may have been mistaken," she said in a low voice. "I was quitesure—but there's no sign of anything wrong. Mr. Winterslip has not beenresting well of late. If he should be asleep we won't waken him."

She went to the door leading on to the lanai and pushed aside thecurtain. Bright moonlight outside revealed most of the veranda'sfurnishings, and here, too, all seemed well. "Dan," Miss Minerva calledsoftly. "Dan. Are you awake?"

No answer. Miss Minerva was certain now that she was making a mountainout of a molehill. She was about to turn back into the living-room whenher eyes, grown more accustomed to the semi-darkness, noted a ratherstartling fact.

Day and night, over Dan's cot in one corner of the lanai, hung a whitemosquito netting. It was not there now.

"Come, Haku," Miss Minerva said. "Turn on the light out here."

Haku came, and the green-shaded lamp glowed under his touch. The littlelamp by which Dan had been reading his evening paper that night when hehad seemed suddenly so disturbed, and rushed off to send a letter toRoger in San Francisco. Miss Minerva stood recalling that incident, sherecalled others, because she was very reluctant to turn toward that cotin the corner. She was conscious of Kamaikui brushing by her, and thenshe heard a low, half-savage moan of fear and sorrow.

Miss Minerva stepped to the cot. The mosquito netting had been torn downas though in some terrific struggle and there, entangled in the meshesof it, she saw Dan Winterslip. He was lying on his left side, and as shestared down at him, one of the harmless little Island lizards ran up hischest and over his shoulder—and left a crimson trail on his whitepajamas.

CHAPTER VII

ENTER CHARLIE CHAN

Miss Minerva leaned far over, her keen eyes seeking Dan's face. It wasturned toward the wall, half buried in the pillow. "Dan," she saidbrokenly. She put her hand on his cheek. The night air was warm andmuggy, but she shivered a little as she drew the hand quickly away.Steady! She must be steady now.

She hurried through the living-room to the hall; the telephone was in acloset under the front stairs. Her fingers were trembling again as shefumbled with the numerals on the dial. She got her number, heard finallyan answering voice.

"Amos? Is that you, Amos? This is Minerva. Come over here to Dan's asquickly as you can."

The voice muttered in protest. Miss Minerva cut in on it sharply.

"For God's sake, Amos, forget your silly feud. Your brother is dead."

"Dead?" he repeated dully.

"Murdered, Amos. Will you come now?"

A long silence. What thoughts, Miss Minerva wondered, were passingthrough the mind of that stern unbending Puritan?

"I'll come," a strange voice said at last. And then, a voice more likethat of the Amos she knew: "The police! I'll notify them, and then I'llcome right over."

Returning to the hall, Miss Minerva saw that the big front door wasclosed. Amos would enter that way, she knew, so she went over and openedit. There was, she noted, an imposing lock, but the key had long sincebeen lost and forgotten. Indeed, in all Dan's great house, she could notrecall ever having seen a key. In these friendly trusting islands,locked doors were obsolete.

She reentered the living-room. Should she summon a doctor? But no, itwas too late, she knew that only too well. And the police—didn't theybring some sort of doctor with them? Suddenly she began to wonder aboutthe police. During all her time in Honolulu she had never given them athought before. Away off here at the end of the world—did they havepolicemen? She couldn't remember ever having seen one. Oh, yes—therewas that handsome, brown-skinned Hawaiian who stood on a box at thecorner of Fort and King Streets, directing traffic with an air thatwould have become Kamehameha himself. She heard the scrape of a chairbeing moved on the lanai, and went to the door.

"Nothing is to be touched out here," she said. "Leave it just as it was.You'd better go up-stairs and dress, both of you."

The two frightened servants came into the living-room, and stood thereregarding her. They seemed to feel that this terrible affair called fordiscussion. But what was there to be said? Even in the event of murder,a Winterslip must maintain a certain well-bred aloofness in dealing withservants. Miss Minerva's feeling for them was kindly. She sympathizedwith their evident grief, but there was, she felt, nothing to discuss.

"After you've dressed," she ordered, "stay within reach. You'll both bewanted."

They went out, Haku in his absurd costume, Kamaikui moaning andmuttering in a way that sent shivers up and down Miss Minerva's spine.They left her there alone—with Dan—and she who had always thoughtherself equal to anything still hesitated about going out on the lanai.

She sat down in a huge chair in the living-room and gazed about her atthe trappings of wealth and position that Dan had left for ever now.Poor Dan. Despite all the whispering against him, she had liked himimmensely. It is said of many—usually with small reason—that theirlives would make an interesting book. It had been said of Dan, and inhis case it was true. What a book his life would have made—and howpromptly it would have been barred for all time from the shelves of theBoston Public Library! For Dan had lived life to the full, made his ownlaws, fought his battles without mercy, prospered and had his way.Dallied often along forbidden paths, they said, but his smile had beenso friendly and his voice so full of cheer—always until these last twoweeks.

Ever since that night he sent the letter to Roger, he had seemed adifferent man. There were lines for the first time in his face, a wearyapprehensive look in his gray eyes. And how furious he had been when,last Wednesday, he received a cable from Roger. What was in thatmessage, Miss Minerva wondered; what were those few typewritten wordsthat had caused him to fly into such a rage and set him to pacing thefloor with tigerish step?

She thought of him as she had seen him last—he had seemed ratherpathetic to her then. When the news came that the President Tylercould not dock until morning, and that Barbara—

Miss Minerva stopped. For the first time she thought of Barbara. Shethought of a sprightly, vivacious girl as yet untouched by sorrow—andof the morning's home-coming. Tears came into her eyes, and it wasthrough a mist she saw the bamboo curtain that led into the hall pushedaside, and the thin white face of Amos framed there.

Amos entered, walking gingerly, for he was treading ground he had swornhis feet should never touch. He paused before Miss Minerva.

"What's this?" he said. "What's all this?"

She nodded toward the lanai, and he went out there. After what seemed along time, he reappeared. His shoulders drooped wearily and his wateryeyes were staring.

"Stabbed through the heart," he muttered. He stood for a momentregarding his father's picture on the wall. "The wages of sin is death,"he added, as though to old Jedediah Winterslip.

"Yes, Amos," said Miss Minerva sharply. "I expected we should hear thatfrom you. And there's another one you may have heard—judge not that yebe not judged. Further than that, we'll waste no time moralizing. Dan isdead, and I for one am sorry."

"Sorry!" repeated Amos drearily. "How about me? My brother—my youngbrother—I taught him to walk on this very beach—"

"Yes." Miss Minerva looked at him keenly. "I wonder. Well, Dan's gone.Some one has killed him. He was one of us—a Winterslip. What are wegoing to do about it?"

"I've notified the police," said Amos.

"Then why aren't they here? In Boston by this time—but then, I knowthis isn't Boston. Stabbed, you say. Was there any sign of a weapon?"

"None whatever, that I could see."

"How about that Malay kris on the table out there? The one Dan used as apaper cutter?"

"I didn't notice," Amos replied. "This is a strange house to me,Minerva."

"So it is." Miss Minerva rose and started for the lanai. She was her oldcompetent self again. At that moment a loud knock sounded on the screendoor at the front of the house. Presently there were voices in the hall,and Haku ushered three men into the living-room. Though evidentlypolice, they were all in plain clothes. One of them, a tall, angularYankee with the look of a sailing master about him, stepped forward.

"I'm Hallet," he said. "Captain of Detectives. You're Mr. AmosWinterslip, I believe?"

"I am," Amos answered. He introduced Miss Minerva. Captain Hallet gaveher a casual nod; this was man's business and he disliked having a womaninvolved.

"Dan Winterslip, you said," he remarked, turning back to Amos. "That's agreat pity. Where is he?"

Amos indicated the lanai. "Come, Doctor," Hallet said, and went throughthe curtain, followed by the smaller of the two men.

As they went out, the third man stepped farther into the room, and MissMinerva gave a little gasp of astonishment as she looked at him. Inthose warm islands thin men were the rule, but here was a strikingexception. He was very fat indeed, yet he walked with the light daintystep of a woman. His cheeks were as chubby as a baby's, his skin ivorytinted, his black hair close-cropped, his amber eyes slanting. As hepassed Miss Minerva he bowed with a courtesy encountered all too rarelyin a work-a-day world, then moved on after Hallet.

"Amos!" cried Miss Minerva. "That man—why he—"

"Charlie Chan," Amos explained. "I'm glad they brought him. He's thebest detective on the force."

"But—he's a Chinaman!"

"Of course."

Miss Minerva sank into a chair. Ah, yes, they had policemen out here,after all.

In a few moments Hallet came briskly back into the living-room. "Lookhere," he said. "The doctor tells me Mr. Winterslip has been dead a veryshort while. I don't want your evidence just yet—but if either of youcan give me some idea as to the hour when this thing happened—"

"I can give you a rather definite idea," said Miss Minerva calmly. "Ithappened just previous to twenty minutes past one. Say about onefifteen."

Hallet stared at her. "You're sure of that?"

"I ought to be. I got the time from the wrist watch of the person whocommitted the murder."

"What! You saw him!"

"I didn't say that. I said I saw his wrist watch."

Hallet frowned. "I'll get that straight later," he said. "Just now Ipropose to comb this part of town. Where's the telephone?"

Miss Minerva pointed it out to him, and heard him in earnestconversation with a man at headquarters named Tom. Tom's job, it seemed,was to muster all available men and search Honolulu, particularly theWaikiki district, rounding up any suspicious characters. He was also tohave on hand, awaiting his chief's return, the passenger lists of allships that had made port at Honolulu during the past week.

Hallet returned to the living-room. He took a stand directly in front ofMiss Minerva. "Now," he began, "you didn't see the murderer, but you sawhis wrist watch. I'm a great believer in taking things in an orderlyfashion. You're a stranger here. From Boston, I believe?"

"I am," snapped Miss Minerva.

"Stopping in this house?"

"Precisely."

"Anybody here besides you and Mr. Winterslip?"

Miss Minerva's eyes flashed. "The servants," she said. "And I would liketo call your attention to the fact that I am Dan Winterslip's firstcousin."

"Oh, sure—no offense. He has a daughter, hasn't he?"

"Miss Barbara is on her way home from college. Her ship will dock in themorning."

"I see. Just you and Winterslip. You're going to be an importantwitness."

"It will be a novel experience, at any rate," she remarked.

"I dare say. Now, go back—" Miss Minerva glared at him—it was a glarethat had frightened guards on the Cambridge subway. He brushed it aside."You understand that I haven't time for please, Miss Winterslip. Go backand describe last evening in this house."

"I was here only until eight-thirty," she told him, "when I went to aluau with some friends. Previous to that, Mr. Winterslip dined at hisusual hour and we chatted for a time on the lanai."

"Did he seem to have anything on his mind?"

"Well, he has appeared a bit upset—"

"Wait a minute!" The captain took out a note-book. "Want to put downsome of this. Been upset, has he? For how long?"

"For the past two weeks. Let me think—just two weeks ago to-night—orrather, last night—he and I were sitting on the lanai, and he wasreading the evening paper. Something in it seemed to disturb him. He gotup, wrote a note to his cousin Roger in San Francisco, and took it downfor a friend aboard the President Tyler to deliver. From that momenthe appeared restless and unhappy."

"Go on. This may be important."

"Last Wednesday morning he received a cable from Roger that infuriatedhim."

"A cable. What was in it?"

"It was not addressed to me," said Miss Minerva haughtily.

"Well, that's all right. We'll dig it up. Now, about last night. Did heact more upset than ever?"

"He did. But that may have been due to the fact he had hoped hisdaughter's ship would dock yesterday afternoon, and had learned it couldnot land its passengers until this morning."

"I see. You said you was only here until eight-thirty?"

"I did not," replied Miss Minerva coldly. "I said I was here only untileight-thirty."

"Same thing."

"Well, hardly."

"I'm not here to talk grammar," Hallet said sharply. "Did anythingoccur—anything out of the ordinary—before you left?"

"No. Wait a moment. Some one called Mr. Winterslip on the telephonewhile he was at dinner. I couldn't help overhearing the conversation."

"Good for you!" She glared at him again. "Repeat it."

"I heard Mr. Winterslip say: 'Hello, Egan. What—you're not coming over?Oh, yes you are. I want to see you. I insist on it. Come about eleven. Iwant to see you.' That was, at least, the import of his remarks."

"Did he seem excited?"

"He raised his voice above the ordinary tone."

"Ah, yes." The captain stared at his note-book. "Must have been JimEgan, who runs this God-forsaken Reef and Palm Hotel down the beach." Heturned to Amos. "Was Egan a friend of your brother?"

"I don't know," said Amos.

"You see, Amos was not a friend of his brother, either," explained MissMinerva. "There was an old feud between them. Speaking for myself, Inever heard Dan mention Egan, and he certainly never came to the housewhile I was here."

Hallet nodded. "Well, you left at eight-thirty. Now tell us where youwent and when you got back. And all about the wrist watch."

Miss Minerva rapidly sketched her evening at the luau. She described herreturn to Dan's living-room, her adventure in the dark—the luminousdial that waited for her to pass.

"I wish you'd seen more," Hallet complained. "Too many people wear wristwatches."

"Probably not many," said Miss Minerva, "wear a wrist watch like thatone."

"Oh. It had some distinguishing mark?"

"It certainly did. The numerals were illuminated, and stood outclearly—with an exception. The figure 2 was very dim—practicallyobliterated."

He looked at her admiringly. "Well, you certainly had your wits aboutyou."

"That's a habit I formed early in life," replied Miss Minerva. "And oldhabits are hard to break."

He smiled, and asked her to continue. She told of rousing the twoservants and, finally, of the gruesome discovery on the lanai.

"But it was Mr. Amos," Hallet said, "who called the station."

"Yes. I telephoned him at once, and he offered to attend to that."

Hallet turned to Amos. "How long did it take you to reach here, Mr.Winterslip?" he inquired.

"Not more than ten minutes," said Amos.

"You could dress and get here in that time?"

Amos hesitated. "I—I did not need to dress," he explained. "I hadn'tgone to bed."

Hallet regarded him with a new interest. "Half past one—and you werestill up?"

"I—I don't sleep very well," said Amos. "I'm up till all hours."

"I see. You weren't on friendly terms with your brother? An old quarrelbetween you?"

"No particular quarrel. I didn't approve of his manner of living, and wewent separate ways."

"And stopped speaking to each other, eh?"

"Yes. That was the situation," Amos admitted.

"Humph." For a moment the captain stared at Amos, and Miss Minervastared at him too. Amos! It flashed through her mind that Amos had beena long time alone out there on the lanai before the arrival of thepolice.

"Those two servants who came down-stairs with you, Miss Winterslip,"Hallet said. "I'll see them now. The others can go over until morning."

Haku and Kamaikui appeared, frightened and wide-eyed. The Jap hadnothing to tell, he had been sleeping soundly from nine until the momentMiss Minerva knocked on his door. He swore it. But Kamaikui hadsomething to contribute.

"I come here with fruit." She pointed to a basket on the table. "Onlanai out there are talking—Mr. Dan, a man, a woman. Oh, very muchangry."

"What time was that?" Hallet asked.

"Ten o'clock I think."

"Did you recognize any voice except your master's?"

Miss Minerva thought the woman hesitated a second. "No. I do not."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Maybe eleven o'clock. I am sitting close to window up-stairs. Moretalking on lanai. Mr. Dan and other man. Not so much angry this time."

"At eleven, eh? Do you know Mr. Jim Egan?"

"I have seen him."

"Could you say if it was his voice?"

"I could not say."

"All right. You two can go now." He turned to Miss Minerva and Amos."We'll see what Charlie has dug up out here," he said, and led the wayto the lanai.

The huge Chinaman knelt, a grotesque figure, by a table. He roselaboriously as they entered.

"Find the knife, Charlie?" the captain asked.

Chan shook his head. "No knife are present in neighborhood of crime," heannounced.

"On that table," Miss Minerva began, "there was a Malay kris, used as apaper cutter—"

The Chinaman nodded, and lifted the kris from the desk. "Same remainshere still," he said, "untouched, unsullied. Person who killed carriedindividual weapon."

"How about finger-prints?" asked Hallet.

"Considering from recent discovery," Chan replied, "search forfinger-prints are hopeless one." He held out a pudgy hand, in the palmof which lay a small pearl button. "Torn from kid's glove," heelucidated. "Aged trick of criminal mind. No finger-prints."

"Is that all you've got?" asked his chief.

"Most sincere endeavors," said Chan, "have revealed not much. However, Imight mention this." He took up a leather bound book from the table."Here are written names of visitors who have enjoyed hospitality of thehouse. A guest book is, I believe, the term. You will find that one ofthe earlier pages has been ruthlessly torn out. When I make discoverythe volume are lying open at that locality."

Captain Hallet took the book in his thin hand. "All right, Charlie," hesaid. "This is your case."

The slant eyes blinked with pleasure. "Most interesting," murmured Chan.

Hallet tapped the note-book in his pocket. "I've got a few facts herefor you—we'll run over them later." He stood for a moment, staringabout the lanai. "I must say we seem a little shy on clues. A buttontorn from a glove, a page ripped from a guest book. And a wrist watchwith an illuminated dial on which the figure 2 was damaged." Chan'slittle eyes widened at mention of that. "Not much, Charlie, so far."

"Maybe more to come," suggested the Chinaman. "Who knows it?"

"We'll go along now," Hallet continued. He turned to Miss Minerva andAmos. "I guess you folks would like a little rest. We'll have to troubleyou again to-morrow."

Miss Minerva faced the Chinaman. "The person who did this must beapprehended," she said firmly.

He looked at her sleepily. "What is to be, will be," he replied in ahigh, sing-song voice.

"I know—that's your Confucius," she snapped. "But it's a do-nothingdoctrine, and I don't approve of it."

A faint smile flickered over the Chinaman's face. "Do not fear," hesaid. "The fates are busy, and man may do much to assist. I promise youthere will be no do-nothing here." He came closer. "Humbly asking pardonto mention it, I detect in your eyes slight flame of hostility. Quenchit, if you will be so kind. Friendly cooperation are essential betweenus." Despite his girth, he managed a deep bow. "Wishing you goodmorning," he added, and followed Hallet.

Miss Minerva turned weakly to Amos. "Well, of all things—"

"Don't you worry about Charlie," Amos said. "He has a reputation forgetting his man. Now you go to bed. I'll stay here and notify the—theproper people."

"Well, I will lie down for a little while," Miss Minerva said. "I shallhave to go early to the dock. Poor Barbara! And there's John Quincycoming too." A grim smile crossed her face. "I'm afraid John Quincywon't approve of this."

She saw from her bedroom window that the night was breaking, the rakishcocoanut palms and the hau tree were wrapped in a gray mist. Changingher dress for a kimono, she lay down under the mosquito netting on thebed. She slept but briefly, however, and presently was at her windowagain. Day had come, the mist had lifted, and it was a rose and emeraldworld that sparkled before her tired eyes.

The freshness of that scene revivified her. The trades were blowingnow—poor Dan, he had so longed for their return. The night, she saw,had worked its magic on the blossoms of the hau tree, transformed themfrom yellow to a rich mahogany, through the morning they would drop oneby one upon the sand. In a distant algaroba a flock of myna birdsscreamed at the new day. A party of swimmers appeared from a neighboringcottage and plunged gaily into the surf.

A gentle knock sounded on the door, and Kamaikui entered. She placed asmall object in Miss Minerva's hand.

Miss Minerva looked down. She saw a quaint old piece of jewelry, abrooch. Against a background of onyx stood the outline of a tree, withemeralds forming the leaves, rubies the fruit, and a frost of diamondsover all.

"What is this, Kamaikui?" she asked.

"Many, many years Mr. Dan have that. One month ago he gives it to awoman down the beach."

Miss Minerva's eyes narrowed. "To the woman they call the Widow ofWaikiki?"

"To her, yes."

"How do you happen to have it, Kamaikui?"

"I pick it up from floor of lanai. Before policemen come."

"Very good." Miss Minerva nodded. "Say nothing of this, Kamaikui. I willattend to the matter."

"Yes. Of course." The woman went out.

Miss Minerva sat very still, staring down at that odd bit of jewelry inher hand. It must date back to the 'eighties, at least.

Close above the house sounded the loud whir of an aeroplane. MissMinerva turned again to the window. A young lieutenant in the airservice, in love with a sweet girl on the beach, was accustomed toserenade her thus every morning at dawn. His thoughtfulness was notappreciated by many innocent bystanders, but Miss Minerva's eyes weresympathetic as she watched him sweep exultantly out, far out, over theharbor.

Youth and love, the beginning of life. And on that cot down on thelanai, Dan—and the end.

CHAPTER VIII

STEAMER DAY

Out in the harbor, by the channel entrance, the President Tyler stoodmotionless as Diamond Head, and from his post near the rail outside hisstateroom, John Quincy Winterslip took his first look at Honolulu. Hehad no feeling of having been here before; this was an alien land.Several miles away he saw the line of piers and unlovely warehouses thatmarked the water-front; beyond that lay a vast expanse of brilliantgreen pierced here and there by the top of a modest skyscraper. Back ofthe city a range of mountains stood on guard, peaks of crystal blueagainst the azure sky.

A trim little launch from Quarantine chugged importantly up to the bigliner's side, and a doctor in a khaki uniform ran briskly up theaccommodation ladder to the deck not far from where the boy stood. JohnQuincy wondered at the man's vitality. He felt like a spent forcehimself. The air was moist and heavy, the breeze the ship had stirred inmoving gone for ever. The flood of energy that had swept over him in SanFrancisco was but a happy memory now. He leaned wearily on the rail,staring at the bright tropical landscape before him—and not seeing itat all.

He saw instead a quiet, well-furnished Boston office where at this verymoment the typewriters were clicking amiably and the stock ticker wasbusily writing the story of another day. In a few hours—there was aconsiderable difference of time—the market would close and the men heknew would be piling into automobiles and heading for the nearestcountry club. A round of golf, then a calm, perfectly served dinner, andafter that a quiet evening with a book. Life running along as it wasmeant to go, without rude interruption or disturbing incident; lifedevoid of ohia wood boxes, attic encounters, unwillingly witnessed lovescenes, cousins with blackbirding pasts. Suddenly John Quincyremembered, this was the morning when he must look Dan Winterslip in theeye and tell him he had been a bit dilatory with his fists. Oh, well—hestraightened resolutely—the sooner that was done, the better.

Harry Jennison came along the deck, smiling and vigorous, clad inspotless white from head to foot. "Here we are," he cried. "On thethreshold of paradise!"

"Think so?" said John Quincy.

"Know it," Jennison answered. "Only place in the world, these islands.You remember what Mark Twain said—"

"Ever visited Boston?" John Quincy cut in.

"Once," replied Jennison briefly. "That's Punch Bowl Hill back of thetown—and Tantalus beyond. Take you up to the summit some day—wonderfulview. See that tallest building? The Van Patten Trust Company—my officeis on the top floor. Only drawback about getting home—I'll have to goto work again."

"I don't see how any one can work in this climate," John Quincy said.

"Oh, well, we take it easy. Can't manage the pace of you mainlandpeople. Every now and then some go-getter from the States comes out hereand tries to hustle us." He laughed. "He dies of disgust and we buryhim in a leisurely way. Been down to breakfast?"

John Quincy accompanied him to the dining saloon. Madame Maynard andBarbara were at the table. The old lady's cheeks were flushed and hereyes sparkled; Barbara, too, was in her gayest mood. The excitement ofcoming home had made her very happy—or was her happiness all due tothat? John Quincy noted her smile of greeting for Jennison, and ratherwished he knew less than he did.

"Prepare for a thrill, John Quincy," the girl said. "Landing in Hawaiiis like landing nowhere else on the globe. Of course, this is a throughboat, and it isn't welcomed as the Matson liners are. But there'll be acrowd waiting for the Matsonia this morning, and we'll steal a littleof her aloha."

"A little of her what?" inquired John Quincy.

"Aloha—meaning loving welcome. You shall have all my leis, John Quincy.Just to show you how glad Honolulu is you've come at last."

The boy turned to Madame Maynard. "I suppose this is an old story toyou?"

"Bless you, my boy," she said. "It's always new. A hundred andtwenty-eight times—yet I'm as thrilled as though I were coming homefrom college." She sighed. "A hundred and twenty-eight times. So many ofthose who once hung leis about my neck are gone for ever now. They'llnot be waiting for me—not on this dock."

"None of that," Barbara chided. "Only happy thoughts this morning. It'ssteamer day."

Nobody seemed hungry, and breakfast was a sketchy affair. John Quincyreturned to his cabin to find Bowker strapping up his luggage.

"I guess you're all ready, sir," said the steward. "I finished that booklast night, and you'll find it in your suit-case. We'll be moving on tothe dock shortly. All good luck to you—and don't forget about theokolehau."

"It's graven on my memory," smiled John Quincy. "Here—this is for you."

Bowker glanced at the bank-note and pocketed it. "You're mighty kind,sir," he remarked feelingly. "That will sort of balance up the dollareach I'll get from those two missionaries when we reach China—if I'mlucky. Of course, it's rather distasteful to me to accept anything. Froma friend of Tim's, you know."

"Oh, that's for value received," said John Quincy, and followed Bowkeron deck.

"There she is," announced Bowker, pausing by the rail. "Honolulu. TheSouth Seas with a collar on, driving a Ford car. Polynesia with aprivate still and all the other benefits of the white man'scivilization. We'll go out at eight to-night, thank heaven."

"Paradise doesn't appeal to you," suggested John Quincy.

"No. Nor any other of these bright-colored lands my poor old feet musttread. I'm getting fed up, sir." He came closer. "I want to hang my hatsomewhere and leave it there. I want to buy a little newspaper in somecountry town and starve to death on the proceeds of running it. What ahappy finish! Well, maybe I can manage it, before long."

"I hope so," said John Quincy.

"I hope so, too," said Bowker. "Here's wishing you a happy time inHonolulu. And one other word of warning—don't linger there."

"I don't intend to," John Quincy assured him.

"That's the talk. It's one of those places—you know—dangerous. Lotuson the menu every day. The first thing you know, you've forgot where youput your trunk. So long, sir."

With a wave of the hand, Tim's friend disappeared down the deck. Amidmuch confusion, John Quincy took his place in line for the doctor'sinspection, passed the careful scrutiny of an immigration official whofinally admitted that maybe Boston was in the Union, and was then leftto his own devices and his long, long thoughts.

The President Tyler was moving slowly toward the shore. Excitedfigures scurried about her decks, pausing now and then to stare throughlifted glasses at the land. John Quincy perceived that early though thehour was, the pier toward which they were heading was alive with people.Barbara came and stood by his side.

"Poor old dad," she said, "he's been struggling along without me fornine months. This will be a big morning in his life. You'll like dad,John Quincy."

"I'm sure I shall," he answered heartily.

"Dad's one of the finest—" Jennison joined them. "Harry, I meant totell the steward to take my luggage ashore when we land."

"I told him," Jennison said. "I tipped him, too."

"Thanks," the girl replied. "I was so excited, I forgot."

She leaned eagerly over the rail, peering at the dock. Her eyes wereshining. "I don't see him yet," she said. They were near enough now tohear the voices of those ashore, gay voices calling flippant greetings.The big ship edged gingerly closer.

"There's Aunt Minerva," cried John Quincy suddenly. That little touchof home in the throng was very pleasant. "Is that your father with her?"He indicated a tall anemic man at Minerva's side.

"I don't see—where—" Barbara began. "Oh—that—why, that's UncleAmos!"

"Oh, is that Amos?" remarked John Quincy, without interest. But Barbarahad gripped his arm, and as he turned he saw a wild alarm in her eyes.

"What do you suppose that means?" she cried. "I don't see dad. I don'tsee him anywhere."

"Oh, he's in that crowd somewhere—"

"No, no—you don't understand! Uncle Amos! I'm—I'm frightened."

John Quincy didn't gather what it was all about, and there was no timeto find out. Jennison was pushing ahead through the crowd, making a pathfor Barbara, and the boy meekly brought up the rear. They were among thefirst down the plank. Miss Minerva and Amos were waiting at the foot.

"My dear." Miss Minerva put her arms about the girl and kissed hergently. She turned to John Quincy. "Well, here you are—"

There was something lacking in this welcome. John Quincy sensed it atonce.

"Where's dad?" Barbara cried.

"I'll explain in the car—" Miss Minerva began.

"No, now! Now! I must know now!"

The crowd was surging about them, calling happy greetings, the RoyalHawaiian Band was playing a gay tune, carnival was in the air.

"Your father is dead, my dear," said Miss Minerva.

John Quincy saw the girl's slim figure sway gently, but it was HarryJennison's strong arm that caught her.

For a moment she stood, with Jennison's arm about her. "All right," shesaid. "I'm ready to go home." And walked like a true Winterslip towardthe street.

Amos melted away into the crowd, but Jennison accompanied them to thecar. "I'll go out with you," he said to Barbara. She did not seem tohear. The four of them entered the limousine, and in another moment thehappy clamor of steamer day was left behind.

No one spoke. The curtains of the car were drawn but a warm streak ofsunlight fell across John Quincy's knees. He was a little dazed.Shocking, this news about Cousin Dan. Must have died suddenly—but nodoubt that was how things always happened out this way. He glanced atthe white stricken face of the girl beside him, and because of her hisheart was heavy.

She laid her cold hand on his. "It's not the welcome I promised you,John Quincy," she said softly.

"Why, my dear girl, I don't matter now."

No other word was spoken on the journey, and when they reached Dan'shouse, Barbara and Miss Minerva went immediately up-stairs. Jennisondisappeared through a doorway at the left; evidently he knew his wayabout. Haku volunteered to show John Quincy his quarters, so he followedthe Jap to the second floor.

When his bags were unpacked, John Quincy went down-stairs again. MissMinerva was waiting for him in the living-room. From beyond the bamboocurtain leading to the lanai came the sound of men's voices, mumblingand indistinct.

"Well," said John Quincy, "how have you been?"

"Never better," his aunt assured him.

"Mother's been rather worried about you. She'd begun to think you werenever coming home."

"I've begun to think it myself," Miss Minerva replied.

He stared at her. "Some of those bonds you left with me have matured. Ihaven't known just what you wanted me to do about them."

"What," inquired Miss Minerva, "is a bond?"

That sort of wild reckless talk never did make a hit with John Quincy."It's about time somebody came out here and brought you to your senses,"he remarked.

"Think so?" said his aunt.

A sound up-stairs recalled John Quincy to the situation. "This wasrather sudden—Cousin Dan's death?" he inquired.

"Amazingly so."

"Well, it seems to me that it would be rather an intrusion—our stayingon here now. We ought to go home in a few days. I'd better see aboutreservations—"

"You needn't trouble," snapped Miss Minerva. "I'll not stir from hereuntil I see the person who did this brought to justice."

"The person who did what?" asked John Quincy.

"The person who murdered Cousin Dan," said Miss Minerva.

John Quincy's jaw dropped. His face registered a wide variety ofemotions. "Good lord!" he gasped.

"Oh, you needn't be so shocked," said his aunt. "The Winterslip familywill still go on."

"Well, I'm not surprised," remarked John Quincy, "when I stop to think.The things I've learned about Cousin Dan. It's a wonder to me—"

"That will do," said Miss Minerva. "You're talking like Amos, and that'sno compliment. You didn't know Dan. I did—and I liked him. I'm going tostay here and do all I can to help run down the murderer. And so areyou."

"Pardon me. I am not."

"Don't contradict. I intend you shall take an active part in theinvestigation. The police are rather informal in a small place likethis. They'll welcome your help."

"My help! I'm no detective. What's happened to you, anyhow? Why shouldyou want me to go round hobnobbing with policemen—"

"For the simple reason that if we're not careful some rather unpleasantscandal may come out of this. If you're on the ground you may be able toavert needless publicity. For Barbara's sake."

"No, thank you," said John Quincy. "I'm leaving for Boston in threedays, and so are you. Pack your trunks."

Miss Minerva laughed. "I've heard your father talk like that," she toldhim. "But I never knew him to gain anything by it in the end. Come outon the lanai and I'll introduce you to a few policemen."

John Quincy received this invitation with the contemptuous silence hethought it deserved. But while he was lavishing on it his best contempt,the bamboo curtain parted and the policemen came to him. Jennison waswith them.

"Good morning, Captain Hallet," said Miss Minerva brightly. "May Ipresent my nephew, Mr. John Quincy Winterslip, of Boston."

"I'm very anxious to meet Mr. John Quincy Winterslip," the captainreplied.

"How do you do," said John Quincy. His heart sank. They'd drag him intothis affair if they could.

"And this, John Quincy," went on Miss Minerva, "is Mr. Charles Chan, ofthe Honolulu detective force."

John Quincy had thought himself prepared for anything, but—"Mr.—Mr.Chan," he gasped.

"Mere words," said Chan, "can not express my unlimitable delight inmeeting a representative of the ancient civilization of Boston."

Harry Jennison spoke. "This is an appalling business, Miss Winterslip,"he said. "As perhaps you know, I was your cousin's lawyer. I was alsohis friend. Therefore I hope you won't think I am intruding if I show akeen interest in what is going forward here."

"Not at all," Miss Minerva assured him. "We shall need all the help wecan get."

Captain Hallet had taken a paper from his pocket. He faced John Quincy.

"Young man," he began, "I said I wanted to meet you. Last night MissWinterslip told me of a cablegram received by the dead man about a weekago, which she said angered him greatly. I happen to have a copy of thatmessage, turned over to me by the cable people. I'll read it to you:

"John Quincy sailing on President Tyler stop owing to unfortunateaccident he leaves here with empty hands. Signed, RogerWinterslip."

"Yes?" said John Quincy haughtily.

"Explain that, if you will."

John Quincy stiffened. "The matter was strictly private," he said. "Afamily affair."

Captain Hallet glared at him. "You're mistaken," he replied. "Nothingthat concerns Mr. Dan Winterslip is private now. Tell me what that cablemeant, and be quick about it. I'm busy this morning."

John Quincy glared back. The man didn't seem to realize to whom he wastalking. "I've already said—" he began.

"John Quincy," snapped Miss Minerva. "Do as you're told!"

Oh, well, if she wanted family secrets aired in public! Reluctantly JohnQuincy explained about Dan Winterslip's letter, and the misadventure inthe attic of Dan's San Francisco house.

"An ohia wood box bound with copper," repeated the captain. "Initials onit, T. M. B. Got that, Charlie?"

"It is written in the book," said Chan.

"Any idea what was in that box?" asked Hallet.

"Not the slightest," John Quincy told him.

Hallet turned to Miss Minerva. "You knew nothing about this?" Sheassured him she did not. "Well," he continued, "one thing more and we'llgo along. We've been making a thorough search of the premises bydaylight—without much success, I'm sorry to say. However, by the cementwalk just outside that door"—he pointed to the screen door leading fromthe living-room into the garden—"Charlie made a discovery."

Chan stepped forward, holding a small white object in the palm of hishand.

"One-half cigarette, incompletely consumed," he announced. "Very recent,not weather stained. It are of the brand denominated Corsican, assembledin London and smoked habitually by Englishmen."

Hallet again addressed Miss Minerva. "Did Dan Winterslip smokecigarettes?"

"He did not," she replied. "Cigars and a pipe, but never cigarettes."

"You were the only other person living here."

"I haven't acquired the cigarette habit," snapped Miss Minerva. "Thoughundoubtedly it's not too late yet."

"The servants, perhaps?" went on Hallet.

"Some of the servants may smoke cigarettes, but hardly of this quality.I take it these are not on sale in Honolulu?"

"They're not," said the captain. "But Charlie tells me they're put up inair-tight tins and shipped to Englishmen the world over. Well, stow thataway, Charlie." The Chinaman tenderly placed the half cigarette,incompletely consumed, in his pocketbook. "I'm going on down the beachnow to have a little talk with Mr. Jim Egan," the captain added.

"I'll go with you," Jennison offered. "I may be able to supply a link ortwo there."

"Sure, come along," Hallet replied cordially.

"Captain Hallet," put in Miss Minerva, "it is my wish that some memberof the family keep in touch with what you are doing, in order that wemay give you all the aid we can. My nephew would like to accompanyyou—"

"Pardon me," said John Quincy coldly, "you're quite wrong. I have nointention of joining the police force."

"Well, just as you say," remarked Hallet. He turned to Miss Minerva."I'm relying on you, at any rate. You've got a good mind. Anybody cansee that."

"Thank you," she said.

"As good as a man's," he added.

"Oh, now you've spoiled it. Good morning."

The three men went through the screen door into the bright sunshine ofthe garden. John Quincy was aware that he was not in high favor with hisaunt.

"I'll go up and change," he said uncomfortably "We'll talk things overlater—"

He went into the hall. At the foot of the stairs he paused.

From above came a low, heart-breaking moan of anguish. Barbara. PoorBarbara, who had been so happy less than an hour ago.

John Quincy felt his head go hot, the blood pound in his temples. Howdare any one strike down a Winterslip! How dare any one inflict thisgrief on his Cousin Barbara! He clenched his fists and stood for amoment, feeling that he, too, could kill.

Action—he must have action! He rushed through the living-room, past theastonished Miss Minerva. In the drive stood a car, the three men werealready in it.

"Wait a minute," called John Quincy. "I'm going with you."

"Hop in," said Captain Hallet.

The car rolled down the drive and out on to the hot asphalt of KaliaRoad. John Quincy sat erect, his eyes flashing, by the side of a hugegrinning Chinaman.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE REEF AND PALM

They reached Kalakaua Avenue and swerving sharply to the right, CaptainHallet stepped on the gas. Since the car was without a top, John Quincywas getting an unrestricted view of this land that lay at his journey'send. As a small boy squirming about on the hard pew in the FirstUnitarian Church, he had heard much of Heaven, and his youthfulimagination had pictured it as something like this. A warm, ratherlanguid country, freshly painted in the gaudiest colors available.

Creamy white clouds wrapped the tops of the distant mountains, and theirslopes were bright with tropical foliage. John Quincy heard near at handthe low monotone of breakers lapping the shore. Occasionally he caught aglimpse of apple-green water and a dazzling white stretch of sand. "Oh,Waikiki! Oh, scene of peace—" What was the rest of that poem his AuntMinerva had quoted in her last letter—the one in which she hadannounced that she was staying on indefinitely. "And looking down fromtum-tum skies, the angels smile on Waikiki." Sentimental, but sentimentwas one of Hawaii's chief exports. One had only to look at the place tounderstand and forgive.

John Quincy had not delayed for a hat, and the sun was beating downfiercely on his brown head. Charlie Chan glanced at him.

"Humbly begging pardon," remarked the Chinaman, "would say it isunadvisable to venture forth without headgear. Especially since you area malihini."

"A what?"

"The term carries no offense. Malihini—stranger, newcomer."

"Oh." John Quincy looked at him curiously. "Are you a malihini?"

"Not in the least," grinned Chan. "I am kamaaina—old-timer. Pursuingthe truth further, I have been twenty-five years in the Islands."

They passed a huge hotel, and presently John Quincy saw Diamond Headstanding an impressive guardian at the far end of that lovely curvingbeach. A little farther along the captain drew up to the curb and thefour men alighted. On the other side of a dilapidated fence was a gardenthat might have been Eden at its best.

Entering past a gate that hung sorrowfully on one hinge they walked up adirt path and in a moment a ramshackle old building came into view. Theywere approaching it on an angle, and John Quincy saw that the greaterpart of it extended out over the water. The tottering structure was oftwo stories, with double-decked balconies on both sides and the rear. Ithad rather an air about it; once, no doubt, it had been worthy to standin this setting. Flowering vines clambered over it in a friendlyendeavor to hide its imperfections from the world.

"Some day," announced Charlie Chan solemnly, "those rafters underneathwill disintegrate and the Reef and Palm Hotel will descend into the seawith a most horrid gurgle."

As they drew nearer, it seemed to John Quincy that the Chinaman'sprophecy might come true at any moment. They paused at the foot of acrumbling stair that led to the front door, and as they did so a manemerged hurriedly from the Reef and Palm. His once white clothes wereyellowed, his face lined, his eyes tired and disillusioned. But abouthim, as about the hotel, hung the suggestion of a distinguished past.

"Mr. Egan," said Captain Hallet promptly.

"Oh—how are you?" the man replied, with an accent that recalled to JohnQuincy's mind his meeting with Captain Arthur Temple Cope.

"We want to talk to you," announced Hallet bruskly.

A shadow crossed Egan's face. "I'm frightfully sorry," he said, "but Ihave a most important engagement, and I'm late as it is. Some othertime—"

"Now!" cut in Hallet. The word shot through the morning like a rocket.He started up the steps.

"Impossible," said Egan. He did not raise his voice. "Nothing on earthcould keep me from the dock this morning—"

The captain of detectives seized his arm. "Come inside!" he ordered.

Egan's face flushed. "Take your hand off me, damn you! By what right—"

"You watch your step, Egan," advised Hallet angrily. "You know why I'mhere."

"I do not."

Hallet stared into the man's face. "Dan Winterslip was murdered lastnight," he said.

Jim Egan removed his hat, and looked helplessly out toward KalakauaAvenue. "So I read in the morning paper," he replied. "What has hisdeath to do with me?"

"You were the last person to see him alive," Hallet answered. "Now quitbluffing and come inside."

Egan cast one final baffled glance at the street, where a trolley boundfor the city three miles away was rattling swiftly by. Then he bowed hishead and led the way into the hotel.

They entered a huge, poorly furnished public room, deserted save for awoman tourist writing post-cards at a table, and a shabby Japanese clerklolling behind the desk. "This way," Egan said, and they followed himpast the desk and into a small private office. Here all was confusion,dusty piles of magazines and newspapers were everywhere, battered oldledgers lay upon the floor. On the wall hung a portrait of QueenVictoria; many pictures cut from the London illustrated weeklies weretacked up haphazardly. Jennison spread a newspaper carefully over thewindow-sill and sat down there. Egan cleared chairs for Hallet, Chan andJohn Quincy, and himself took his place before an ancient roll-top desk.

"If you will be brief, Captain," he suggested, "I might still havetime—" He glanced at a clock above the desk.

"Forget that," advised Hallet sharply. His manner was considerablydifferent from that he employed in the house of a leading citizen likeDan Winterslip. "Let's get to business." He turned to Chan. "Got yourbook, Charlie?"

"Preparations are complete," replied Chan, his pencil poised.

"All right." Hallet drew his chair closer to the desk. "Now Egan, youcome through and come clean. I know that last night about seven-thirtyyou called up Dan Winterslip and tried to slide out of an appointmentyou had made with him. I know that he refused to let you off, andinsisted on seeing you at eleven. About that time you went to hishouse. You and he had a rather excited talk. At one-twenty-fiveWinterslip was found dead. Murdered, Egan! Now give me your end of it."

Jim Egan ran his fingers through his curly, close-croppedhair—straw-colored once, but now mostly gray. "That's all quite true,"he said. "Do—do you mind if I smoke?" He took out a silver case andremoved a cigarette. His hand trembled slightly as he applied the match."I did make an appointment with Winterslip for last night," hecontinued. "During the course of the day I—changed my mind. When Icalled up to tell him so, he insisted on seeing me. He urged me to comeat eleven, and I went."

"Who let you in?" Hallet asked.

"Winterslip was waiting in the garden when I came. We went inside—"

Hallet glanced at the cigarette in Egan's hand. "By the door leadingdirectly into the living-room?" he asked.

"No," said Egan. "By the big door at the front of the house. Wintersliptook me out on his lanai, and we had a bit of a chat regarding the—thebusiness that had brought me. About half an hour later, I came away.When I left Winterslip was alive and well—in good spirits, too.Smiling, as a matter of fact."

"By what door did you leave?"

"The front door—the one I'd entered by."

"I see." Hallet looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "You went backlater, perhaps."

"I did not," said Egan promptly. "I came directly here and went to bed."

"Who saw you?"

"No one. My clerk goes off duty at eleven. The hotel is open, but thereis no one in charge. My patronage is—not large."

"You came here at eleven-thirty and went to bed," Hallet said. "But noone saw you. Tell me, were you well acquainted with Dan Winterslip?"

Egan shook his head. "In the twenty-three years I've been in Honolulu, Ihad never spoken to him until I called him on the telephone yesterdaymorning."

"Humph." Hallet leaned back in his chair and spoke in a more amiabletone. "As a younger man, I believe you traveled a lot?"

"I drifted about a bit," Egan admitted. "I was just eighteen when I leftEngland—"

"At your family's suggestion," smiled the captain.

"What's that to you?" Egan flared.

"Where did you go?"

"Australia. I ranched it for a time—and later I worked in Melbourne."

"What doing?" persisted Hallet.

"In—in a bank."

"A bank, eh? And then—"

"The South Seas. Just—wandering about—I was restless—"

"Beach-combing, eh?"

Egan flushed. "I may have been on my uppers at times, but damn it—"

"Wait a minute," Hallet cut in. "What I want to know is—those years youwere drifting about—did you by any chance run into Dan Winterslip?"

"I—I might have."

"What sort of an answer is that! Yes or no?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did," Egan admitted. "Just once—inMelbourne. But it was a quite unimportant meeting. So unimportantWinterslip had completely forgotten it."

"But you hadn't. And yesterday morning, after twenty-three years'silence between you, you called him on the telephone. On rather suddenbusiness."

"I did."

Hallet came closer. "All right, Egan. We've reached the important partof your story. What was that business?"

A tense silence fell in the little office as they awaited Egan's answer.The Englishman looked Hallet calmly in the eye. "I can't tell you that,"he said.

Hallet's face reddened. "Oh, yes, you can. And you're going to."

"Never," answered Egan, without raising his voice.

The captain glared at him. "You don't seem to realize your position."

"I realize it perfectly."

"If you and I were alone—"

"I won't tell you under any circ*mstances, Hallet."

"Maybe you'll tell the prosecutor—"

"Look here," cried Egan wearily. "Why must I say it over and over? I'lltell nobody my business with Winterslip. Nobody, understand!" He crushedthe half-smoked cigarette savagely down on to a tray at his side.

John Quincy saw Hallet nod to Chan. He saw the Chinaman's pudgy littlehand go out and seize the remnant of cigarette. A happy grin spread overthe Oriental's fat face. He handed the stub to his chief.

"Corsican brand!" he cried triumphantly.

"Ah, yes," said Hallet. "This your usual smoke?"

A startled look crossed Egan's tired face. "No, it's not," he said.

"It's a make that's not on sale in the Islands, I believe?"

"No, I fancy it isn't."

Captain Hallet held out his hand. "Give me your cigarette case, Egan."The Englishman passed it over, and Hallet opened it. "Humph," he said."You've managed to get hold of a few, haven't you?"

"Yes. They were—given me."

"Is that so? Who gave them to you?"

Egan considered. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, either," he said.

Hallet's eyes glittered angrily. "Let me give you a few facts," hebegan. "You called on Dan Winterslip last night, you entered and left bythe front door, and you didn't go back. Yet just outside the doorleading directly into the living-room, we have found a partly smokedcigarette of this unusual brand. Now will you tell me who gave you theseCorsicans?"

"No," said Egan, "I won't."

Hallet slipped the silver cigarette case into his pocket, and stood up."Very well," he remarked. "I've wasted all the time I intend to here.The district court prosecutor will want to talk to you—"

"Of course," agreed Egan, "I'll come and see him—this afternoon—"

Hallet glared at him. "Quit kidding yourself and get your hat!"

Egan rose too. "Look here," he cried, "I don't like your manner. It'strue there are certain matters in connection with Winterslip I can'tdiscuss, and that's unfortunate. But surely you don't think I killed theman. What motive would I have—"

Jennison rose quickly from his seat on the window-ledge and steppedforward. "Hallet," he said, "there's something I ought to tell you. Twoor three years ago Dan Winterslip and I were walking along King Street,and we passed Mr. Egan here. Winterslip nodded toward him. 'I'm afraidof that man, Harry,' he said. I waited to hear more, but he didn't goon, and he wasn't the sort of client one would prompt. 'I'm afraid ofthat man, Harry.' Just that, and nothing further."

"It's enough," remarked Hallet grimly. "Egan, you're going with me."

Egan's eyes flashed. "Of course," he cried bitterly. "Of course I'mgoing with you. You're all against me, the whole town is against me,I've been sneered at and belittled for twenty years. Because I was poor.An out-cast, my daughter humiliated, not good enough to associate withthese New England blue-bloods—these thin-lipped Puritans with a touchof sun—"

At sound of that familiar phrase, John Quincy sat up. Where, where—oh,yes, on the Oakland ferry—

"Never mind that," Hallet was saying. "I'll give you one last chance.Will you tell me what I want to know?"

"I will not," cried Egan.

"All right. Then come along."

"Am I under arrest?" asked Egan.

"I didn't say that," replied Hallet, suddenly cautious. "Theinvestigation is young yet. You are withholding much needed information,and I believe that after you've spent a few hours at the station, you'llchange your mind and talk. In fact, I'm sure of it. I haven't anywarrant, but your position will be a lot more dignified if you comewillingly without one."

Egan considered a moment. "I fancy you're right," he said. "I havecertain orders to give the servants, if you don't mind—"

Hallet nodded. "Make it snappy. Charlie will go with you."

Egan and the Chinaman disappeared. The captain, John Quincy and Jennisonwent out and sat down in the public room. Five minutes passed, ten,fifteen—

Jennison glanced at his watch. "See here, Hallet," he said. "The man'smaking a monkey of you—"

Hallet reddened, and stood up. At that instant Egan and Chan came downthe big open stairway at one side of the room. Hallet went up to theEnglishman.

"Say, Egan—what are you doing? Playing for time?"

Egan smiled. "That's precisely what I'm doing," he replied. "Mydaughter's coming in this morning on the Matsonia—the boat ought tobe at the dock now. She's been at school on the mainland, and I haven'tseen her for nine months. You've done me out of the pleasure of meetingher, but in a few minutes—"

"Nothing doing," cried Hallet. "Now you get your hat. I'm pau."

Egan hesitated a moment, then slowly took his battered old straw hatfrom the desk. The five men walked through the blooming garden towardHallet's car. As they emerged into the street, a taxi drew up to thecurb. Egan ran forward, and the girl John Quincy had last seen at thegateway to San Francisco leaped out into the Englishman's arms.

"Dad—where were you?" she cried.

"Cary, darling," he said. "I was so frightfully sorry—I meant to be atthe dock but I was detained. How are you, my dear?"

"I'm fine, dad—but—where are you going?" She looked at Hallet; JohnQuincy remained discreetly in the background.

"I've—I've a little business in the city, my dear," Egan said. "I'llbe home presently, I fancy. If—if I shouldn't be, I leave you incharge."

"Why, dad—"

"Don't worry," he added pleadingly. "That's all I can say now, Cary.Don't worry, my dear." He turned to Hallet. "Shall we go. Captain?"

The two policemen, Jennison and Egan entered the car. John Quincystepped forward. The girl's big perplexed eyes met his.

"You?" she cried.

"Coming, Mr. Winterslip?" inquired Hallet.

John Quincy smiled at the girl. "You were quite right," he said. "Ihaven't needed that hat."

She looked up at him. "But you're not wearing any at all. That's hardlywise—"

"Mr. Winterslip!" barked Hallet.

John Quincy turned. "Oh, pardon me, Captain," he said. "I forgot tomention it, but I'm leaving you here. Good-by."

Hallet grunted and started his car. While the girl paid for her taxi outof a tiny purse, John Quincy picked up her suit-case.

"This time," he said, "I insist on carrying it." They stepped throughthe gateway into the garden that might have been Eden on one of itsbetter days. "You didn't tell me we might meet in Honolulu," the boyremarked.

"I wasn't sure we would." She glanced at the shabby old hotel. "You see,I'm not exactly a social favorite out here." John Quincy could think ofno reply, and they mounted the crumbling steps. The public room wasquite deserted. "And why have we met?" the girl continued. "I'mfearfully puzzled. What was dad's business with those men? One of themwas Captain Hallet—a policeman—"

John Quincy frowned. "I'm not so sure your father wants you to know."

"But I've got to know, that's obvious. Please tell me."

John Quincy relinquished the suit-case, and brought forward a chair. Thegirl sat down.

"It's this way," he began. "My Cousin Dan was murdered in the night."

Her eyes were tragic. "Oh—poor Barbara!" she cried. That's right, hemustn't forget Barbara. "But dad—oh, go on please—"

"Your father visited Cousin Dan last night at eleven, and he refuses tosay why. There are other things he refuses to tell."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sudden tears. "I was so happyon the boat," she said. "I knew it couldn't last."

He sat down. "Nonsense. Everything will come out all right. Your fatheris probably shielding some one—"

She nodded. "Of course. But if he's made up his mind not to talk, hejust simply won't talk. He's odd that way. They may keep him down there,and I shall be all alone—"

"Not quite alone," John Quincy told her.

"No, no," she said. "I've warned you. We're not the sort the best peoplecare to know—"

"The more fools they," cut in the boy. "I'm John Quincy Winterslip, ofBoston. And you—"

"Carlota Maria Egan," she answered. "You see, my mother was halfPortuguese. The other half was Scotch-Irish—my father's English. Thisis the melting pot out here, you know." She was silent for a moment. "Mymother was very beautiful," she added wistfully. "So they tell me—Inever knew."

John Quincy was touched. "I thought how beautiful she must have been,"he said gently. "That day I met you on the ferry."

The girl dabbed at her eyes with an absurd little handkerchief, andstood up. "Well," she remarked, "this is just another thing that has tobe faced. Another call for courage—I must meet it." She smiled. "Thelady manager of the Reef and Palm. Can I show you a room?"

"I say, it'll be a rather stiff job, won't it?" John Quincy rose too.

"Oh, I shan't mind. I've helped dad before. Only one thing troublesme—bills and all that. I've no head for arithmetic."

"That's all right—I have," replied John Quincy. He stopped. Wasn't hegetting in a little deep?

"How wonderful," the girl said.

"Why, not at all," John Quincy protested. "It's my line, at home." Home!Yes, he had a home, he recalled. "Bonds and interest and all that sortof thing. I'll drop in later in the day to see how you're getting on."He moved away in a mild panic. "I'd better be going now," he added.

"Of course." She followed him to the door. "You're altogether too kind.Shall you be in Honolulu long?"

"That depends," John Quincy said. "I've made up my mind to one thing. Ishan't stir from here until this mystery about Cousin Dan is solved. AndI'm going to do everything in my power to help in solving it."

"I'm sure you're very clever, too," she told him.

He shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. But I intend to make the effortof my life. I've got a lot of incentives for seeing this affairthrough." Something else trembled on his tongue. Better not say it. Oh,lord, he was saying it. "You're one of them," he added, and clattereddown the stairs.

"Do be careful," called the girl. "Those steps are even worse than theywere when I left. Just another thing to be repaired—some day—when ourship comes in."

He left her smiling wistfully in the doorway and hurrying through thegarden, stepped out on Kalakaua Avenue. The blazing sun beat down on hisdefenseless head. Gorgeous trees flaunted scarlet banners along hispath, tall cocoanut palms swayed above him at the touch of the friendlytrades, not far away rainbow-tinted waters lapped a snowy beach. A sweetland—all of that.

Did he wish that Agatha Parker were there to see it with him? Pursuingthe truth further, as Charlie Chan would put it, he did not.

CHAPTER X

A NEWSPAPER RIPPED IN ANGER

When John Quincy got back to the living-room he found Miss Minervapacing up and down with the light of battle in her eyes. He selected alarge, comfortable-looking chair and sank into it.

"Anything the matter?" he inquired. "You seem disturbed."

"I've just been having a lot of pilikia," she announced.

"What's that—another native drink?" he said with interest. "Could Ihave some too?"

"Pilikia means trouble," she translated. "Several reporters have beenhere, and you'd hardly credit the questions they asked."

"About Cousin Dan, eh?" John Quincy nodded. "I can imagine."

"However, they got nothing out of me. I took good care of that."

"Go easy," advised John Quincy. "A fellow back home who had a divorcecase in his family was telling me that if you're not polite to thenewspaper boys they just plain break your heart."

"Don't worry," said Miss Minerva. "I was diplomatic, of course. I thinkI handled them rather well, under the circ*mstances. They were the firstreporters I'd ever met—though I've had the pleasure of talking withgentlemen from the Transcript. What happened at the Reef and PalmHotel?"

John Quincy told her—in part.

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised if Egan turned out to be guilty," shecommented. "I've made a few inquiries about him this morning, and hedoesn't appear to amount to much. A sort of glorified beach-comber."

"Nonsense," objected John Quincy. "Egan's a gentleman. Just because hedoesn't happen to have prospered is no reason for condemning him withouta hearing."

"He's had a hearing," snapped Miss Minerva. "And it seems he's beenmixed up in something he's not precisely proud of. There, I've gone andended a sentence with a preposition. Probably all this has upset me morethan I realize."

John Quincy smiled. "Cousin Dan," he reminded her, "was also mixed up ina few affairs he could hardly have looked back on with pride. No, AuntMinerva, I feel Hallet is on the wrong trail there. It's just as Egan'sdaughter said—"

She glanced at him quickly. "Oh—so Egan has a daughter?"

"Yes, and a mighty attractive girl. It's a confounded shame to put thisthing on her."

"Humph," said Miss Minerva.

John Quincy glanced at his watch. "Good lord—it's only ten o'clock!" Agreat calm had settled over the house, there was no sound save the softlapping of waves on the beach outside. "What, in heaven's name, do youdo out here?"

"Oh, you'll become accustomed to it shortly," Miss Minerva answered. "Atfirst, you just sit and think. After a time, you just sit."

"Sounds fascinating," said John Quincy sarcastically.

"That's the odd part of it," his aunt replied, "it is. One of the thingsyou think about, at first, is going home. When you stop thinking, thatnaturally slips your mind."

"We gathered that," John Quincy told her.

"You'll meet a man on the beach," said Miss Minerva, "who stopped overbetween boats to have his laundry done. That was twenty years ago, andhe's still here."

"Probably they haven't finished his laundry," suggested John Quincy,yawning openly. "Ho, hum. I'm going up to my room to change, and afterthat I believe I'll write a few letters." He rose with an effort andwent to the door. "How's Barbara?" he asked.

Miss Minerva shook her head. "Dan was all the poor child had," she said."She's taken it rather hard. You won't see her for some time, and whenyou do—the least said about all this, the better."

"Why, naturally," agreed John Quincy, and went up-stairs.

After he had bathed and put on his whitest, thinnest clothes, heexplored the desk that stood near his bed and found it well suppliedwith note paper. Languidly laying out a sheet, he began to write.

"Dear Agatha: Here I am in Honolulu and outside my window I canhear the lazy swish of waters lapping the famous beach of—"

Lazy, indeed. John Quincy had a feeling for words. He stopped and staredat an agile little cloud flitting swiftly through the sky—got up fromhis chair to watch it disappear over Diamond Head. On his way back tothe desk he had to pass the bed. What inviting beds they had out here!He lifted the mosquito netting and dropped down for a moment—

Haku hammered on the door at one o'clock, and that was how John Quincyhappened to be present at lunch. His aunt was already at the table whenhe staggered in.

"Cheer up," she smiled. "You'll become acclimated soon. Of course, eventhen you'll want your nap just after lunch every day."

"I will not," he answered, but there was no conviction in his tone.

"Barbara asked me to tell you how sorry she is not to be with you. She'sa sweet girl, John Quincy."

"She's all of that. Give her my love, won't you?"

"Your love?" His aunt looked at him. "Do you mean that? Barbara's only asecond cousin—"

He laughed. "Don't waste your time match-making, Aunt Minerva. Some onehas already spoken for Barbara."

"Really? Who?"

"Jennison. He seems like a fine fellow, too."

"Handsome, at any rate," Miss Minerva admitted. They ate in silence fora time. "The coroner and his friends were here this morning," said MissMinerva presently.

"That so?" replied John Quincy. "Any verdict?"

"Not yet. I believe they're to settle on that later. By the way, I'mgoing down-town immediately after lunch to do some shopping for Barbara.Care to come along?"

"No, thanks," John Quincy said. "I must go up-stairs and finish myletters."

But when he left the luncheon table, he decided the letters could wait.He took a heavy volume with a South Sea title from Dan's library, andwent out on to the lanai. Presently Miss Minerva appeared, smartlydressed in white linen.

"I'll return as soon as I'm pau," she announced.

"What is this pau?" John Quincy inquired.

"Pau means finished—through."

"Good lord," John Quincy said. "Aren't there enough words in the Englishlanguage for you?"

"Oh, I don't know," she answered, "a little Hawaiian sprinkled in makesa pleasant change. And when one reaches my age, John Quincy, one iseager for a change. Good-by."

She left him to his book and the somnolent atmosphere of Dan's lanai.Sometimes he read, colorful tales of other islands farther south.Sometimes he sat and thought. Sometimes he just sat. The blazingafternoon wore on; presently the beach beyond Dan's garden was gay withbathers, sunburned men and girls, pretty girls in brief and alluringcostumes. Their cries as they dared the surf were exultant, happy. JohnQuincy was keen to try these notable waters, but it didn't seem quitethe thing—not just yet, with Dan Winterslip lying in that roomup-stairs.

Miss Minerva reappeared about five, flushed and—though she well knew itwas not the thing for one of her standing in the Back Bay—perspiring.She carried an evening paper in her hand.

"Any news?" inquired John Quincy.

She sat down. "Nothing but the coroner's verdict. The usualthing—person or persons unknown. But as I was reading the paper in thecar, I had a sudden inspiration."

"Good for you. What was it?"

Haku appeared at the door leading to the living-room. "You ring, miss?"he said.

"I did. Haku, what becomes of the old newspapers in this house?"

"Take and put in a closet beside kitchen," the man told her.

"See if you can find me—no, never mind. I'll look myself."

She followed Haku into the living-room. In a few minutes she returnedalone, a newspaper in her hand.

"I have it," she announced triumphantly. "The evening paper of Monday,June sixteenth—the one Dan was reading the night he wrote that letterto Roger. And look, John Quincy—one corner has been torn from theshipping page!"

"Might have been accidental," suggested John Quincy languidly.

"Nonsense!" she said sharply. "It's a clue, that's what it is. The itemthat disturbed Dan was on that missing corner of the page."

"Might have been, at that," he admitted. "What are you going to do—"

"You're the one that's going to do it," she cut in. "Pull yourselftogether and go into town. It's two hours until dinner. Give this paperto Captain Hallet—or better still, to Charlie Chan. I am impressed byMr. Chan's intelligence."

John Quincy laughed. "Damned clever, these Chinese!" he quoted. "Youdon't mean to say you've fallen for that bunk. They seem clever becausethey're so different."

"We'll see about that. The chauffeur's gone on an errand for Barbara,but there's a roadster in the garage—"

"Trolley's good enough for me," said John Quincy. "Here, give me thepaper."

She explained to him how he was to reach the city, and he got his hatand went. Presently he was on a trolley-car surrounded byrepresentatives of a dozen different races. The melting pot of thePacific, Carlota Egan had called Honolulu, and the appellation seemed tobe correct. John Quincy began to feel a fresh energy, a new interest inlife.

The trolley swept over the low swampy land between Waikiki and Honolulu,past rice fields where quaint figures toiled patiently in water to theirknees, past taro patches, and finally turned on to King Street. Everyfew moments it paused to take aboard new immigration problems, Japs,Chinamen, Hawaiians, Portuguese, Philippinos, Koreans, all colors andall creeds. On it went. John Quincy saw great houses set in bloominggroves, a Japanese theater flaunting weird posters not far from a Fordservice station, then a huge building he recognized as the palace of themonarchy. Finally it entered a district of modern office buildings.

Mr. Kipling was wrong, the boy reflected, East and West could meet. Theyhad.

This impression was confirmed when he left the car at Fort Street andfor a moment walked about, a stranger in a strange land. A duskypoliceman was directing traffic on the corner, officers of the UnitedStates army and navy in spotless duck strolled by, and on the shady sideof the street Chinese girls, slim and immaculate in freshly launderedtrousers and jackets, were window shopping in the cool of the evening.

"I'm looking for the police station," John Quincy informed a bigAmerican with a friendly face.

"Get back on to King Street," the man said. "Go to your right until youcome to Bethel, then turn makai—"

"Turn what?"

The man smiled. "A malihini, I take it. Makai means toward the sea. Theother direction is mauka—toward the mountains. The police station is atthe foot of Bethel, in Kalakaua Hale."

John Quincy thanked him and went on his way. He passed the post-officeand was amazed to see that all the lock boxes opened on the street.After a time, he reached the station. A sergeant lounging behind thedesk told him that Charlie Chan was at dinner. He suggested theAlexander Young Hotel or possibly the All American Restaurant on KingStreet.

The hotel sounded easiest, so John Quincy went there first. In the dimlobby a Chinese house boy wandered aimlessly about with broom and dustpan, a few guests were writing the inevitable post-cards, a Chineseclerk was on duty at the desk. But there was no sign of Chan, either inthe lobby or in the dining-room at the left. As John Quincy turned froman inspection of the latter, the elevator door opened and a Britisher inmufti came hurriedly forth. He was followed by a co*ckney servantcarrying luggage.

"Captain Cope," called John Quincy.

The captain paused. "Hello," he said. "Oh—Mr. Winterslip—how are you?"He turned to the servant. "Buy me an evening paper and an armful of theless offensive-looking magazines." The man hurried off, and Cope againaddressed John Quincy. "Delighted to see you, but I'm in a frightfulrush. Off to the Fanning Islands in twenty minutes."

"When did you get in?" inquired John Quincy. Not that he really cared.

"Yesterday at noon," said Captain Cope. "Been on the wing ever since. Itrust you are enjoying your stop here—but I was forgetting. Fearfulnews about Dan Winterslip."

"Yes," said John Quincy coolly. Judging by the conversation in that SanFrancisco club, the blow had not been a severe one for Captain Cope. Theservant returned.

"Sorry to run," continued the captain. "But I must be off. The serviceis a stern taskmaster. My regards to your aunt. Best of luck, my boy."

He disappeared through the wide door, followed by his man. John Quincyreached the street in time to see him rolling off in a big car towardthe docks.

Noting the cable office near by, the boy entered and sent two messages,one to his mother and the other to Agatha Parker. He addressed them toBoston, Mass. U. S. A., and was accorded a withering look by the youngwoman in charge as she crossed out the last three letters. There wereonly two words in each message, but he returned to the street with thecomfortable feeling that his correspondence was now attended to for sometime to come.

A few moments later he encountered the All American Restaurant and goinginside, found himself the only American in the place. Charlie Chan wasseated alone at a table, and as John Quincy approached, he rose andbowed.

"A very great honor," said the Chinaman. "Is it possible that I canprevail upon you to accept some of this terrible provision?"

"No, thanks," answered John Quincy. "I'm to dine later at the house.I'll sit down for a moment, if I may."

"Quite overwhelmed," bobbed Charlie. He resumed his seat and scowled atsomething on the plate before him. "Waiter," he said. "Be kind enough tosummon the proprietor of this establishment."

The proprietor, a suave little Jap, came gliding. He bowed from thewaist.

"Is it that you serve here insanitary food?" inquired Chan.

"Please deign to state your complaint," said the Jap.

"This piece of pie are covered with finger-marks," rebuked Chan. "Thesight are most disgusting. Kindly remove it and bring me a more hygienicsector."

The Jap picked up the offending pastry and carried it away.

"Japanese," remarked Chan, spreading his hands in an eloquent gesture."Is it proper for me to infer that you come on business connected withthe homicide?"

John Quincy smiled. "I do," he said. He took the newspaper from hispocket, pointed out the date and the missing corner. "My aunt felt itmight be important," he explained.

"The woman has a brain," said Chan. "I will procure an unmutilatedspecimen of this issue and compare. The import may be vast."

"You know," remarked John Quincy, "I'd like to work with you on thiscase, if you'll let me."

"I have only delight," Chan answered. "You arrive from Boston, a citymost cultivated, where much more English words are put to employmentthan are accustomed here. I thrill when you speak. Greatest privilegefor me, I would say."

"Have you formed any theory about the crime?" John Quincy asked.

Chan shook his head. "Too early now."

"You have no finger-prints to go on, you said."

Chan shrugged his shoulders. "Does not matter. Finger-prints and othermechanics good in books, in real life not so much so. My experience tellme to think deep about human people. Human passions. Back of murderwhat, always? Hate, revenge, need to make silent the slain one. Greedfor money, maybe. Study human people at all times."

"Sounds reasonable," admitted John Quincy.

"Mostly so," Chan averred. "Enumerate with me the clues we mustconsider. A guest book devoid of one page. A glove button. A message onthe cable. Story of Egan, partly told. Fragment of Corsican cigarette.This newspaper ripped maybe in anger. Watch on living wrist, numeral 2undistinct."

"Quite a little collection," commented John Quincy.

"Most interesting," admitted the Chinaman. "One by one, we explore. Somecause us to arrive at nowhere. One, maybe two, will not be so unkind. Iam believer in Scotland Yard method—follow only essential clue. But itare not the method here. I must follow all, entire."

"The essential clue," repeated John Quincy.

"Sure." Chan scowled at the waiter, for his more hygienic sector had notappeared. "Too early to say here. But I have fondness for the guest bookwith page omitted. Watch also claims my attention. Odd enough, when weenumerate clues this morning, we pass over watch. Foolish. Verygood-looking clue. One large fault, we do not possess it. However, myeyes are sharp to apprehend it."

"I understand," John Quincy said, "that you've been rather successful asa detective."

Chan grinned broadly. "You are educated, maybe you know," he said."Chinese most psychic people in the world. Sensitives, like film incamera. A look, a laugh, a gesture perhaps. Something go click."

John Quincy was aware of a sudden disturbance at the door of the AllAmerican Restaurant. Bowker, the steward, gloriously drunk, was making anoisy entrance. He plunged into the room, followed by a dark,anxious-looking youth.

Embarrassed, John Quincy turned away his face, but to no avail. Bowkerwas bearing down upon him, waving his arms.

"Well, well, well, well!" he bellowed. "My o' college chum. See youthrough the window." He leaned heavily on the table. "How you been, o'fellow?"

"I'm all right, thanks," John Quincy said.

The dark young man came up. He was, from his dress, a shore acquaintanceof Bowker's. "Look here, Ted," he said. "You've got to be gettingalong—"

"Jush a minute," cried Bowker. "I want y' to meet Mr. Quincy fromBoston. One best fellows God ever made. Mushual friend o' Tim's—you'veheard me speak of Tim—"

"Yes—come along," urged the dark young man.

"Not yet. Gotta buy thish boy a lil' drink. What you having, Quincy, o'man?"

"Not a thing," smiled John Quincy. "You warned me against these Islanddrinks yourself."

"Who—me?" Bowker was hurt. "You're wrong that time, o' man. Don' liketo conter—conterdict, but it mush have been somebody else. Not me.Never said a word—"

The young man took his arm. "Come on—you're due on the ship—"

Bowker wrenched away. "Don' paw me," he cried. "Keep your hands off. I'mmy own mashter, ain't I? I can speak to an o' friend, can't I? Now,Quincy, o' man—what's yours?"

"I'm sorry," said John Quincy. "Some other time."

Bowker's companion took his arm in a firmer grasp. "You can't buyanything here," he said. "This is a restaurant. You come with me—I knowa place—"

"Awright," agreed Bowker. "Now you're talking. Quincy, o' man, you comealong—"

"Some other time," John Quincy repeated.

Bowker assumed a look of offended dignity. "Jush as you say," hereplied. "Some other time. In Boston, hey? At Tim's place. Only Tim'splace is gone." A great grief assailed him. "Tim's gone—dropped out—asthough the earth swallowed him up—"

"Yes, yes," said the young man soothingly. "That's too bad. But you comewith me."

Submitting at last, Bowker permitted his companion to pilot him to thestreet. John Quincy looked across at Chan.

"My steward on the President Tyler," he explained. "The worse forwear, isn't he?"

The waiter set a fresh piece of pie before the Chinaman.

"Ah," remarked Chan, "this has a more perfect appearance." He tasted it."Appearance," he added with a grimace, "are a hellish liar. If you arequite ready to depart—"

In the street Chan halted. "Excuse abrupt departure," he said. "Mosthonored to work with you. The results will be fascinating, I am sure.For now, good evening."

John Quincy was alone again in that strange town. A sudden homesicknessengulfed him. Walking along, he came to a news-cart that was as wellsupplied with literature as his club reading room. A brisk young man ina cap was in charge.

"Have you the latest Atlantic?" inquired John Quincy.

The young man put a dark brown periodical into his hand. "No," said JohnQuincy. "This is the June issue. I've seen it."

"July ain't in. I'll save you one, if you say so."

"I wish you would," John Quincy replied. "The name is Winterslip."

He went on to the corner, regretting that July wasn't in. A copy of theAtlantic would have been a sort of link with home, a reminder thatBoston still stood. And he felt the need of a link, a reminder.

A trolley-car marked "Waikiki" was approaching. John Quincy hailed itand hopped aboard. Three giggling Japanese girls in bright kimonos drewin their tiny sandaled feet and he slipped past them to a seat.

CHAPTER XI

THE TREE OF JEWELS

Two hours later, John Quincy rose from the table where he and his aunthad dined together.

"Just to show you how quick I am to learn a new language," he remarked,"I'm quite pau. Now I'm going makai to sit on the lanai, there to forgetthe pilikia of the day."

Miss Minerva smiled and rose too. "I expect Amos shortly," she said asthey crossed the hall. "A family conference seemed advisable, so I'veasked him to come over."

"Strange you had to send for him," said John Quincy, lighting acigarette.

"Not at all," she answered. She explained about the long feud betweenthe brothers.

"Didn't think old Amos had that much fire in him," commented JohnQuincy, as they found chairs on the lanai. "A rather anemic specimen,judging by the look I had at him this morning. But then, the Winterslipsalways were good haters."

For a moment they sat in silence. Outside the darkness was deepeningrapidly, the tropic darkness that had brought tragedy the night before.John Quincy pointed to a small lizard on the screen.

"Pleasant little beast," he said.

"Oh, they're quite harmless," Miss Minerva told him. "And they eat themosquitos."

"They do, eh?" The boy slapped his ankle savagely. "Well, there's noaccounting for tastes."

Amos arrived presently, looking unusually pale in the half-light. "Youasked me to come over, Minerva," he said, as he sat down gingerly on oneof Dan Winterslip's Hong-Kong chairs.

"I did. Smoke if you like." Amos lighted a cigarette, which seemed oddlyout of place between his thin lips. "I'm sure," Miss Minerva continued,"that we are all determined to bring to justice the person who did thisghastly thing."

"Naturally," said Amos.

"The only drawback," she went on, "is that in the course of theinvestigation some rather unpleasant facts about Dan's past are likelyto be revealed."

"They're bound to be," remarked Amos coldly.

"For Barbara's sake," Miss Minerva said. "I'm intent on seeing thatnothing is revealed that is not absolutely essential to the discovery ofthe murderer. For that reason, I haven't taken the police completelyinto my confidence."

"What!" cried Amos.

John Quincy stood up. "Now look here, Aunt Minerva—"

"Sit down," snapped his aunt. "Amos, to go back to a talk we had at yourhouse when I was there, Dan was somewhat involved with this woman downthe beach. Arlene Compton, I believe she calls herself."

Amos nodded. "Yes, and a worthless lot she is. But Dan wouldn't see it,though I understand his friends pointed it out to him. He talked ofmarrying her."

"You knew a good deal about Dan, even if you never spoke to him," MissMinerva went on. "Just what was his status with this woman at the timeof his murder—only last night, but it seems ages ago."

"I can't quite tell you that," Amos replied. "I do know that for thepast month a malihini named Leatherbee—the black sheep of a good familyin Philadelphia, they tell me—has been hanging around the Comptonwoman, and that Dan resented his presence."

"Humph." Miss Minerva handed to Amos an odd old brooch, a tree of jewelsagainst an onyx background. "Ever see that before, Amos?"

He took it, and nodded. "It's part of a little collection of jewelry Danbrought back from the South Seas in the 'eighties. There were ear-ringsand a bracelet, too. He acted rather queerly about those trinkets—neverlet Barbara's mother or any one else wear them. But he must have gotover that idea recently. For I saw this only a few weeks ago."

"Where?" asked Miss Minerva.

"Our office has the renting of the cottage down the beach occupied atpresent by the Compton woman. She came in not long ago to pay her rent,and she was wearing this brooch." He looked suddenly at Miss Minerva."Where did you get it?" he demanded.

"Kamaikui gave it to me early this morning," Miss Minerva explained."She picked it up from the floor of the lanai before the police came."

John Quincy leaped to his feet. "You're all wrong, Aunt Minerva," hecried. "You can't do this sort of thing. You ask the help of the police,and you aren't on the level with them. I'm ashamed of you—"

"Please wait a moment," said his aunt.

"Wait nothing!" he answered. "Give me that brooch. I'm going to turn itover to Chan at once. I couldn't look him in the eye if I didn't."

"We'll turn it over to Chan," said Miss Minerva calmly, "if it seemsimportant. But there is no reason in the world why we should notinvestigate a bit ourselves before we do so. The woman may have aperfectly logical explanation—"

"Rot!" interrupted John Quincy. "The trouble with you is, you thinkyou're Sherlock Holmes."

"What is your opinion, Amos?" inquired Miss Minerva.

"I'm inclined to agree with John Quincy," Amos said. "You are hardlyfair to Captain Hallet. And as for keeping anything dark on account ofBarbara—or on anybody's account—that won't be possible, I'm afraid. Nogetting round it, Minerva, Dan's indiscretions are going to be draggedinto the open at last."

She caught the note of satisfaction in his tone, and was nettled by it."Perhaps. At the same time, it isn't going to do any harm for somemember of the family to have a talk with this woman before we consultthe police. If she should have a perfectly sincere and genuineexplanation—"

"Oh, yes," cut in John Quincy. "She wouldn't have any other kind."

"It won't be so much what she says," persisted Miss Minerva. "It will bethe manner in which she says it. Any intelligent person can see throughdeceit and falsehood. The only question is, which of us is theintelligent person best fitted to examine her."

"Count me out," said Amos promptly.

"John Quincy?"

The boy considered. He had asked for the privilege of working with Chan,and here, perhaps, was an opportunity to win the Chinaman's respect. Butthis sounded rather like a woman who would be too much for him.

"No, thanks," he said.

"Very good," replied Miss Minerva, rising. "I'll go myself."

"Oh, no," cried John Quincy, shocked.

"Why not? If none of the men in the family are up to it. As a matter offact, I welcome the opportunity—"

Amos shook his head. "She'll twist you round her little finger," hepredicted.

Miss Minerva smiled grimly. "I should like to see her do it. Will youwait here?"

John Quincy went over and took the brooch from Amos's hand. "Sit down,Aunt Minerva," he said. "I'll see this woman. But I warn you thatimmediately afterward I shall send for Chan."

"That," his aunt told him, "will be decided at another conference. I'mnot so sure, John Quincy, that you are the proper person to go. Afterall, what experience have you had with women of this type?"

John Quincy was offended. He was a man, and he felt that he could meetand outwit a woman of any type. He said as much.

Amos described the woman's house as a small cottage several hundredyards down the beach, and directed the boy how to get there. John Quincyset out.

Night had fallen over the island when he reached Kalia Road, a brightsilvery night, for the Kona weather was over and the moon traveled acloudless sky. The scent of plumeria and ginger stole out to him throughhedges of flaming hibiscus; the trade winds, blowing across a thousandmiles of warm water, still managed a cool touch on his cheek. As heapproached what he judged must be the neighborhood of the woman's house,a flock of Indian myna birds in a spreading algaroba screamed loudly,their harsh voices the only note of discord in that peaceful scene.

He had some difficulty locating the cottage, which was almost completelyhidden under masses of flowering alamander, its blossoms pale yellow inthe moonlight. Before the door, a dark fragrant spot under a heavilyladen trellis, he paused uncertainly. A rather delicate errand, thiswas. But he summoned his courage and knocked.

Only the myna birds replied. John Quincy stood there, growingmomentarily more hostile to the Widow of Waikiki. Some huge coarsecreature, no doubt, a man's woman, a good fellow at a party—that kind.Then the door opened and the boy got a shock. For the figure outlinedagainst the light was young and slender, and the face, dimly seen,suggested fragile loveliness.

"Is this Mrs. Compton?" he inquired.

"Yeah—I'm Mrs. Compton. What do you want?" John Quincy was sorry shehad spoken. For she was, obviously, one of those beauties so prevalentnowadays, the sort whom speech betrays. Her voice recalled the mynabirds.

"My name is John Quincy Winterslip." He saw her start. "May I speak withyou for a moment?"

"Sure you can. Come in." She led the way along a low narrow passage intoa tiny living-room. A pasty-faced young man with stooped shoulders stoodby a table, fondling a co*cktail shaker.

"Steve," said the woman, "this is Mr. Winterslip. Mr. Leatherbee."

Mr. Leatherbee grunted. "Just in time for a little snifter," heremarked.

"No, thanks," John Quincy said. He saw Mrs. Compton take a smokingcigarette from an ash tray, start to convey it to her lips, then,evidently thinking better of it, crush it on the tray.

"Well," said Mr. Leatherbee, "your poison's ready, Arlene." He proffereda glass.

She shook her head, slightly annoyed. "No."

"No?" Mr. Leatherbee grinned. "The more for little Stevie." He lifted aglass. "Here's looking at you, Mr. Winterslip."

"Say, I guess you're Dan's cousin from Boston," Mrs. Compton remarked."He was telling me about you." She lowered her voice. "I've been meaningto get over to your place all day. But it was such a shock—it knockedme flat."

"I understand," John Quincy replied. He glanced at Mr. Leatherbee, whoseemed not to have heard of prohibition. "My business with you, Mrs.Compton, is private."

Leatherbee stiffened belligerently. But the woman said: "That's allright. Steve was just going."

Steve hesitated a moment, then went. His hostess accompanied him. JohnQuincy heard the low monotone of their voices in the distance. There wasa combined odor of gin and cheap perfume in the air; the boy wonderedwhat his mother would say if she could see him now. A door slammed, andthe woman returned.

"Well?" she said. John Quincy perceived that her eyes were hard andknowing, like her voice. He waited for her to sit down, then took achair facing her.

"You knew my Cousin Dan rather intimately," he suggested.

"I was engaged to him," she answered. John Quincy glanced at her lefthand. "He hadn't come across—I mean, he hadn't given me a ring, but itwas—you know—understood between us."

"Then his death is a good deal of a blow to you?"

She managed a baby stare, full of pathos. "I'll say it is. Mr.Winterslip was kind to me—he believed in me and trusted me. A lonewoman way out here don't get any too much char—kindness."

"When did you see Mr. Winterslip last?"

"Three or four days ago—last Friday evening, I guess it was."

John Quincy frowned. "Wasn't that rather a long stretch?"

She nodded. "I'll tell you the truth. We had a little—misunderstanding.Just a lover's quarrel, you know. Dan sort of objected to Steve hangingaround. Not that he'd any reason to—Steve's nothing to me—just a weakkid I used to know when I was trouping. I was on the stage—maybe youheard that."

"Yes," said John Quincy. "You hadn't seen Mr. Winterslip since lastFriday. You didn't go to his house last evening?"

"I should say not. I got my reputation to think of—you've no idea howpeople talk in a place like this—"

John Quincy laid the brooch down upon the table. It sparkled in thelamplight—a reading lamp, though the atmosphere was not in the leastliterary. The baby stare was startled now. "You recognize that, don'tyou?" he asked.

"Why—yes—it's—I—"

"Just stick to the truth," said John Quincy, not unkindly. "It's an oldpiece of jewelry that Mr. Winterslip gave you, I believe."

"Well—"

"You've been seen wearing it, you know."

"Yes, he did give it to me," she admitted. "The only present I ever gotfrom him. I guess from the look of it Mrs. Noah wore it on the Ark.Kinda pretty, though."

"You didn't visit Mr. Winterslip last night," persisted John Quincy."Yet, strangely enough, this brooch was found on the floor not far fromhis dead body."

She drew in her breath sharply. "Say—what are you? A cop?" she asked.

"Hardly," John Quincy smiled. "I am here simply to save you, ifpossible, from the hands of the—er—the cops. If you have any realexplanation of this matter, it may not be necessary to call it to theattention of the police."

"Oh!" She smiled. "Say, that's decent of you. Now I will tell you thetruth. That about not seeing Dan Winterslip since Friday was bunk. I sawhim last night."

"Ah—you did? Where?"

"Right here. Mr. Winterslip gave me that thing about a month ago. Twoweeks ago he came to me in a sort of excited way and said he must haveit back. It was the only thing he ever give me and I liked it and thoseemeralds are valuable—so—well, I stalled a while. I said I was havinga new clasp put on it. He kept asking for it, and last night he showedup here and said he just had to have it. Said he'd buy me anything inthe stores in place of it. I must say he was pretty het up. So I finallyturned it over to him and he took it and went away."

"What time was that?"

"About nine-thirty. He was happy and pleasant and he said I could go toa jewelry store this morning and take my pick of the stock." She lookedpleadingly at John Quincy. "That's the last I ever saw of him. It's thetruth, so help me."

"I wonder," mused John Quincy.

She moved nearer. "Say, you're a nice kid," she said. "The kind I usedto meet in Boston when we played there. The kind that's got someconsideration for a woman. You ain't going to drag me into this. Thinkwhat it would mean—to me."

John Quincy did not speak. He saw there were tears in her eyes. "You'veprobably heard things about me," she went on, "but they ain't true. Youdon't know what I been up against out here. An unprotected woman don'thave much chance anywhere, but on this beach, where men come drifting infrom all over the world—I been friendly, that's my only trouble. I washomesick—oh, God, wasn't I homesick! I was having a good time backthere, and then I fell for Bill Compton and came out here with him, andsometimes in the night I'd wake up and remember Broadway was fivethousand miles away, and I'd cry so hard I'd wake him. And that made himsore—"

She paused. John Quincy was impressed by the note of true nostalgia inher voice. He was, suddenly, rather sorry for her.

"Then Bill's plane crashed on Diamond Head," she continued, "and I wasall alone. And these black sheep along the beach, they knew I wasalone—and broke. And I was homesick for Forty-second Street, for theold boarding-house and the old gang and the Automat and the chewing-gumsign, and try-outs at New Haven. So I gave a few parties just to forget,and people began to talk."

"You might have gone back," John Quincy suggested.

"I know—why didn't I? I been intending to, right along, but every dayout here is just like any other day, and somehow you don't get round topicking one out—I been drifting—but honest to God if you keep me outof this I'll go home on the first boat. I'll get me a job, and—and—Ifyou'll only keep me out of it. You got a chance now to wreck mylife—it's all up to you—but I know you ain't going to—"

She seized John Quincy's hand in both of hers, and gazed at himpleadingly through her tears. It was the most uncomfortable moment ofhis life. He looked wildly about the little room, so different from anyin the house on Beacon Street. He pulled his hand away.

"I'll—I'll see," he said, rising hastily. "I'll think it over."

"But I can't sleep to-night if I don't know," she told him.

"I'll have to think it over," he repeated. He turned toward the table intime to see the woman's slim hand reach out and seize the bit ofjewelry. "I'll take the brooch," he added.

She looked up at him. Suddenly John Quincy knew that she had beenacting, that his emotions had been falsely played upon, and he feltagain that hot rush of blood to the head, that quick surge of anger, hehad experienced in Dan Winterslip's hall. Aunt Minerva had predicted hecouldn't handle a woman of this type. Well, he'd show her—he'd show theworld. "Give me that brooch," he said coldly.

"It's mine," answered the woman stubbornly.

John Quincy wasted no words; he seized the woman's wrist. She screamed.A door opened behind them.

"What's going on here?" inquired Mr. Leatherbee.

"Oh, I thought you'd left us," said John Quincy.

"Steve! Don't let him have it," cried the woman. Steve moved militantlynearer, but there was a trace of caution in his attitude.

John Quincy laughed. "You stay where you are, Steve," he advised. "OrI'll smash that sallow face of yours." Strange talk for a Winterslip."Your friend here is trying to hang on to an important bit of evidencein the murder up the beach, and with the utmost reluctance I am forcedto use strong-arm methods." The brooch dropped to the floor, he stoopedand picked it up. "Well, I guess that's about all," he added. "I'm sorryif you've been homesick, Mrs. Compton, but speaking as a Bostonian, Idon't believe Broadway is as glamourous as you picture it. Distance haslent enchantment. Good night."

He let himself out, and found his way to Kalakaua Avenue. He had settledone thing to his own satisfaction; Chan must know about the brooch, andat once. Mrs. Compton's story might be true or not, it certainly neededfurther investigation by some responsible person.

John Quincy had approached the cottage by way of Kalia Road, he wasplanning to return to Dan's house along the better lighted avenue.Having reached that broad expanse of asphalt, however, he realized thatthe Reef and Palm Hotel was near at hand. There was his promise toCarlota Egan—he had said he would look in on her again to-day. As forChan, he could telephone the Chinaman from the hotel. He turned in thedirection of the Reef and Palm.

Stumbling through the dark garden, he saw finally the gaunt old hulk ofthe hotel. Lights of low candle power burned at infrequent intervals onthe double-decked veranda. In the huge lobby a few rather shabby-lookingguests took their ease. Behind the desk stood—nobody but the Japaneseclerk.

John Quincy was directed to a telephone booth, and his keen Bostonianmind required Nipponese aid in mastering the dial system favored by theHonolulu telephone company. At length he got the police station. Chanwas out, but the answering voice promised that he would be told to getin touch with Mr. Winterslip immediately on his return.

"How much do I owe you?" inquired John Quincy of the clerk.

"Not a penny," said a voice, and he turned to find Carlota Egan at hiselbow. He smiled. This was more like it.

"But I say—you know—I've used your telephone—"

"It's free," she said. "Too many things are free out here. That's why wedon't get rich. It was so kind of you to come again."

"Not at all," he protested. He looked about the room. "Your father—"

She glanced at the clerk, and led the way out to the lanai at the side.They went to the far end of it, where they could see the light onDiamond Head, and the silvery waters of the Pacific sweeping in todisappear at last beneath the old Reef and Palm.

"I'm afraid poor dad's having a bad time of it," she said, and her voicebroke slightly. "I haven't been able to see him. They're holding himdown there—as a witness, I believe. There was some talk of bail, but Ididn't listen. We haven't any money—at least, I didn't think we had."

"You didn't think—" he began, puzzled.

She produced a small bit of paper, and put it in his hand. "I want toask your advice. I've been cleaning up dad's office, and just before youcame I ran across that in his desk."

John Quincy stared down at the little pink slip she had given him. Bythe light of one of the small lamps he saw that it was a check for fivethousand dollars, made out to "Bearer" and signed by Dan Winterslip. Thedate was that of the day before.

"I say, that looks important, doesn't it?" John Quincy said. He handedit back to her, and thought a moment. "By gad—it is important. It seemsto me it's pretty conclusive evidence of your father's innocence. If hehad that, his business with Cousin Dan must have come to a successfulend, and it isn't likely he would—er—do away with the man who signedit and complicate the cashing of it."

The girl's eyes shone. "Just the way I reasoned. But I don't know whatto do with it."

"Your father has engaged a lawyer, of course."

"Yes, but a rather poor one. The only kind we can afford. Should I turnthis over to him?"

"No—wait a minute. Any chance of seeing your father soon?"

"Yes. It's been arranged I'm to visit him in the morning."

John Quincy nodded. "Better talk with him before you do anything," headvised. He had a sudden recollection of Egan's face when he refused toexplain his business with Dan Winterslip. "Take this check with you andask your father what he wants done with it. Point out to him that it'svital evidence in his favor."

"Yes, I guess that's the best plan," the girl agreed. "Will—will yousit down a moment?"

"Well." John Quincy recalled Miss Minerva waiting impatiently for news."Just a moment. I want to know how you're getting on. Any bigarithmetical problems come up yet?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. It really isn't so bad, the work. Wehaven't many guests, you know. I could be quite happy—if it weren't forpoor dad." She sighed. "Ever since I can remember," she added, "myhappiness has had an if in it."

He led her on to speak about herself, there in the calm night by thatromantic beach. Through her talk flashed little pictures of hermotherless childhood on this exotic shore, of a wearing fight againstpoverty and her father's bitter struggle to send her to school on themainland, to give her what he considered her proper place in the world.Here was a girl far different from any he had met on Beacon Street, andJohn Quincy found pleasure in her talk.

Finally he forced himself to leave. As they walked along the balconythey encountered one of the guests, a meek little man with stoopedshoulders. Even at that late hour he wore a bathing suit.

"Any luck, Mr. Saladine?" the girl inquired.

"Luck ith againth me," he lisped, and passed hastily on.

Carlota Egan laughed softly. "Oh, I really shouldn't," she repented atonce. "The poor man."

"What's his trouble?" asked John Quincy.

"He's a tourist—a business man," she said. "Des Moines, or some placelike that. And he's had the most appalling accident. He's lost histeeth."

"His teeth!" repeated John Quincy.

"Yes. Like so many things in this world, they were false. He got into abattle with a roller out by the second raft, and they disappeared. Sincethen he spends all his time out there, peering down into the water byday, and diving down and feeling about by night. One of the tragicfigures of history," she added.

John Quincy laughed.

"That's the most tragic part of it," the girl continued. "He's the jokeof the beach. But he goes on hunting, so serious. Of course, it isserious for him."

They passed through the public room to the front door. Mr. Saladine'stragedy slipped at once from John Quincy's mind.

"Good night," he said. "Don't forget about the check, when you see yourfather to-morrow. I'll look in on you during the day."

"It was so good of you to come," she said. Her hand was in his. "It hashelped me along—tremendously."

"Don't you worry. Happy days are not far off. Happy days without an if.Hold the thought!"

"I'll hold it," she promised.

"We'll both hold it." It came to him that he was also holding her hand.He dropped it hastily. "Good night," he repeated, and fled through thegarden.

In the living-room of Dan's house he was surprised to find Miss Minervaand Charlie Chan sitting together, solemnly staring at each other. Chanrose hurriedly at his entrance.

"Hello," said John Quincy. "I see you have a caller."

"Where in the world have you been?" snapped Miss Minerva. Evidentlyentertaining a Chinaman had got a bit on her nerves.

"Well—I—" John Quincy hesitated.

"Speak out," said Miss Minerva. "Mr. Chan knows everything."

"Most flattering," grinned Chan. "Some things are not entirely wellknown to me. But about your call on Widow of Waikiki I learn soon afterdoor receives you."

"The devil you did," said John Quincy.

"Simple enough," Chan went on. "Study human people, as I relate to you.Compton lady was friend to Mr. Dan Winterslip. Mr. Leatherbee rivalfriend. Enter jealous feelings. Since morning both of these people areunder watchful regard of Honolulu police. Into the scene, you walk. I amnotified and fly to beach."

"Ah—does he also know—" began John Quincy.

"About the brooch?" finished Miss Minerva. "Yes—I've confessedeverything. And he's been kind enough to forgive me."

"But not nice thing to do," added Chan. "Humbly begging pardon tomention it. All cards should repose on table when police are calledupon."

"Yes," said Miss Minerva, "he forgave me, but I have been gently chided.I have been made to feel, as he puts it, most naughty."

"So sorry," bowed Chan.

"Well, as a matter of fact," said John Quincy, "I was going to tell Mr.Chan the whole story at once." He turned to the Chinaman. "I've alreadytried to reach you by telephone at the station. When I left the woman'scottage—"

"Police affairs forbid utmost courtesy," interrupted Chan. "I cut in toremark from the beginning, if you will please do so."

"Oh, yes," smiled John Quincy. "Well, the woman herself let me in, andshowed me into her little living-room. When I got there this fellowLeatherbee was mixing co*cktails by the table—"

Haku appeared at the door. "Mr. Charlie Chan wanted by telephone," heannounced.

Chan apologized and hastened out.

"I intend to tell everything," John Quincy warned his aunt.

"I shan't interfere," she answered. "That slant-eyed Chinaman has beensitting here looking at me more in sorrow than in anger for the betterpart of an hour, and I've made up my mind to one thing. I shall have nomore secrets from the police."

Chan reentered the room. "As I was saying," John Quincy began, "thisfellow Leatherbee was standing by the table, and—"

"Most sorry," said Chan, "but the remainder of that interesting recitalis to be told at the station-house."

"At the station-house!" cried John Quincy.

"Precisely the fact. I am presuming you do me the great honor to comewith me to that spot. The man Leatherbee is apprehended aboard boatNiagara on verge of sailing to Australia. Woman are also apprehendedin act of tearful farewell. Both now relax at police station."

"I thought so," said John Quincy.

"One more amazing fact comes into light," added Chan. "In pocket ofLeatherbee are the page ruthlessly extracted from guest book. Kindlyprocure your hat. Outside I have waiting for me one Ford automobile."

CHAPTER XII

TOM BRADE THE BLACKBIRDER

In Hallet's room at headquarters they found the Captain of Detectivesseated grimly behind his desk staring at two reluctant visitors. One ofthe visitors, Mr. Stephen Leatherbee, stared back with a look of sullendefiance. Mrs. Arlene Compton, late of Broadway and the Automat, wasdabbing at her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. John Quincy perceived thatshe had carelessly allowed tears to play havoc with her make-up.

"Hello, Charlie," said Hallet. "Mr. Winterslip, I'm glad you came along.As you may have heard, we've just pulled this young man off theNiagara. He seemed inclined to leave us. We found this in his pocket."

He put into the Chinaman's hand a time-yellowed page obviously from DanWinterslip's guest book. John Quincy and Chan bent over it together. Theinscription was written in an old-fashioned hand, and the ink was fadingfast. It ran:

"In Hawaii all things are perfect, none more so than the hospitality Ihave enjoyed in this house.—Joseph E. Gleason, 124 Little BourkeStreet, Melbourne, Victoria."

John Quincy turned away, shocked. No wonder that page had been rippedout! Evidently Mr. Gleason had not enjoyed the privilege of studying A.S. Hill's book on the principles of rhetoric. How could one thing bemore perfect than another?

"Before I take a statement from these people," Hallet was saying,"what's all this about a brooch?"

John Quincy laid the piece of jewelry on the captain's desk. Heexplained that it had been given Mrs. Compton by Dan Winterslip, andtold of its being discovered on the floor of the lanai.

"When was it found?" demanded the captain, glaring his disapproval.

"Most regrettable misunderstanding," put in Chan hastily. "Nowcompletely wiped out. The littlest said, sooner repairs are made. Mr.Winterslip has already to-night examined this woman—"

"Oh, he has, has he!" Hallet turned angrily on John Quincy. "Just who isconducting this case?"

"Well," began John Quincy uncomfortably, "it seemed best to thefamily—"

"Damn the family!" Hallet exploded. "This affair is in my hands—"

"Please," broke in Chan soothingly. "Waste of time to winnow that out.Already I have boldness to offer suitable rebukes."

"Well, you talked with the woman, then," said Hallet. "What did you getout of her?"

"Say, listen," put in Mrs. Compton. "I want to take back anything I toldthis bright-eyed boy."

"Lied to him, eh?" said Hallet.

"Why not? What right did he have to question me?" Her voice becamewheedling. "I wouldn't lie to a cop," she added.

"You bet your life you wouldn't," Hallet remarked. "Not if you knowwhat's good for you. However, I want to hear what you told this amateurdetective. Sometimes lies are significant. Go on, Winterslip."

John Quincy was deeply annoyed. What was this mix-up he had let himselfin for, anyhow? He had a notion to rise, and with a cold bow, leave theroom. Something told him, however, that he couldn't get away with it.

Very much on his dignity, he repeated the woman's story to him.Winterslip had come to her cottage the night before to make a finalappeal for the brooch. On his promise to replace it with something else,she had given it up. He had taken it and left her at nine-thirty.

"That was the last she saw of him," finished John Quincy.

Hallet smiled grimly. "So she told you, at any rate. But she admits shewas lying. If you'd had the sense to leave this sort of thing to theproper people—" He wheeled on the woman. "You were lying, weren't you?"

She nodded nonchalantly. "In a way. Dan did leave my cottage atnine-thirty—or a little later. But I went with him—to his house. Oh,it was perfectly proper. Steve went along."

"Oh, yes—Steve." Hallet glanced at Mr. Leatherbee, who did not appearquite the ideal chaperon. "Now, young woman, go back to the beginning.Nothing but the truth."

"So help me," said Mrs. Compton. She attempted a devastating smile. "Iwouldn't lie to you, Captain—you know I wouldn't. I realize you're abig man out here, and—"

"Give me your story," cut in Hallet coldly.

"Sure. Dan dropped into my place for a chat last night about nine, andhe found Mr. Leatherbee there. He was jealous as sin, Dan was—honest toGod, I don't know why. Me and Steve are just pals—eh, Steve?"

"Pals, that's all," said Steve.

"But anyhow, Dan flew off the handle, and we had one grand blow-up. Itried to explain Steve was just stopping over on his way to Australia,and Dan wants to know what's detaining him. So Steve tells about how helost all his money at bridge on the boat coming out here. 'Will you moveon,' says Dan, 'if I pay your passage?' And Steve answers he will, likea shot. Am I getting this straight, Steve?"

"Absolutely," approved Mr. Leatherbee. "It's just as she says, Captain.Winterslip offered to give—loan me passage money. It was only a loan.And I agreed to sail on the Niagara to-night. He said he had a littlecash in his safe at the house, and invited Arlene and me to go back withhim—"

"Which we did," said Arlene. "Dan opened the safe and took out a roll ofbills. He peeled off three hundred dollars. You didn't often see him inthat frame of mind—but as I was saying, he give the money to Steve.Then Steve begins to beef a little—yes, you did, Steve—and wants toknow what he's going to do in Australia. Says he don't know a soul downthere and he'll just plain starve. Dan was sore at first, then he laughsa nasty little laugh and goes over and tears that there page out of theguest book and gives it to Steve. 'Look him up and tell him you're afriend of mine,' he says. 'Maybe he'll give you a job. The name isGleason. I've disliked him for twenty years, though he don't knowthat!'"

"A dirty dig at me," Leatherbee explained. "I took the loan and thisGleason's address and we started to go. Winterslip said he wanted totalk to Arlene, so I came away alone. That was about ten o'clock."

"Where did you go?" Hallet asked.

"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 rememberwhen I came in, though I didn't stop there for my key—I had it withme. Anyhow, I didn't see Winterslip after that. I just went ahead withmy preparations to sail on the Niagara, and I must say you've got yournerve—"

"Never mind that!" Hallet turned to the woman. "And after Leatherbeeleft—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 pleasantaround me. He went on arguing, so finally I ripped off the brooch andthrew it at him, and it rolled away under the table somewhere. Then hesaid he was sorry, and that was when he offered to replace it withsomething more up-to-date. The best money could buy—that was what hepromised. Pretty soon we was friends again—just as good friends as everwhen I came away, about ten-fifteen. His last words was that we'd lookround the jewelry stores this morning. I ask you, Captain, is itreasonable to think I'd have anything to do with murdering a man who wasin 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 tothat on a stack of Bibles as high as the Times Building. Gee, don't Iwish I was safe on Broadway to-night!"

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

"Oh, that's all right." The woman stood, looking her relief. "We've gotno 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," heremarked, looking at Chan.

"Nice and neat," grinned the Chinaman.

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

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

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

"Look into that," said Hallet.

"Before sleeping," promised Chan. "Mr. Winterslip, we pursue similarpaths. The honor of your company in my humble vehicle would pleasure medeeply." Once in the car on the deserted street, the Chinaman spokeagain. "The page ripped from guest book, the brooch lying silent onfloor. Both are now followed into presence of immovable stone wall. Wesway 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 outto Waikiki. Just drop me on King Street, and I'll get a trolley."

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

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

Chan beamed with pleasure. "Greatly honored by your friendly manner," heremarked. He turned into a side street. "Newspaper of this nature burstout at evening, very quiet now. Somebody may loiter in rooms, if we havehappy 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 eyeshammered on a typewriter.

"Hello, Charlie," he said cordially.

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

The elderly man rose and removed his eye-shade, revealing a pleasanttwinkle. 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 seeit's a rather intriguing place."

"You've said it," smiled Mayberry. "Forty-six years ago I came out fromPortsmouth, New Hampshire, to visit relatives. I've been in thenewspaper 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 daysof its isolation, and I've watched it fade into an eighth carbon copy ofBabbittville, U. S. A. The water-front's just a water-front now—butonce, my boy! Once it oozed romance at every pore."

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

"Anything doing?" asked Mayberry eagerly.

Chan shook his head. "Presently speaking, no. Our motions just now mustbe 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 suggestionwent to the All American Restaurant, where the Chinaman ordered two cupsof "your inspeakable coffee." While they waited to be served, he spreadout on the table his complete copy of the newspaper, and laying the tornpage on its counterpart, carefully removed the upper right-hand corner.

"The missing fragment," he explained. For a time he studied itthoughtfully, and finally shook his head. "I apprehend nothing tostartle," he admitted. He handed it across the table. "If you willcondescend greatly—"

John Quincy took the bit of newspaper. On one side was the advertisem*ntof a Japanese dealer in shirtings who wrote his own publicity. Any onemight carry off, he said, six yards for the price of five. And in casethe buyer cried loudly in amaze, how can do, it was a matter he washappy to explain. John Quincy laughed aloud.

"Ah," said Chan, "you are by rights mirthful. Kiku-chi, purveyor ofshirting cloth, seize on grand English language and make it into idioticjumble. On that side are nothing to detain us. But humbly hinting youreverse the fragment—"

John Quincy reversed it. The other side was a part of the shipping page.He read it carefully, news of sailings and arrivals, there would beplaces for five passengers to the Orient on the Shinyo Maru, leavingWednesday, the Wilhelmina was six hundred and forty miles east ofMakupuu Point, the brig Mary Jane from the Treaty Ports——

John Quincy started, and caught his breath. A small item in tiny printhad met his eye.

"Among the passengers who will arrive here on the Sonoma fromAustralia a week from Saturday are: Mr. and Mrs. Thomas MacanBrade, of Calcutta—"

John Quincy sat staring at the unwashed window of the All AmericanRestaurant. His mind went back to the deck of the President Tyler, toa lean old missionary telling a tale of a bright morning on Apiang, agrave under a palm tree. "Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Macan Brade, of Calcutta."He heard again the missionary's high-pitched voice. "A callous brute, apirate and adventurer. Tom Brade, the blackbirder."

But Brade had been buried in a long pine box on Apiang. Even at theCrossroads of the Pacific, his path and that of Dan Winterslip couldhardly have crossed again.

The waiter brought the coffee. Chan said nothing, watching John Quincyclosely. Finally the Chinaman spoke: "You have much to tell me."

John Quincy looked around quickly, he had forgotten Chan's presence.

His dilemma was acute. Must he here in this soiled restaurant in a fartown reveal to a Chinaman that ancient blot on the Winterslip name? Whatwould Aunt Minerva say? Well, only a short time ago she had remarkedthat she was resolved to have no more secrets from the police. However,there was family pride—

John Quincy's eye fell on the Japanese waiter. What were those linesfrom The Mikado? "But family pride must be denied and mortified andset aside."

The boy smiled. "Yes, Charlie," he admitted, "I have much to tell you."And over the inspeakable coffee of the All American Restaurant herepeated to the detective the story the Reverend Frank Upton had toldon the President Tyler.

Chan beamed. "Now," he cried, "we arrive in the neighborhood ofsomething! Brade the blackbirder, master Maid of Shiloh boat, on whichMr. Dan Winterslip are first officer—"

"But Brade was buried on Apiang," protested John Quincy.

"Yes, indeed. And who saw him, pardon me? Was it then an unsealed box?Oh, no!" Chan's eyes were dancing. "Please recollect something more. Thestrong box of ohia wood. Initials on it are T. M. B. Mysteries yet, butwe move, we advance!"

"I guess we do," admitted John Quincy.

"This much we grasp," Chan continued. "Dan Winterslip repose for quiethour on lanai, in peaceful reading. This news assault his eye. He nowleaps up, paces about, flees to dock to send letter requesting, pleasethe ohia wood box must be buried deep in Pacific. Why?" Fumbling in hispocket, Chan took out a sheaf of papers, evidently lists of steamerarrivals. "On Saturday just gone by, the Sonoma make this port. Amongpassengers—yes—yes—Thomas Macan Brade and honorable wife, Calcutta.It is here inscribed they arrive to stay, not being present whenSonoma persist on journey. On the night of Monday, Mr. Dan Winterslipare foully slain."

"Which makes Mr. Brade an important person to locate," said John Quincy.

"How very true. But the hurry are not intense. No boats sailing now.Before sleeping, I will investigate down-town hotels, Waikiki to-morrow.Where are you, Mr. Brade?" Chan seized the check. "No—pardon me—thehonor of paying for this poison-tasting beverage must be mine."

Out in the street, he indicated an approaching trolley. "It bearsimprint of your destination," he pointed out. "You will require sleep.We meet to-morrow. Congratulations on most fruitful evening."

Once more John Quincy was on a Waikiki car. Weary but thrilled, he tookout his pipe and filling it, lighted up. What a day! He seemed to havelived a lifetime since he landed that very morning. He perceived thathis smoke was blowing in the face of a tired little Japanese womanbeside him. "Pardon me," he remarked, and knocking the pipe against theside rail, put it in his pocket. The woman stared at him in meekstartled wonder; no one had ever asked her pardon before.

On the seat behind John Quincy a group of Hawaiian boys with yellow leisabout their necks twanged on steel guitars and sang a plaintive lovesong. The trolley rattled on through the fragrant night; above theclatter of the wheels the music rose with a sweet intensity. John Quincyleaned back and closed his eyes.

A clock struck the hour of midnight. Another day—Wednesday—it flashedthrough his mind that to-day his firm in Boston would offer thatpreferred stock for the shoe people in Lynn. Would the issue beover-subscribed? No matter.

Here he was, out in the middle of the Pacific on a trolley-car. Behindhim brown-skinned boys were singing a melancholy love song of long ago,and the moon was shining on crimson poinciana trees. And somewhere onthis tiny island a man named Thomas Macan Brade slept under a mosquitonetting. Or lay awake, perhaps, thinking of Dan Winterslip.

CHAPTER XIII

THE LUGGAGE IN ROOM NINETEEN

John Quincy emerged from sleep the next morning with a great effort, anddragged his watch from under the pillow. Eight-thirty! Good lord, he wasdue at the office at nine! A quick bath and shave, a brief pause at thebreakfast table, a run past the Public Gardens and the Common and downto School Street—

He sat up in bed. Why was he imprisoned under mosquito netting? What wasthe meaning of the little lizard that sported idly outside the cloth?Oh, yes—Honolulu. He was in Hawaii, and he'd never reach his office bynine. It was five thousand miles away.

The low murmur of breakers on the beach confirmed him in this discoveryand stepping to his window, he gazed out at the calm sparkling morning.Yes, he was in Honolulu entangled in a murder mystery, consorting withChinese detectives and Waikiki Widows, following clues. The new day heldinteresting promise. He must hurry to find what it would bring forth.

Haku informed him that his aunt and Barbara had already breakfasted, andset before him a reddish sort of cantaloupe which was, he explained inanswer to the boy's question, a papaia. When he had eaten, John Quincywent out on the lanai. Barbara stood there, staring at the beach. A newBarbara, with the old vivacity, the old joy of living, submerged; a palegirl with sorrow in her eyes.

John Quincy put his arm about hershoulder; she was a Winterslip and the family was the family. Again hefelt in his heart that flare of anger against the "person or personsunknown" who had brought this grief upon her. The guilty must pay—Eganor whoever, Brade or Leatherbee or the chorus girl. Pay and paydearly—he was resolved on that.

"My dear girl," he began. "What can I say to you—"

"You've said it all, without speaking," she answered. "See, John Quincy,this is my beach. When I was only five I swam alone to that first float.He—he was so proud of me."

"It's a lovely spot, Barbara," he told her.

"I knew you'd think so. One of these days we'll swim together out to thereef, and I'll teach you to ride a surf-board. I want your visit to be ahappy one."

He shook his head. "It can't be that," he said, "because of you. Butbecause of you, I'm mighty glad I came."

She pressed his hand. "I'm going out to sit by the water. Will youcome?"

The bamboo curtain parted, and Miss Minerva joined them. "Well, JohnQuincy," she said sharply, "this is a pretty hour for you to appear. Ifyou're going to rescue me from lotus land, you'll have to be immuneyourself."

He smiled. "Just getting acclimated," he explained. "I'll follow you ina moment, Barbara," he added, and held open the door for her.

"I waited up," Miss Minerva began, when the girl had gone, "untileleven-thirty. But I'd had very little sleep the night before, and thatwas my limit. I make no secret of it—I'm very curious to know whathappened at the police station."

He repeated to her the story told by Mrs. Compton and Leatherbee. "Iwish I'd been present," she said. "A pretty woman can fool all the menin Christendom. Lies, probably."

"Maybe," admitted John Quincy. "But wait a minute. Later on, Chan and Ifollowed up your newspaper clue. And it led us to a startlingdiscovery."

"Of course it did," she beamed. "What was it?"

"Well," he said, "first of all, I met a missionary on the boat." He toldher the Reverend Frank Upton's tale of that morning on Apiang, and addedthe news that a man named Thomas Macan Brade was now in Honolulu.

She was silent for a time. "So Dan was a blackbirder," she remarked atlast. "How charming! Such a pleasant man, too. But then, I learned thatlesson early in life—the brighter the smile, the darker the past. Allthis will make delightful reading in the Boston papers, John Quincy."

"Oh, they'll never get it," her nephew said.

"Don't deceive yourself. Newspapers will go to the ends of the earth fora good murder. I once wrote letters to all the editors in Boston urgingthem to print no more details about homicides. It hadn't the slightesteffect—though I did get an acknowledgment of my favor from theHerald."

John Quincy glanced at his watch. "Perhaps I should go down to thestation. Anything in the morning paper?"

"A very hazy interview with Captain Hallet. The police have unearthedimportant clues, and promise early results. You know—the sort of thingthey always give out just after a murder."

The boy looked at her keenly. "Ah," he said, "then you read newspaperaccounts of the kind you tried to suppress?"

"Certainly I do," snapped his aunt. "There's little enough excitement inmy life. But I gladly gave up my port wine because I felt intoxicantswere bad for the lower classes, and—"

Haku interrupted with the news that John Quincy was wanted on thetelephone. When the boy returned to the lanai, there was a brisk air ofbusiness about him.

"That was Charlie," he announced. "The day's work is about to get underway. They've located Mr. and Mrs. Brade at the Reef and Palm Hotel, andI'm to meet Charlie there in fifteen minutes."

"The Reef and Palm," repeated Miss Minerva. "You see, it keeps comingback to Egan. I'd wager a set of Browning against a modern novel thathe's the man who did it."

"You'd lose your Browning, and then where would you be when the lectureseason started?" laughed John Quincy. "I never knew you to be so stupidbefore." His face became serious. "By the way, will you explain toBarbara that I can't join her, after all?"

Miss Minerva nodded. "Go along," she said. "I envy you all this. Firsttime in my life I ever wished I were a man."

John Quincy approached the Reef and Palm by way of the beach. The scenewas one of bright serenity. A few languid tourists lolled upon the sand;others, more ambitious, were making picture post-card history out wherethe surf began. A great white steamer puffed blackly into port. Standingin water up to their necks, a group of Hawaiian women paused in theirsearch for luncheon delicacies to enjoy a moment's gossip.

John Quincy passed Arlene Compton's cottage and entered the grounds ofthe Reef and Palm. On the beach not far from the hotel, an elderlyEnglishwoman sat on a camp stool with an easel and canvas before her.She was seeking to capture something of that exotic scene—vainlyseeking, for John Quincy, glancing over her shoulder, perceived that herwork was terrible. She turned and looked at him, a weary look of protestagainst his intrusion, and he was sorry she had caught him in the act ofsmiling at her inept canvas.

Chan had not yet arrived at the hotel, and the clerk informed JohnQuincy that Miss Carlota had gone to the city. For that interview withher father, no doubt. He hoped that the evidence of the check wouldbring about Egan's release. It seemed to him that the man was being heldon a rather flimsy pretext, anyhow.

He sat down on the lanai at the side, where he could see both the paththat led in from the street and the restless waters of the Pacific. Onthe beach near by a man in a purple bathing suit reclined dejectedly,and John Quincy smiled in recollection. Mr. Saladine, alone with histragedy, peering out at the waters that had robbed him—waiting, nodoubt, for the tide to yield up its loot.

Some fifteen or twenty minutes passed, and then John Quincy heard voicesin the garden. He saw that Hallet and Chan were coming up the walk andwent to meet them at the front door.

"Splendid morning," said Chan. "Nice day to set out on new path leadingunevitably to important discovery."

John Quincy accompanied them to the desk. The Japanese clerk regardedthem with sullen unfriendliness; he had not forgotten the events of theday before. Information had to be dragged from him bit by bit. Yes,there was a Mr. and Mrs. Brade stopping there. They arrived lastSaturday, on the steamship Sonoma. Mr. Brade was not about at themoment. Mrs. Brade was on the beach painting pretty pictures.

"Good," said Hallet, "I'll have a look around their room before Iquestion them. Take us there."

The Jap hesitated. "Boy!" he called. It was only a bluff; the Reef andPalm had no bell-boys. Finally, with an air of injured dignity, he ledthe way down a long corridor on the same floor as the office andunlocked the door of nineteen, the last room on the right. Hallet strodein and went to the window.

"Here—wait a minute," he called to the clerk. He pointed to the elderlywoman painting on the beach. "That Mrs. Brade?"

"Yes-s," hissed the Jap.

"All right—go along." The clerk went out. "Mr. Winterslip, I'll ask youto sit here in the window and keep an eye on the lady. If she starts tocome in, let me know." He stared eagerly about the poorly furnishedbedroom. "Now, Mr. Brade, I wonder what you've got?"

John Quincy took the post assigned him, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.This didn't seem quite honorable to him. However, he probably wouldn'tbe called upon to do any searching himself, and if policemen were forcedto do disagreeable things—well, they should have thought of that beforethey became policemen. Not that either Hallet or Chan appeared to beembarrassed by the task before them.

There was a great deal of luggage in the room—English luggage, which isusually large and impressive. John Quincy noted a trunk, two enormousbags, and a smaller case. All were plastered with labels of theSonoma, and beneath were the worn fragments of earlier labels, tellinga broken story of other ships and far hotels.

Hallet and Chan were old hands at this game; they went through Brade'strunk rapidly and thoroughly, but without finding anything of note. Thecaptain turned his attention to the small traveling case. With everyevidence of delight he drew forth a packet of letters, and sat down withthem at a table. John Quincy was shocked. Reading other people's mailwas, in his eyes, something that simply wasn't done.

It was done by Hallet, however. In a moment the captain spoke. "Seems tohave been in the British civil service in Calcutta, but he's resigned,"he announced to Chan. "Here's a letter from his superior in Londonreferring to Brade's thirty-six years on the job, and saying he's sorryto lose him." Hallet took up another letter, his face brightened as heread. "Say—this is more like it!" He handed the typewritten page toChan. The Chinaman looked at it, and his eyes sparkled. "Mostinteresting," he cried, and turned it over to John Quincy.

The boy hesitated. The standards of a lifetime are not easily abandoned.But the others had read it first, so he put aside his scruples. Theletter was several months old, and was addressed to Brade in Calcutta.

"Dear Sir: In reply to your inquiry of the sixth instant, would saythat Mr. Daniel Winterslip is alive and is a resident of this city.His address is 3947 Kalia Road, Waikiki, Honolulu, T. H."

The signature was that of the British consul at Honolulu. John Quincyreturned the epistle to Hallet, who put it in his pocket. At thatinstant Chan, who had been exploring one of the larger bags, emitted alittle grunt of satisfaction.

"What is it, Charlie?" Hallet asked.

The Chinaman set out on the table before his chief a small tin box, andremoved the lid. It was filled with cigarettes. "Corsican brand," heannounced cheerfully.

"Good," said Hallet. "It begins to look as though Mr. Thomas Macan Bradewould have a lot to explain."

They continued their researches, while John Quincy sat silent by thewindow. Presently Carlota Egan appeared outside. She walked slowly to achair on the lanai, and sat down. For a moment she stared at thebreakers, then she began to weep.

John Quincy turned uncomfortably away. It came to him that here in thisso-called paradise sorrow was altogether too rampant. The only girls heknew were given to frequent tears, and not without reason.

"If you'll excuse me—" he said. Hallet and Chan, searching avidly, madeno reply, and climbing over the sill, he stepped on to the lanai. Thegirl looked up as he approached.

"Oh," she said, "I thought I was alone."

"You'd like to be, perhaps," he answered. "But it might help if you toldme what has happened. Did you speak to your father about that check?"

She nodded. "Yes, I showed it to him. And what do you think he did? Hesnatched it out of my hand and tore it into a hundred pieces. He gave methe pieces to—to throw away. And he said I was never to mention it to asoul."

"I don't understand that," frowned John Quincy.

"Neither do I. He was simply furious—not like himself at all. And whenI told him you knew about it, he lost his temper again."

"But you can rely on me. I shan't tell any one."

"I know that. But of course father wasn't so sure of you as—as I am.Poor dad—he's having a horrible time of it. They don't give him amoment's rest—keep after him constantly—trying to make him tell. Butall the policemen in the world couldn't—Oh, poor old dad!"

She was weeping again, and John Quincy felt toward her as he had felttoward Barbara. He wanted to put his arm about her, just by way ofcomfort and cheer. But alas, Carlota Maria Egan was not a Winterslip.

"Now, now," he said, "that won't do a bit of good."

She looked at him through her tears. "Won't it? I—I don't know. Itseems to help a little. But"—she dried her eyes—"I really haven't timefor it now. I must go in and see about lunch."

She rose, and John Quincy walked with her along the balcony. "I wouldn'tworry if I were you," he said. "The police are on an entirely new trailthis morning."

"Really?" she answered eagerly.

"Yes. There's a man named Brade stopping at your hotel. You know him, Isuppose?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't."

"What! Why, he's a guest here."

"He was. But he isn't here now."

"Wait a minute!" John Quincy laid his hand on her arm, and they stopped."This is interesting. Brade's gone, you say?"

"Yes. I understand from the clerk that Mr. and Mrs. Brade arrived herelast Saturday. But early Tuesday morning, before my boat got in, Mr.Brade disappeared and he hasn't been seen since."

"Mr. Brade gets better all the time," John Quincy said. "Hallet and Chanare in his room now, and they've unearthed some rather intriguing facts.You'd better go in and tell Hallet what you've just told me."

They entered the lobby by a side door. As they did so, a slim youngHawaiian boy was coming in through the big door at the front. Somethingin his manner caught the attention of John Quincy, and he stopped. Atthat instant a purple bathing suit slipped by him, and Mr. Saladine alsoapproached the desk. Carlota Egan went on down the corridor toward roomnineteen, but John Quincy remained in the lobby.

The Hawaiian boy moved rather diffidently toward the clerk. "Excuse me,please," he said. "I come to see Mr. Brade. Mr. Thomas Brade."

"Mr. Brade not here," replied the Jap.

"Then I will wait till he comes."

The clerk frowned. "No good. Mr. Brade not in Honolulu now."

"Not in Honolulu!" The Hawaiian seemed startled by the news.

"Mrs. Brade outside on the beach," continued the Jap.

"Oh, then Mr. Brade returns," said the boy with evident relief. "I callagain."

He turned away, moving rapidly now. The clerk addressed Mr. Saladine,who was hovering near the cigar case. "Yes, sir, please?"

"Thigarettes," said the bereft Mr. Saladine.

The Jap evidently knew the brand desired, and handed over a box.

"Juth put it on my bill," said Saladine. He stood for a moment staringafter the Hawaiian, who was disappearing through the front door. As heswung round his eyes encountered those of John Quincy. He looked quicklyaway and hurried out.

The two policemen and the girl entered from the corridor. "Well, Mr.Winterslip," said Hallet, "the bird has flown."

"So I understand," John Quincy answered.

"But we'll find him," continued Hallet. "I'll go over these islands witha drag-net. First of all, I want a talk with his wife." He turned toCarlota Egan. "Get her in here," he ordered. The girl looked at him."Please," he added.

She motioned to the clerk, who went out the door.

"By the way," remarked John Quincy, "some one was just here asking forBrade."

"What's that!" Hallet was interested.

"A young Hawaiian, about twenty, I should say. Tall and slim. If you goto the door, you may catch a glimpse of him."

Hallet hurried over and glanced out into the garden. In a second hereturned. "Humph," he said. "I know him. Did he say he'd come again?"

"He did."

Hallet considered. "I've changed my mind," he announced. "I won'tquestion Mrs. Brade, after all. For the present, I don't want her toknow we're looking for her husband. I'll trust you to fix that up withyour clerk," he added to the girl. She nodded. "Lucky we left things aswe found them in nineteen," he went on. "Unless she misses that letterand the cigarettes, which isn't likely, we're all right. Now, Miss Egan,we three will go into your father's office there behind the desk, andleave the door open. When Mrs. Brade comes in, I want you to questionher about her husband's absence. Get all you can out of her. I'll belistening."

"I understand," the girl said.

Hallet, Chan and John Quincy went into Jim Egan's sanctum. "You foundnothing else in the room?" the latter inquired of the Chinaman.

Chan shook his head. "Even so, fates are in smiling mood. What we havenow are plentiful."

"Sh!" warned Hallet.

"Mrs. Brade, a young man was just here inquiring, for your husband." Itwas Carlota Egan's voice.

"Really?" The accent was unmistakably British.

"He wanted to know where he could find him. We couldn't say."

"No—of course not."

"Your husband has left town, Mrs. Brade?"

"Yes. I fancy he has."

"You know when he will return, perhaps?"

"I really couldn't say. Is the mail in?"

"Not yet. We expect it about one."

"Thank you so much."

"Go to the door," Hallet directed John Quincy.

"She's gone to her room," announced the boy.

The three of them emerged from Egan's office.

"Oh, Captain," said the girl, "I'm afraid I wasn't very successful."

"That's all right," replied Hallet. "I didn't think you would be." Theclerk was again at his post behind the desk. Hallet turned to him. "Lookhere," he said. "I understand some one was here a minute ago asking forBrade. It was Dick Kaohla, wasn't it?"

"Yes-s," answered the Jap.

"Had he been here before to see Brade?"

"Yes-s. Sunday night. Mr. Brade and him have long talk on the beach."

Hallet nodded grimly. "Come on, Charlie," he said. "We've got our workcut out for us. Wherever Brade is, we must find him."

John Quincy stepped forward. "Pardon me, Captain," he remarked. "But ifyou don't mind—just who is Dick Kaohla?"

Hallet hesitated. "Kaohla's father—he's dead now—was a sort ofconfidential servant to Dan Winterslip. The boy's just plain no good.And oh, yes—he's the grandson of that woman who's over at your placenow. Kamaikui—is that her name?"

CHAPTER XIV

WHAT KAOHLA CARRIED

Several days slipped by so rapidly John Quincy scarcely noted theirpassing. Dan Winterslip was sleeping now under the royal palms of thelovely island where he had been born. Sun and moon shone brightly inturn on his last dwelling place, but those who sought the person he hadencountered that Monday night on his lanai were still groping in thedark.

Hallet had kept his word, he was combing the Islands for Brade. ButBrade was nowhere. Ships paused at the crossroads and sailed again; thename of Thomas Macan Brade was on no sailing list. Through farsettlements that were called villages but were nothing save clusters ofJapanese huts, in lonely coves where the surf moaned dismally, overpineapple and sugar plantations, the emissaries of Hallet pursued theirquest. Their efforts came to nothing.

John Quincy drifted idly with the days. He knew now the glamour ofWaikiki waters; he had felt their warm embrace. Every afternoon heexperimented with a board in the malihini surf, and he was eager for themoment when he could dare the big rollers farther out. Boston seemedlike a tale that is told, State Street and Beacon memories of anothermore active existence now abandoned. No longer was he at a loss tounderstand his aunt's reluctance to depart these friendly shores.

Early Friday afternoon Miss Minerva found him reading a book on thelanai. Something in the nonchalance of his manner irritated her. She hadalways been for action, and the urge was on her even in Hawaii.

"Have you seen Mr. Chan lately?" she inquired.

"Talked with him this morning. They're doing their best to find Brade."

"Humph," sniffed Miss Minerva. "Their best is none too good. I'd like tohave a few Boston detectives on this case."

"Oh, give them time," yawned John Quincy.

"They've had three days," she snapped. "Time enough. Brade never leftthis island of Oahu, that's certain. And when you consider that you candrive across it in a motor in two hours, and around it in about six, Mr.Hallet's brilliance does not impress. I'll have to end by solving thisthing myself."

John Quincy laughed. "Yes, maybe you will."

"Well, I've given them the two best clues they have. If they'd keeptheir eyes open the way I do—"

"Charlie's eyes are open," protested John Quincy.

"Think so? They look pretty sleepy to me."

Barbara appeared on the lanai, dressed for a drive. Her eyes weresomewhat happier; a bit of color had come back to her cheeks. "What areyou reading, John Quincy?" she asked.

He held up the book. "The City by the Golden Gate," he told her.

"Oh, really? If you're interested, I believe dad had quite a library onSan Francisco. I remember there was a history of the stock exchange—hewanted me to read it, but I couldn't."

"You missed a good one," John Quincy informed her. "I finished it thismorning. I've read five other books on San Francisco since I came."

His aunt stared at him. "What for?" she asked.

"Well—" He hesitated. "I've taken sort of a fancy to the town. I don'tknow—sometimes I think I'd rather like to live there."

Miss Minerva smiled grimly. "And they sent you out to take me back toBoston," she remarked.

"Boston's all right," said her nephew hastily. "It's Winterslipheadquarters—but its hold has never been strong enough to prevent anoccasional Winterslip from hitting the trail. You know, when I came intoSan Francisco harbor, I had the oddest feeling." He told them about it."And the more I saw of the city, the better I liked it. There's a snapand sparkle in the air, and the people seem to know how to get the mostout of life."

Barbara smiled on him approvingly. "Follow that impulse, John Quincy,"she advised.

"Maybe I will. All this reminds me—I must write a letter." He rose andleft the lanai.

"Does he really intend to desert Boston?" Barbara asked.

Miss Minerva shook her head. "Just a moment's madness," she explained."I'm glad he's going through it—he'll be more human in the future. Butas for leaving Boston! John Quincy! As well expect Bunker Hill Monumentto emigrate to England."

In his room up-stairs, however, John Quincy's madness was persisting. Hehad never completed that letter to Agatha Parker, but he now plungedinto his task with enthusiasm. San Francisco was his topic, and he wrotewell. He pictured the city in words that glowed with life, and hewondered—just a suggestion—how she'd like to live there.

Agatha was now, he recalled, on a ranch in Wyoming—her first encounterwith the West—and that was providential. She had felt for herself thelure of the wide open spaces. Well, the farther you went the wider andopener they got. In California life was all color and light. Just asuggestion, of course.

As he sealed the flap of the envelope, he seemed to glimpse Agatha'sthin patrician face, and his heart sank. Her gray eyes were cool, sodifferent from Barbara's, so very different from those of Carlota MariaEgan.

On Saturday afternoon John Quincy had an engagement to play golf withHarry Jennison. He drove up Nuuanu Valley in Barbara's roadster—for DanWinterslip's will had been read and everything he possessed wasBarbara's now. In that sheltered spot a brisk rain was falling, as isusually the case, though the sun was shining brightly. John Quincy hadgrown accustomed to this phenomenon; "liquid sunshine" the people ofHawaii call such rain, and pay no attention to it. Half a dozendifferent rainbows added to the beauty of the Country Club links.

Jennison was waiting on the veranda, a striking figure in white. Heappeared genuinely glad to see his guest, and they set out on a round ofgolf that John Quincy would long remember. Never before had he playedamid such beauty. The low hills stood on guard, their slopes bright withtropical colors—the yellow of kukui trees, the gray of ferns, theemerald of ohia and banana trees, here and there a splotch of brick-redearth. The course was a green velvet carpet beneath their feet, theshowers came and went. Jennison was a proficient driver, but the boy washis superior on approaches, and at the end of the match John Quincy wasfour up. They putted through a rainbow and returned to the locker room.

In the roadster going home, Jennison brought up the subject of DanWinterslip's murder. John Quincy was interested to get the reaction of alawyer to the evidence.

"I've kept more or less in touch with the case," Jennison said. "Egan isstill my choice."

Somehow, John Quincy resented this. A picture of Carlota Egan's lovelybut unhappy face flashed through his mind. "How about Leatherbee and theCompton woman?" he asked.

"Well, of course, I wasn't present when they told their story," Jennisonreplied. "But Hallet claims it sounded perfectly plausible. And itdoesn't seem likely that if he'd had anything to do with the murder,Leatherbee would have been fool enough to keep that page from the guestbook."

"There's Brade, too," John Quincy suggested.

"Yes—Brade complicates things. But when they run him down—if theydo—I imagine the result will be nil."

"You know that Kamaikui's grandson is mixed up somehow with Brade?"

"So I understand. It's a matter that wants looking into. But mark mywords, when all these trails are followed to the end, everything willcome back to Jim Egan."

"What have you against Egan?" inquired John Quincy, swerving to avoidanother car.

"I have nothing against Egan," Jennison replied. "But I can't forget thelook on Dan Winterslip's face that day he told me he was afraid of theman. Then there is the stub of the Corsican cigarette. Most important ofall, Egan's silence regarding his business with Winterslip. Men who arefacing a charge of murder, my boy, talk, and talk fast. Unless it sohappens that what they have to say would further incriminate them."

They drove on in silence into the heart of the city. "Hallet tells meyou're doing a little detective work yourself," smiled Jennison.

"I've tried, but I'm a duffer," John Quincy admitted. "Just at presentmy efforts consist of a still hunt for that watch Aunt Minerva saw onthe murderer's wrist. Whenever I see a wrist watch I get as close to itas I can, and stare. But as most of my sleuthing is done in the daytime, it isn't so easy to determine whether the numeral two is bright ordim."

"Persistence," urged Jennison. "That's the secret of a good detective.Stick to the job and you may succeed yet."

The lawyer was to dine with the family at Waikiki. John Quincy set himdown at his office, where he had a few letters to sign, and then drovehim out to the beach. Barbara was gowned in white; she was slim andwistful and beautiful, and considering the events of the immediate past,the dinner was a cheerful one.

They had coffee on the lanai. Presently Jennison rose and stood byBarbara's chair. "We've something to tell you," he announced. He lookeddown at the girl. "Is that right, my dear?"

Barbara nodded.

"Your cousin and I"—the lawyer turned to the two from Boston—"havebeen fond of each other for a long time. We shall be married veryquietly in a week or so—"

"Oh, Harry—not a week," said Barbara.

"Well, as you wish. But very soon."

"Yes, very soon," she repeated.

"And leave Honolulu for a time," Jennison continued. "Naturally, Barbarafeels she can not stay here for the present—so many memories—you bothunderstand. She has authorized me to put this house up for sale—"

"But, Harry," Barbara protested, "you make me sound so inhospitable.Telling my guests that the house is for sale and I am leaving—"

"Nonsense, my dear," said Aunt Minerva. "John Quincy and I understand,quite. I sympathize with your desire to get away." She rose.

"I'm sorry," said Jennison. "I did sound a little abrupt. But I'mnaturally eager to take care of her now."

"Of course," John Quincy agreed.

Miss Minerva bent over and kissed the girl. "If your mother were here,dear child," she said, "she couldn't wish for your happiness any morekeenly than I do." Barbara reached up impulsively and put her arms aboutthe older woman.

John Quincy shook Jennison's hand. "You're mighty lucky."

"I think so," Jennison answered.

The boy went over to Barbara, "All—all good wishes," he said. Shenodded, but did not reply. He saw there were tears in her eyes.

Presently Miss Minerva withdrew to the living-room, and John Quincy,feeling like a fifth wheel, made haste to leave the two together. Hewent out on the beach. The pale moon rode high amid the golden stars,romance whispered through the cocoanut palms. He thought of the scene hehad witnessed that breathless night on the President Tyler—only twoin the world, love quick and overwhelming—well, this was the settingfor it. Here on this beach they had walked two and two since thebeginning of time, whispering the same vows, making the same promises,whatever their color and creed. Suddenly the boy felt lonely.

Barbara was a Winterslip, and not for him. Why then did he feel againthat frustrated pang in his heart? She had chosen and her choice wasfitting, what affair was it of his?

He found himself moving slowly toward the Reef and Palm Hotel. For achat with Carlota Egan? But why should he want to talk with this girl,whose outlook was so different from that of the world he knew? The girlsat home were on a level with the men in brains—often, indeed, they weresuperior, seemed to be looking down from a great height. They discussedthat article in the latest Atlantic, Shaw's grim philosophy, the newSargent at the Art Gallery. Wasn't that the sort of talk he should beseeking here? Or was it? Under these palms on this romantic beach, withthe moon riding high over Diamond Head?

Carlota Egan was seated behind the desk in the deserted lobby of theReef and Palm, a worried frown on her face.

"You've come at the psychological moment," she cried, and smiled. "I'mhaving the most awful struggle."

"Arithmetic?" John Quincy inquired.

"Compound fractions, it seems to me. I'm making out the Brades' bill."

He came round the desk and stood at her side. "Let me help you."

"It's so fearfully involved." She looked up at him, and he wished theycould do their sums on the beach. "Mr. Brade has been away since Tuesdaymorning, and we don't charge for any absence of more than three days. Sothat comes out of it. Maybe you can figure it—I can't."

"Charge him anyhow," suggested John Quincy.

"I'd like to—that would simplify everything. But it's not dad's way."

John Quincy took up a pencil. "What rate are they paying?" he inquired.She told him, and he began to figure. It wasn't a simple matter, evenfor a bond expert. John Quincy frowned too.

Some one entered the front door of the Reef and Palm. Looking up, JohnQuincy beheld the Hawaiian boy, Dick Kaohla. He carried a bulky object,wrapped in newspapers.

"Mr. Brade here now?" he asked.

Carlota Egan shook her head. "No, he hasn't returned."

"I will wait," said the boy.

"But we don't know where he is, or when he will come back," the girlprotested.

"He will be here soon," the Hawaiian replied. "I wait on the lanai." Hewent out the side door, still carrying his clumsy burden. John Quincyand the girl stared at each other.

"'We move, we advance!'" John Quincy quoted in a low voice. "Brade willbe here soon! Would you mind going out on the lanai and telling me whereKaohla is now?"

Quickly the girl complied. She returned in a few seconds. "He's taken achair at the far end."

"Out of earshot?"

"Quite. You want the telephone—"

But John Quincy was already in the booth. Charlie Chan's voice came backover the wire.

"Most warm congratulations. You are number one detective yourself.Should my self-starter not indulge in stubborn spasm, I will makeimmediate connection with you."

John Quincy returned to the desk, smiling. "Charlie's flying to us inhis Ford. Begins to look as though we were getting somewhere now. Butabout this bill. Mrs. Brade's board and room I make sixteen dollars. Thecharge against Mr. Brade—one week's board and room minus four days'board—totals nine dollars and sixty-two cents."

"How can I ever thank you?" said the girl.

"By telling me again about your childhood on this beach." A shadowcrossed her face. "Oh, I'm sorry I've made you unhappy."

"Oh, no—you couldn't." She shook her head. "I've never been—so veryhappy. Always an 'if' in it, as I told you before. That morning on theferry I think I was nearest to real happiness. I seemed to have escapedfrom life for a moment."

"I remember how you laughed at my hat."

"Oh—I hope you've forgiven me."

"Nonsense. I'm mighty glad I was able to make you laugh like that." Hergreat eyes stared into the future, and John Quincy pitied her. He hadknown others like her, others who loved their fathers, built high hopesfor them, then saw them drift into a baffled old age. One of the girl'sslender, tanned hands lay on the desk, John Quincy put his own upon it."Don't be unhappy," he urged. "It's such a wonderful night. Themoon—you're a what-you-may-call-it—a kamaaina, I know, but I'll betyou never saw the moon looking so well before. It's like athousand-dollar gold piece, pale but negotiable. Shall we go out andspend it?"

Gently she drew her hand away. "There were seven bottles of chargedwater sent to the room. Thirty-five cents each—"

"What? Oh, the Brades' bill. Yes, that means two forty-five more. I'dlike to mention the stars too. Isn't it odd how close the stars seem inthe tropics—"

She smiled. "We mustn't forget the trunks and bags. Three dollars forbringing them up from the dock."

"Say—that's rather steep. Well, it goes down on the record. Have I evertold you that all this natural beauty out here has left its imprint onyour face? In the midst of so much loveliness, one couldn't be anythingbut—"

"Mrs. Brade had three trays to the room. That's seventy-five centsmore."

"Extravagant lady! Brade will be sorry he came back, for more reasonsthan one. Well, I've got that. Anything else?"

"Just the laundry. Ninety-seven cents."

"Fair enough. Adding it all up, I get thirty-two dollars and sixty-ninecents. Let's call it an even thirty-three."

She laughed. "Oh, no. We can't do that."

Mrs. Brade came slowly into the lobby from the lanai. She paused at thedesk. "Has there been a message?" she inquired.

"No, Mrs. Brade," the girl answered. She handed over the slip of paper."Your bill."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Brade will attend to this the moment he returns."

"You expect him soon?"

"I really can't say." The Englishwoman moved on into the corridorleading to nineteen.

"Full of information, as usual," smiled John Quincy. "Why, here'sCharlie now."

Chan came briskly to the desk, followed by another policeman, also inplain clothes.

"Automobile act noble," he announced, "having fondly feeling for nightair." He nodded toward his companion. "Introducing Mr. Spencer. Now,what are the situation? Humbly hinting you speak fast."

John Quincy told him Kaohla was waiting on the lanai, and mentioned theunwieldy package carried by the boy. Chan nodded.

"Events are turning over rapidly," he said. He addressed the girl."Please kindly relate to this Kaohla that Brade has arrived and wouldwish to encounter him here." She hesitated. "No, no," added Chanhastily, "I forget nice heathen delicacy. It is not pretty I should aska lady to scatter false lies from ruby lips. I humbly demandforgiveness. Content yourself with a veiled pretext bringing him here."

The girl smiled and went out. "Mr. Spencer," said Chan, "I make bold tosuggest you interrogate this Hawaiian. My reckless wanderings amongwords of unlimitable English language often fail to penetrate sort ofskulls plentiful round here."

Spencer nodded and went to the side door, standing where he would not beseen by any one entering there. In a moment Kaohla appeared, followed bythe girl. The Hawaiian came in quickly but seeing Chan, stopped, and afrightened look crossed his face. Spencer startled him further byseizing his arm.

"Come over here," said the detective. "We want to talk to you." He ledthe boy to a far corner of the room, Chan and John Quincy followed. "Sitdown—here, I'll take that." He removed the heavy package from under theboy's arm. For a moment the Hawaiian seemed about to protest, butevidently he thought better of it. Spencer placed the package on a tableand stood over Kaohla.

"Want to see Brade, eh?" he began in a threatening tone.

"Yes."

"What for?"

"Business is private."

"Well, I'm telling you to come across. You're in bad. Better change yourmind and talk."

"No."

"All right. We'll see about that. What have you got in that package?"The boy's eyes went to the table, but he made no answer.

Chan took out a pocket knife. "Simple matter to discover," he said. Hecut the rough twine, unwound several layers of newspapers. John Quincypressed close, he felt that something important was about to bedivulged.

The last layer of paper came off. "Hot dog!" cried Chan. He turnedquickly to John Quincy. "Oh, I am so sorry—I pick up atrocious phraselike that from my cousin Mr. Willie Chan, Captain of All Chinesebaseball team—"

But John Quincy did not hear, his eyes were glued to the object that layon the table. An ohia wood box, bound with copper—the initials T. M. B.

"We will unlatch it," said Chan. He made an examination. "No, lockedmost strongly. We will crash into it at police station, where you and Iand this silent Hawaiian will now hasten. Mr. Spencer, you will remainon spot here. Should Brade appear, you know your duty."

"I do," said Spencer.

"Mr. Kaohla, do me the honor to accompany," continued Chan. "At policeheadquarters much talk will be extracted out of you."

They turned toward the door. As they did so, Carlota Egan came up. "MayI speak to you a moment?" she said to John Quincy.

"Surely." He walked with her to the desk.

"I went to the lanai just now," she whispered breathlessly. "Some onewas crouching outside the window near where you were talking. I wentcloser and it was—Mr. Saladine!"

"Aha," said John Quincy. "Mr. Saladine had better drop that sort ofthing, or he'll get himself in trouble."

"Should we tell Chan?"

"Not yet. You and I will do a little investigating ourselves first. Chanhas other things to think about. And we don't want any of our guests toleave unless it's absolutely necessary."

"We certainly don't," she smiled. "I'm glad you've got the interests ofthe house at heart."

"That's just where I've got them—" John Quincy began, but Chan cut in.

"Humbly begging pardon," he said, "we must speed. Captain Hallet willhave high delight to encounter this Kaohla, to say nothing of ohia woodbox."

In the doorway, Kaohla crowded close to John Quincy, and the latter wasstartled by the look of hate he saw in the boy's stormy eyes. "You didthis," muttered the Hawaiian. "I don't forget."

CHAPTER XV

THE MAN FROM INDIA

They clattered along Kalakaua Avenue in Chan's car.

John Quincy sat alone on the rear seat; at the detective's request heheld the ohia wood box on his knees.

He rested his hands upon it. Once it had eluded him, but he had it now.His mind went back to that night in the attic two thousand miles away,the shadow against the moonlit window, the sting of a jewel cuttingacross his cheek. Roger's heartfelt cry of "Poor old Dan!" Did they holdat last, in this ohia wood box, the answer to the mystery of Dan'sdeath?

Hallet was waiting in his room. With him was a keen-eyed, efficientlooking man evidently in his late thirties.

"Hello, boys," said the captain. "Mr. Winterslip, meet Mr. Greene, ourdistrict court prosecutor."

Greene shook hands cordially. "I've been wanting to meet you, sir," hesaid. "I know your city rather well. Spent three years at your HarvardLaw School."

"Really?" replied John Quincy with enthusiasm.

"Yes. I went there after I got through at New Haven. I'm a Yale man, youknow."

"Oh," remarked John Quincy, without any enthusiasm at all. But Greeneseemed a pleasant fellow, despite his choice of college.

Chan had set the box on the table before Hallet, and was explaining howthey had come upon it. The captain's thin face had brightenedperceptibly. He inspected the treasure. "Locked, eh?" he remarked. "Yougot the key, Kaohla?"

The Hawaiian shook his head sullenly. "No."

"Watch your step, boy," warned Hallet. "Go over him, Charlie."

Chan went over him, rapidly and thoroughly. He found a key ring, butnone of the keys fitted the lock on the box. He also brought to light afat roll of bills.

"Where'd you get all that money, Dick?" Hallet inquired.

"I got it," glowered the boy.

But Hallet was more interested in the box. He tapped it lovingly. "Thisis important, Mr. Greene. We may find the solution of our puzzle inhere." He took a small chisel from his desk, and after a brief struggle,pried open the lid.

John Quincy, Chan and the prosecutor pressed close, their eyes staringeagerly as the captain lifted the lid. The box was empty.

"Filled with nothing," murmured Chan. "Another dream go smash againststone wall."

The disappointment angered Hallet. He turned on Kaohla. "Now, my lad,"he said. "I want to hear from you. You've been in touch with Brade, youtalked with him last Sunday night, you've heard he's returning to-night.You've got some deal on with him. Come across and be quick about it."

"Nothing to tell," said the Hawaiian stubbornly.

Hallet leaped to his feet. "Oh, yes you have. And by heaven, you'regoing to tell it. I'm not any too patient to-night and I warn you if youdon't talk and talk quick I'm likely to get rough." He stopped suddenlyand turned to Chan. "Charlie, that Inter-Island boat is due from Mauiabout now. Get down to the dock and watch for Brade. You've got hisdescription?"

"Sure," answered Chan. "Thin pale face, one shoulder descended belowother, gray mustaches that droop in saddened mood."

"That's right. Keep a sharp lookout. And leave this lad to us. He won'thave any secrets when we get through with him, eh, Mr. Greene?"

The prosecutor, more discreet, merely smiled.

"Mr. Winterslip," said Chan. "The night is delicious. A little stroll tomoonly dock—"

"I'm with you," John Quincy replied. He looked back over his shoulder ashe went, and reflected that he wouldn't care to be in Kaohla's shoes.

The pier-shed was dimly lighted and a small but diversified groupawaited the incoming boat. Chan and John Quincy walked to the far endand there, seated on a packing-case, they found the water-front reporterof the evening paper.

"Hello, Charlie," cried Mr. Mayberry. "What you doing here?"

"Maybe friend arrive on boat," grinned Chan.

"Is that so?" responded Mayberry. "You boys over at the station havecertainly become pretty mysterious all of a sudden. What's doing,Charlie?"

"All pronouncements come from captain," advised Chan.

"Yeah, we've heard his pronouncements," sneered Mayberry. "The policehave unearthed clues and are working on them. Nothing to report atpresent. It's sickening. Well, sit down, Charlie. Oh—Mr.Winterslip—good evening. I didn't recognize you at first."

"How are you," said John Quincy. He and Chan also found packing-cases.There was a penetrating odor of sugar in the air. Through a wide openingin the pier-shed they gazed along the water-front and out upon themoonlit harbor. A rather exotic and intriguing scene, John Quincyreflected, and he said as much.

"Think so?" answered Mayberry. "Well, I don't. To me it's just likeSeattle or Galveston or any of those stereotyped ports. But you see—Iknew it when—"

"I think you mentioned that before," John Quincy smiled.

"I'm likely to mention it at any moment. As far as I'm concerned, theharbor of Honolulu has lost its romance. Once this was the mostpicturesque water-front in the world, my boy. And now look at the damnedthing!" The reporter relighted his pipe. "Charlie can tell you—heremembers. The old ramshackle, low-lying wharves. Old Naval Row with itssailing ships. The wooden-hulled steamers with a mast or two—not tooproud to use God's good winds occasionally. The bright little row-boats,the Aloha, the Manu, the Emma. Eh, Chan?"

"All extinct," agreed Chan.

"You wouldn't see a Rotary Club gang like this on a pier in those days,"Mayberry continued. "Just Hawaiian stevedores with leis on their hatsand ukuleles in their hands. Fishermen with their nets, and maybe abreezy old-time purser—a glad-hander and not a mere machine." He puffeda moment in sad silence. "Those were the days, Mr. Winterslip, the daysof Hawaii's isolation, and her charm. The cable and the radio hadn'tlinked us up with the so-called civilization of the mainland. Every boatthat came in we'd scamper over it, hunting a newspaper with the verylatest news of the outside world. Remember those steamer days, Charlie,when everybody went down to the wharf in the good old hacks ofyesteryear, when the women wore holokus and lauhala hats, and Berger wasthere with his band, and maybe a prince or two—"

"And the nights," suggested Charlie.

"Yeah, old-timer, I was coming to the nights. The soft nights when theserenaders drifted about the harbor in row-boats, and the lanternsspeared long paths on the water—"

He seemed about to weep. John Quincy's mind went back to books he hadread in his boyhood.

"And occasionally," he said, "I presume somebody went aboard a shipagainst his will?"

"I'll say he did," replied Mr. Mayberry, brightening at the thought."Why, it was only in the 'nineties I was sitting one night on a dock afew yards down, when I saw a scuffle near the landing, and one of mybest friends shouted to me: 'Good-by, Pete!' I was up and off in aminute, and I got him away from them—I was younger in those days. Hewas a good fellow, a sailorman, and he wasn't intending to take thejourney that bunch had planned for him. They'd got him into a saloon anddrugged him, but he pulled out of it just in time—oh, well, those daysare gone for ever now. Just like Galveston or Seattle. Yes, sir, thisharbor of Honolulu has lost its romance."

The little Inter-Island boat was drawing up to the pier, and theywatched it come. As the gangplank went down, Chan rose.

"Who you expecting, Charlie?" asked Mayberry.

"We grope about," said Chan. "Maybe on this boat are Mr. Brade."

"Brade!" Mayberry leaped to his feet.

"Not so sure," warned Chan. "Only a matter we suppose. If correct,humbly suggest you follow to the station. You might capture news."

John Quincy and Chan moved up to the gangplank as the passengersdescended. There were not many aboard. A few Island business men, ascattering of tourists, a party of Japanese in western clothes,ceremoniously received by friends ashore—a quaint little group allbowing from the waist. John Quincy was watching them with interest whenChan touched his arm.

A tall stooped Englishman was coming down the plank. Thomas Macan Bradewould have been easily spotted in any crowd. His mustache was patternedafter that of the Earl of Pawtucket, and to make identification evensimpler, he wore a white pith helmet. Pith helmets are not necessaryunder the kindly skies of Hawaii; this was evidently a relic of Indiandays.

Chan stepped forward. "Mr. Brade?"

The man had a tired look in his eyes. He started nervously. "Y—yes," hehesitated.

"I am Detective-Sergeant Chan, Honolulu police. You will do me the greathonor to accompany me to the station, if you please."

Brade stared at him, then shook his head. "It's quite impossible," hesaid.

"Pardon me, please," answered Chan. "It are unevitable."

"I—I have just returned from a journey," protested the man. "My wifemay be worried regarding me. I must have a talk with her, and afterthat—"

"Regret," purred Chan, "are scorching me. But duty remains duty. Chief'swords are law. Humbly suggest we squander valuable time."

"Am I to understand that I'm under arrest?" flared Brade.

"The idea is preposterous," Chan assured him. "But the captain waitseager for statement from you. You will walk this way, I am sure. Amoment's pardon. I introduce my fine friend, Mr. John Quincy Winterslip,of Boston."

At mention of the name, Brade turned and regarded John Quincy with deepinterest. "Very good," he said. "I'll go with you."

They went out to the street, Brade carrying a small hand-bag. The flurryof arrival was dying fast. Honolulu would shortly return to itsaccustomed evening calm.

When they reached the police station, Hallet and the prosecutor seemedin high good humor. Kaohla sat in a corner, hopeless and defeated; JohnQuincy saw at a glance that the boy's secret was his no longer.

"Introducing Mr. Brade," said Chan.

"Ah," cried Hallet, "we're glad to see you, Mr. Brade. We'd been gettingpretty worried about you."

"Really, sir," said Brade, "I am completely at a loss—"

"Sit down," ordered Hallet. The man sank into a chair. He too had ahopeless, defeated air. No one can appear more humble and beaten than aBritish civil servant, and this man had known thirty-six years of bakingunder the Indian sun, looked down on by the military, respected by none.Not only his mustache but his whole figure drooped "in saddened mood."Yet now and then, John Quincy noted, he flashed into life, a moment ofself-assertion and defiance.

"Where have you been, Mr. Brade?" Hallet inquired.

"I have visited one of the other islands. Maui."

"You went last Tuesday morning?"

"Yes. On the same steamer that brought me back."

"Your name was not on the sailing list," Hallet said.

"No. I went under another name. I had—reasons."

"Indeed?"

The flash of life. "Just why am I here, sir?" He turned to theprosecutor. "Perhaps you will tell me that?"

Greene nodded toward the detective. "Captain Hallet will enlighten you,"he said.

"You bet I will," Hallet announced. "As perhaps you know, Mr. Brade, Mr.Dan Winterslip has been murdered."

Brade's washed-out eyes turned to John Quincy. "Yes," he said. "I readabout it in a Hilo newspaper."

"You didn't know it when you left last Tuesday morning?" Hallet asked.

"I did not. I sailed without seeing a paper here."

"Ah, yes. When did you see Mr. Dan Winterslip last?"

"I never saw him."

"What! Be careful, sir."

"I never saw Dan Winterslip in my life."

"All right. Where were you last Tuesday morning at twenty minutes pastone?"

"I was asleep in my room at the Reef and Palm Hotel. I'd retired atnine-thirty, as I had to rise early in order to board my boat. My wifecan verify that."

"A wife's testimony, Mr. Brade, is not of great value—"

Brade leaped to his feet. "Look here, sir! Do you mean to insinuate—"

"Take it easy," said Hallet smoothly. "I have a few matters to call toyour attention, Mr. Brade. Mr. Dan Winterslip was murdered at one-twentyor thereabouts last Tuesday morning. We happen to know that in his youthhe served as first officer aboard the Maid of Shiloh, a blackbirder.The master of that vessel had the same name as yourself. Aninvestigation of your room at the Reef and Palm—"

"How dare you!" cried Brade. "By what right—"

"I am hunting the murderer of Dan Winterslip," broke in Hallet coolly."And I follow the trail wherever it leads. In your room I found a letterfrom the British Consul here addressed to you, and informing you thatWinterslip was alive and in Honolulu. I also found this tin of Corsicancigarettes. Just outside the living-room door of Winterslip's house, wepicked up the stub of a Corsican cigarette. It's a brand not on sale inHonolulu."

Brade had dropped back into his chair, and was staring in a dazed way atthe tin box in Hallet's hand. Hallet indicated the Hawaiian boy in thecorner. "Ever see this lad before, Mr. Brade?" Brade nodded.

"You had a talk with him last Sunday night on the beach?"

"Yes."

"The boy's told us all about it. He read in the paper that you werecoming to Honolulu. His father was a confidential servant in DanWinterslip's employ and he himself was brought up in the Wintersliphousehold. He could make a pretty good guess at your business withWinterslip, and he figured you'd be pleased to lay hands on this ohiawood box. In his boyhood he'd seen it in a trunk in the attic ofWinterslip's San Francisco house. He went down to the President Tylerand arranged with a friend aboard that boat, the quartermaster, tobreak into the house and steal the box. When he saw you last Sundaynight he told you he'd have the box as soon as the President Tyler gotin, and he arranged to sell it to you for a good sum. Am I right so far,Mr. Brade?"

"You are quite right," said Brade.

"The initials on the box are T. M. B." Hallet persisted. "They are yourinitials, are they not?"

"They happen to be," said Brade. "But they were also the initials of myfather. My father died aboard ship in the South Seas many years ago, andthat box was stolen from his cabin after his death. It was stolen by thefirst officer of the Maid of Shiloh—by Mr. Dan Winterslip."

For a moment no one spoke. A cold shiver ran down the spine of JohnQuincy Winterslip and a hot flush suffused his cheek. Why, oh, why, hadhe strayed so far from home? In Boston he traveled in a rut, perhaps,but ruts were safe, secure. There no one had ever brought a charge suchas this against a Winterslip, no whisper of scandal had ever sullied thename. But here Winterslips had run amuck, and there was no telling whatwould next be dragged into the light.

"I think, Mr. Brade," said the prosecutor slowly, "you had better make afull statement."

Brade nodded. "I intend to do so. My case against Winterslip is notcomplete and I should have preferred to remain silent for a time. Butunder the circ*mstances, of course I must speak out. I'll smoke, if youdon't mind." He took a cigarette from his case and lighted it. "I'm abit puzzled just how to begin. My father disappeared from England in the'seventies, leaving my mother and me to shift for ourselves. For a timewe heard nothing of him, then letters began to arrive from variouspoints in Australia and the South Seas. Letters with money in them,money we badly needed. I have since learned that he had gone into theblackbirding trade; it is nothing to be proud of, God knows, but I liketo recall in his favor that he did not entirely abandon his wife andboy.

"In the 'eighties we got word of his death. He died aboard the Maid ofShiloh and was buried on the island of Apiang in the GilbertGroup—buried by Dan Winterslip, his first officer. We accepted the factof his death, the fact of no more letters with remittances, and took upour struggle again. Six months later we received, from a friend of myfather in Sydney, a brother captain, a most amazing letter.

"This letter said that, to the writer's certain knowledge, my father hadcarried a great deal of money in his cabin on the Maid of Shiloh. Hehad done no business with banks, instead he had had this strong box madeof ohia wood. The man who wrote us said that he had seen the inside ofit, and that it contained jewelry and a large quantity of gold. Myfather had also shown him several bags of green hide, containing goldcoins from many countries. He estimated that there must have been closeto twenty thousand pounds, in all. Dan Winterslip, the letter said, hadbrought the Maid of Shiloh back to Sydney and turned over to theproper authorities my father's clothing and personal effects, and ascant ten pounds in money. He had made no mention of anything further.He and the only other white man aboard the Maid, an Irishman namedHagin, had left at once for Hawaii. My father's friend suggested that westart an immediate investigation.

"Well, gentlemen"—Brade looked about the circle of interestedfaces—"what could we do? We were in pitiful circ*mstances, my motherand I. We had no money to employ lawyers, to fight a case thousands ofmiles away. We did make a few inquiries through a relative in Sydney,but nothing came of them. There was talk for a time, but the talk diedout, and the matter was dropped. But I—I have never forgotten.

"Dan Winterslip returned here, and prospered. He built on the foundationof the money he found in my father's cabin a fortune that inspired theadmiration of Honolulu. And while he prospered, we were close tostarvation. My mother died, but I carried on. For years it has been mydream to make him pay. I have not been particularly successful, but Ihave saved, scrimped. I have the money now to fight this case.

"Four months ago I resigned my post in India and set out for Honolulu. Istopped over in Sydney—my father's friend is dead, but I have hisletter. I have the depositions of others who knew about thatmoney—about the ohia wood box. I came on here, ready to face DanWinterslip at last. But I never faced him. As you know,gentlemen"—Brade's hand trembled slightly as he put down hiscigarette—"some one robbed me of that privilege. Some unknown handremoved from my path the man I have hated for more than forty years."

"You arrived last Saturday—a week ago," said Hallet, after a pause. "OnSunday evening Kaohla here called on you. He offered you the strongbox?"

"He did," Brade replied. "He'd had a cable from his friend, and expectedto have the box by Tuesday. I promised him five thousand dollars forit—a sum I intended Winterslip should pay. Kaohla also told me thatHagin was living on a ranch in a remote part of the Island of Maui. Thatexplains my journey there—I took another name, as I didn't wantWinterslip to follow my movements. I had no doubt he was watching me."

"You didn't tell Kaohla you were going, either?"

"No, I didn't think it advisable to take him completely into myconfidence. I found Hagin, but could get nothing out of him. EvidentlyWinterslip had bought his silence long ago. I realized the box was ofgreat importance to me, and I cabled Kaohla to bring it to meimmediately on my return. It was then that the news of Winterslip'sdeath came through. It was a deep disappointment, but it will not determe." He turned to John Quincy. "Winterslip's heirs must pay. I amdetermined they shall make my old age secure."

John Quincy's face flushed again. A spirit of rebellion, of family prideoutraged, stirred within him. "We'll see about that, Mr. Brade," hesaid. "You have unearthed the box, but so far as any proof aboutvaluables—money—"

"One moment," cut in Greene, the prosecutor. "Mr. Brade, have you adescription of any article of value taken from your father?"

Brade nodded. "Yes. In my father's last letter to us—I was lookingthrough it only the other day—he spoke of a brooch he had picked up inSydney. A tree of emeralds, rubies and diamonds against an onyxbackground. He said he was sending it to my mother—but it never came."

The prosecutor looked at John Quincy. John Quincy looked away. "I'm notone of Dan Winterslip's heirs, Mr. Brade," he explained. "As a matter offact, he was a rather distant relative of mine. I can't presume tospeak for his daughter, but I'm reasonably sure that when she knowsyour story, this matter can be settled out of court. You'll wait, ofcourse?"

"I'll wait," agreed Brade. "And now, Captain—"

Hallet raised his hand. "Just a minute. You didn't call on Winterslip?You didn't go near his house?"

"I did not," said Brade.

"Yet just outside the door of his living-room we found, as I told you,the stub of a Corsican cigarette. It's a matter still to be cleared up."

Brade considered briefly. "I don't want to get any one into trouble," hesaid. "But the man is nothing to me, and I must clear my own name. Inthe course of a chat with the proprietor of the Reef and Palm Hotel, Ioffered him a cigarette. He was delighted when he recognized thebrand—said it had been years since he'd seen one. So I gave him ahandful, and he filled his case."

"You're speaking of Jim Egan," suggested Hallet delightedly.

"Of Mr. James Egan, yes," Brade replied.

"That's all I want to know," said Hallet. "Well, Mr. Greene—"

The prosecutor addressed Brade. "For the present, we can't permit you toleave Honolulu," he said. "But you are free to go to your hotel. Thisbox will remain here until we can settle its final disposition."

"Naturally." Brade rose.

John Quincy faced him. "I'll call on you very soon," he promised.

"What? Oh, yes—yes, of course." The man stared nervously about him. "Ifyou'll pardon me, gentlemen, I must run—I really must—"

He went out. The prosecutor looked at his watch. "Well, that's that.I'll have a conference with you in the morning, Hallet. My wife'swaiting for me at the Country Club. Good night, Mr. Winterslip." He sawthe look on John Quincy's face, and smiled. "Don't take thoserevelations about your cousin too seriously. The 'eighties are ancienthistory, you know."

As Greene disappeared, Hallet turned to John Quincy. "What about thisKaohla?" he inquired. "It will be a pretty complicated job to prosecutehim and his house-breaking friend on the President Tyler, but it canbe done—"

A uniformed policeman appeared at the door, summoning Chan outside.

"Oh, no," said John Quincy. "Let the boy go. We don't want any publicityabout this. I'll ask you, Captain, to keep Brade's story out of thepapers."

"I'll try," Hallet replied. He turned to the Hawaiian. "Come here!" Theboy rose. "You heard what this gentleman said. You ought to be sent upfor this, but we've got more important things to attend to now. Runalong—beat it—"

Chan came in just in time to hear the last. At his heels followed a slylittle Jap and a young Chinese boy. The latter was attired in theextreme of college-cut clothes; he was an American and he emphasized thefact.

"Only one moment," Chan cried. "New and interesting fact emerge intolight. Gentlemen, my Cousin Willie Chan, captain All Chinese baseballteam and demon back-stopper of the Pacific!"

"Pleased to meetchu," said Willie Chan.

"Also Okamoto, who have auto stand on Kalakaua Avenue, not far fromWinterslip household—"

"I know Okamoto," said Hallet. "He sells okolehau on the side."

"No, indeed," protested the Jap. "Auto stand, that is what."

"Willie do small investigating to help out crowded hours," went on Chan."He have dug up strange event out of this Okamoto here. On early morningof Tuesday, July first, Okamoto is roused from slumber by fierce knockson door of room. He go to door—"

"Let him tell it," suggested Hallet. "What time was this?"

"Two of the morning," said the Jap. "Knocks were as described. I rouseand look at watch, run to door. Mr. Dick Kaohla here is waiting. DemandI drive him to home over in Iwilei district. I done so."

"All right," said Hallet. "Anything else? No? Charlie—take them out andthank them—that's your specialty." He waited until the Orientals hadleft the room, then turned fiercely on Kaohla. "Well, here you are backin the limelight," he cried. "Now, come across. What were you doing outnear Winterslip's house the night of the murder?"

"Nothing," said the Hawaiian.

"Nothing! A little late to be up doing nothing, wasn't it? Look here, myboy, I'm beginning to get you. For years Dan Winterslip gave you money,supported you, until he finally decided you were no good. So he stoppedthe funds and you and he had a big row. Now, didn't you?"

"Yes," admitted Dick Kaohla.

"On Sunday night Brade offered you five thousand for the box. Youthought it wasn't enough. The idea struck you that maybe Dan Winterslipwould pay more. You were a little afraid of him, but you screwed up yourcourage and went to his house—"

"No, no," the boy cried. "I did not go there."

"I say you did. You'd made up your mind to double-cross Brade. You andDan Winterslip had another big scrap, you drew a knife—"

"Lies, all lies," the boy shouted, terrified.

"Don't tell me I lie! You killed Winterslip and I'll get it out of you!I got the other and I'll get this." Hallet rose threateningly from hischair.

Chan suddenly reentered the room, and handed Hallet a note. "Arrive thismoment by special messenger," he explained.

Hallet ripped open the envelope and read. His expression altered. Heturned disgustedly to Kaohla. "Beat it!" he scowled.

The boy fled gratefully. John Quincy and Chan looked wonderingly at thecaptain. Hallet sat down at his desk. "It all comes back to Egan," hesaid. "I've known it from the first."

"Wait a minute," cried John Quincy. "What about that boy?"

Hallet crumpled the letter in his hand. "Kaohla? Oh, he's out of itnow."

"Why?"

"That's all I can tell you. He's out of it."

"That's not enough," John Quincy said. "I demand to know—"

Hallet glared at him. "You know all you're going to," he answeredangrily. "I say Kaohla's out, and that settles it. Egan killedWinterslip, and before I get through with him—"

"Permit me to say," interrupted John Quincy, "that you have the mosttrusting nature I ever met. Everybody's story goes with you. The Comptonwoman and that rat Leatherbee come in here and spin a yarn, and you bowthem out. And Brade! What about Brade! In bed at one-twenty last Tuesdaymorning, eh? Who says so? He does. Who can prove it? His wife can. Whatwas to prevent his stepping out on the balcony of the Reef and Palm andwalking along the beach to my cousin's house? Answer me that!"

Hallet shook his head. "It's Egan. That cigarette—"

"Yes—that cigarette. Has it occurred to you that Brade may have givenhim those cigarettes purposely—"

"Egan did it," cut in Hallet stubbornly. "All I need now is his story;I'll get it. I have ways and means—"

"I congratulate you on your magnificent stupidity," cried John Quincy."Good night, sir."

He walked along Bethel Street, Chan at his side.

"You are partly consumed by anger," said the Chinaman. "Humbly suggestyou cool. Calm heads needed."

"But what was in that note? Why wouldn't he tell us?"

"In good time, we know. Captain honest man. Be patient."

"But we're all at sea again," protested John Quincy. "Who killed CousinDan? We get nowhere."

"So very true," agreed Chan. "More clues lead us into presence ofimmovable stone wall. We sway about, seeking still other path."

"I'll say we do," answered John Quincy. "There comes my car. Goodnight!"

Not until the trolley was half-way to Waikiki did he remember Mr.Saladine. Saladine crouching outside that window at the Reef and Palm.What did that mean? But Saladine was a comic figure, a lisping searcherafter bridge-work in the limpid waters of Waikiki. Even so, perhaps hishumble activities should be investigated.

CHAPTER XVI

THE RETURN OF CAPTAIN COPE

After breakfast on Sunday morning, John Quincy followed Miss Minerva tothe lanai. It was a neat world that lay outside the screen, for DanWinterslip's yard boy had been busy until a late hour the night before,sweeping the lawn with the same loving thoroughness a housewife mightdisplay on a precious Oriental rug.

Barbara had not come down to breakfast, and John Quincy had seized theopportunity to tell his aunt of Brade's return, and repeat the man'sstory of Dan Winterslip's theft on board the Maid of Shiloh. Now helighted a cigarette and sat staring seriously out at the distant water.

"Cheer up," said Miss Minerva. "You look like a judge. I presume you'rethinking of poor Dan."

"I am."

"Forgive and forget. None of us ever suspected Dan of being a saint."

"A saint! Far from it! He was just a plain—"

"Never mind," put in his aunt sharply. "Remember, John Quincy, man is acreature of environment. And the temptation must have been great.Picture Dan on that ship in these easy-going latitudes, wealth at hisfeet and not a soul in sight to claim it. Ill-gotten wealth, at that.Even you—"

"Even I," said John Quincy sternly, "would have recalled I am aWinterslip. I never dreamed I'd live to hear you offering apologies forthat sort of conduct."

She laughed. "You know what they say about white women who go to thetropics. They lose first their complexion, then their teeth, and finallytheir moral sense." She hesitated. "I've had to visit the dentist a gooddeal of late," she added.

John Quincy was shocked "My advice to you is to hurry home," he said.

"When are you going?"

"Oh, soon—soon."

"That's what we all say. Returning to Boston, I suppose?"

"Of course."

"How about San Francisco?"

"Oh, that's off. I did suggest it to Agatha, but I'm certain she won'thear of it. And I'm beginning to think she'd be quite right." His auntrose. "You'd better go to church," said John Quincy severely.

"That's just where I am going," she smiled. "By the way, Amos is comingto dinner to-night, and he'd best hear the Brade story from us, ratherthan in some garbled form. Barbara must hear it too. If it proves to betrue, the family ought to do something for Mr. Brade."

"Oh, the family will do something for him, all right," John Quincyremarked. "Whether it wants to or not."

"Well, I'll let you tell Barbara about him," Miss Minerva promised.

"Thank you so much," replied her nephew sarcastically.

"Not at all. Are you coming to church?"

"No," he said. "I don't need it the way you do."

She left him there to face a lazy uneventful day. By five in theafternoon Waikiki was alive with its usual Sunday crowd—not theunsavory holiday throng seen on a mainland beach, but a scattering ofgood-looking people whose tanned straight bodies would have delightedthe heart of a physical culture enthusiast. John Quincy summonedsufficient energy to don a bathing suit and plunge in.

There was something soothing in the warm touch of the water, and he wasbecoming more at home there every day. With long powerful strokes hedrew away from the malihini breakers to dare the great rollers beyond.Surf-board riders flashed by him; now and then he had to alter hiscourse to avoid an outrigger canoe.

On the farthest float of all he saw Carlota Egan. She sat there, aslender lovely figure vibrant with life, and awaited his coming. As heclimbed up beside her and looked into her eyes he was—perhaps from hisexertion in the water—a little breathless.

"I rather hoped I'd find you," he panted.

"Did you?" She smiled faintly. "I hoped it too. You see, I need a lot ofcheering up."

"On a perfect day like this!"

"I'd pinned such hopes on Mr. Brade," she explained. "Perhaps you knowhe's back—and from what I can gather, his return hasn't meant a thingso far as dad's concerned. Not a thing."

"Well, I'm afraid it hasn't," John Quincy admitted. "But we mustn't getdiscouraged. As Chan puts it, we sway about, seeking a new path. You andI have a bit of swaying to do. How about Mr. Saladine?"

"I've been thinking about Mr. Saladine. But I can't get excited abouthim, somehow. He's so ridiculous."

"We mustn't pass him up on that account," admonished John Quincy. "Icaught a glimpse of his purple bathing suit on the first float. Comeon—we'll just casually drop in on him. I'll race you there."

She smiled again, and leaped to her feet. For a second she stood poised,then dived in a way that John Quincy could never hope to emulate. Heslipped off in pursuit, and though he put forth every effort, shereached Saladine's side five seconds before he did.

"Hello, Mr. Saladine," she said. "This is Mr. Winterslip, of Boston."

"Ah, yeth," responded Mr. Saladine, gloomily. "Mr. Winterthlip." Heregarded the young man with interest.

"Any luck, sir?" inquired John Quincy sympathetically.

"Oh—you heard about my accthident?"

"I did, sir, and I'm sorry."

"I am, too," said Mr. Saladine feelingly. "Not a thrath of them tho far.And I muth go home in a few dath."

"I believe Miss Egan said you lived in Des Moines?"

"Yeth. Deth—Deth—I can't thay it."

"In business there?" inquired John Quincy nonchalantly.

"Yeth. Wholethale grothery buthineth," answered Mr. Saladine, slowly butnot very successfully.

John Quincy turned away to hide a smile. "Shall we go along?" he said tothe girl. "Good luck to you, sir." He dove off, and as they swam towardthe shore, he reflected that they were on a false trail there—a trailas spurious as the teeth. That little business man was too conventionala figure to have any connection with the murder of Dan Winterslip. Hekept these thoughts to himself, however.

Half-way to the beach, they encountered an enormous figure floatinglanguidly on the water. Just beyond the great stomach John Quincyperceived the serene face of Charlie Chan.

"Hello, Charlie," he cried. "It's a small ocean, after all! Got yourFord with you?"

Chan righted himself and grinned. "Little pleasant recreation," heexplained. "Forget detective worries out here floating idle like leaf onstream."

"Please float ashore," suggested John Quincy. "I have something to tellyou."

"Only too happy," agreed Chan.

He followed them in and they sat, an odd trio, on the white sand. JohnQuincy told the detective about Saladine's activities outside the windowthe night before, and repeated the conversation he had just had with themiddle westerner. "Of course, the man seems almost too foolish to meananything," he added.

Chan shook his head. "Begging most humble pardon," he said, "that arewrong attitude completely. Detective business made up of unsignificanttrifles. One after other our clues go burst in our countenance. Wise topursue matter of Mr. Saladine."

"What do you suggest?" John Quincy asked.

"To-night I visit city for night work to drive off my piled tasks," Chanreplied. "After evening meal, suggest you join with me at cable office.We despatch message to postmaster of this Des Moines, inquiring what arepresent locality of Mr. Saladine, expert in wholeselling provisions.Your name will be signed to message, much better than police meddling."

"All right," John Quincy agreed, "I'll meet you there at eight-thirty."

Carlota Egan rose. "I must get back to the Reef and Palm. You've no ideaall I have to do—"

John Quincy stood beside her. "If I can help, you know—"

"I know," she smiled. "I'm thinking of making you assistant manager.They'd be so proud of you—in Boston."

She moved off toward the water for her homeward swim, and John Quincydropped down beside Chan. The Chinaman's little amber eyes followed thegirl. "Endeavoring to make English language my slave," he said, "Ipursue poetry. Who were the great poet who said—'She walks in beautylike the night?'"

"Why, that was—er—who was it?" remarked John Quincy helpfully.

"Name is slippery," went on Chan. "But no matter. Lines pop into brainwhenever I see this Miss Egan. Beauty like the night, Hawaiian nightmaybe, lovely as purest jade. Most especially on this beach. Spot ofheart-breaking charm, this beach."

"Surely is," agreed John Quincy, amused at Chan's obviously sentimentalmood.

"Here on gleaming sand I first regard my future wife," continued Chan."Slender as the bamboo is slender, beautiful as blossom of the plum—"

"Your wife," repeated John Quincy. The idea was a new one.

"Yes, indeed." Chan rose. "Recalls I must hasten home where she attendsthe children who are now, by actual count, nine in number." He lookeddown at John Quincy thoughtfully. "Are you well-fitted with the armor ofpreparation?" he said. "Consider. Some night the moon has splendor inthis neighborhood, the cocoa-palms bow lowly and turn away their headsso they do not see. And the white man kisses without intending to doso."

"Oh, don't worry about me," John Quincy laughed; "I'm from Boston, andimmune."

"Immune," repeated Chan. "Ah, yes, I grasp meaning. In my home I haveidol brought from China with insides of solid stone. He would think heis—immune. But even so I would not entrust him on this beach. As mycousin Willie Chan say with vulgarity, see you later."

John Quincy sat for a time on the sand, then rose and strolled towardhome. His path lay close to the lanai of Arlene Compton's cottage, andhe was surprised to hear his name called from behind the screen. Hestepped to the door and looked in. The woman was sitting there alone.

"Come in a minute, Mr. Winterslip," she said.

John Quincy hesitated. He did not care to make any social calls on thislady, but he did not have it in him to be rude. He went inside and satdown gingerly, poised for flight. "Got to hurry back for dinner," heexplained.

"Dinner? You'll want a co*cktail."

"No, thanks. I'm—I'm on the wagon."

"You'll find it hard to stick out here," she said a little bitterly. "Iwon't keep you long. I just want to know—are those boneheads down atthe station getting anywhere, or ain't they?"

"The police," smiled John Quincy. "They seem to be making progress. Butit's slow. It's very slow."

"I'll tell the world it's slow. And I got to stick here till they pin iton somebody. Pleasant outlook, ain't it?"

"Is Mr. Leatherbee still with you?" inquired John Quincy.

"What do you mean is he still with me?" she flared.

"Pardon me. Is he still in town?"

"Of course he's in town. They won't let him go, either. But I ain'tworrying about him. I got troubles of my own. I want to go home." Shenodded toward a newspaper on the table. "I just got hold of an oldVariety and seen about a show opening in Atlantic City. A lot of thegang is in it, working like dogs, rehearsing night and day, worryingthemselves sick over how long the thing will last. Gee, don't I envythem. I was near to bawling when you came along."

"You'll get back all right," comforted John Quincy.

"Say—if I ever do! I'll stop everybody I meet on Broadway and promisenever to leave 'em again." John Quincy rose. "You tell that guy Halletto get a move on," she urged.

"I'll tell him," he agreed.

"And drop in to see me now and then," she added wistfully. "Useasterners ought to stick together out here."

"That's right, we should," John Quincy answered. "Good-by."

As he walked along the beach, he thought of her with pity. The story sheand Leatherbee had told might be entirely false; even so, she was ahuman and appealing figure and her homesickness touched his heart.

Later that evening when John Quincy came down-stairs faultlessly attiredfor dinner, he encountered Amos Winterslip in the living-room. CousinAmos's lean face was whiter than ever; his manner listless. He had beenrobbed of his hate; his evenings beneath the algaroba tree had losttheir savor; life was devoid of spice.

Dinner was not a particularly jolly affair. Barbara seemed intent onknowing now the details of the search the police were conducting, and itfell to John Quincy to enlighten her. Reluctantly he came at last to thestory of Brade. She listened in silence. After dinner she and JohnQuincy went out into the garden and sat on a bench under the hau tree,facing the water.

"I'm terribly sorry I had to tell you that about Brade," John Quincysaid gently. "But it seemed necessary."

"Of course," she agreed. "Poor dad! He was weak—weak—"

"Forgive and forget," John Quincy suggested. "Man is a creature ofenvironment." He wondered dimly where he had heard that before. "Yourfather was not entirely to blame—"

"You're terribly kind, John Quincy," she told him.

"No—but I mean it," he protested. "Just picture the scene to yourself.That lonely ocean, wealth at his feet for the taking, no one to see orknow."

She shook her head. "Oh, but it was wrong, wrong. Poor Mr. Brade. I mustmake things right with him as nearly as I can. I shall ask Harry to talkwith him to-morrow—"

"Just a suggestion," interposed John Quincy. "Whatever you agree to dofor Brade must not be done until the man who killed your father isfound."

She stared at him. "What! You don't think that Brade—"

"I don't know. Nobody knows. Brade is unable to prove where he was earlylast Tuesday morning."

They sat silent for a moment; then the girl suddenly collapsed andburied her face in her hands. Her slim shoulders trembled convulsivelyand John Quincy, deeply sympathetic, moved closer. He put his arm abouther. The moonlight shone on her bright hair, the trades whispered inthe hau tree, the breakers murmured on the beach. She lifted her face,and he kissed her. A cousinly kiss he had meant it to be, but somehow itwasn't—it was a kiss he would never have been up to on Beacon Street.

"Miss Minerva said I'd find you here," remarked a voice behind them.

John Quincy leaped to his feet and found himself staring into thecynical eyes of Harry Jennison. Even though you are the girl's cousin,it is a bit embarrassing to have a man find you kissing his fiancée.Particularly if the kiss wasn't at all cousinly—John Quincy wondered ifJennison had noticed that.

"Come in—I mean, sit down," stammered John Quincy. "I was just going."

"Good-by," said Jennison coldly.

John Quincy went hastily through the living-room, where Miss Minerva satwith Amos. "Got an appointment down-town," he explained, and picking uphis hat in the hall, fled into the night.

He had intended taking the roadster, but to reach the garage he wouldhave to pass that bench under the hau tree. Oh, well, the colorfulatmosphere of a trolley was more interesting, anyhow.

In the cable office on the ground floor of the Alexander Young Hotel,Chan was waiting, and they sent off their inquiry to the postmaster atDes Moines, signing John Quincy's name and address. That attended to,they returned to the street. In the park across the way an unseen groupof young men strummed steel guitars and sang in soft haunting voices; itwas the only sign of life in Honolulu.

"Kindly deign to enter hotel lobby with me," suggested Chan. "It is mycustom to regard names in register from time to time."

At the cigar stand just inside the door, the boy paused to light hispipe, while Chan went on to the desk. As John Quincy turned he saw a manseated alone in the lobby, a handsome, distinguished man who woreimmaculate evening clothes that bore the stamp of Bond Street. An oldacquaintance, Captain Arthur Temple Cope.

At sight of John Quincy, Cope leaped to his feet and came forward."Hello, I'm glad to see you," he cried, with a cordiality that had notbeen evident at former meetings. "Come over and sit down."

John Quincy followed him. "Aren't you back rather soon?" he inquired.

"Sooner than I expected," Cope rejoined. "Not sorry, either."

"Then you didn't care for your little flock of islands?"

"My boy, you should visit there. Thirty-five white men, two hundred andfifty natives, and a cable station. Jolly place of an evening, what?"

Chan came up, and John Quincy presented him. Captain Cope was theperfect host. "Sit down, both of you," he urged. "Have a cigarette." Heextended a silver case.

"Thanks, I'll stick to the pipe," John Quincy said. Chan gravelyaccepted a cigarette and lighted it.

"Tell me, my boy," Cope said when they were seated, "is there anythingnew on the Winterslip murder? Haven't run down the guilty man, by anychance."

"No, not yet," John Quincy replied.

"That's a great pity. I—er—understand the police are holding a chapnamed Egan?"

"Yes—Jim Egan, of the Reef and Palm Hotel."

"Just what evidence have they against Egan, Mr. Winterslip?"

John Quincy was suddenly aware of Chan looking at him in a peculiar way."Oh, they've dug up several things," he answered vaguely.

"Mr. Chan, you are a member of the police force," Captain Cope went on."Perhaps you can tell me?"

Chan's little eyes narrowed. "Such matters are not yet presented topublic," he replied.

"Ah, yes, naturally." Captain Cope's tone suggested disappointment.

"You have interest in this murder, I think?" Chan said.

"Why, yes—every one out this way is puzzling about it, I fancy. Thething has so many angles."

"Is it possible that you were an acquaintance with Mr. Dan Winterslip?"the detective persisted.

"I—I knew him slightly. But that was many years ago."

Chan stood. "Humbly begging pardon to be so abrupt," he said. He turnedto John Quincy. "The moment of our appointment is eminent—"

"Of course," agreed John Quincy. "See you again, Captain." Perplexed, hefollowed Chan to the street. "What appointment—" he began, and stopped.Chan was carefully extinguishing the light of the cigarette against thestone facade of the hotel. That done, he dropped the stub into hispocket.

"You will see," he promised. "First we visit police station. As wejourney, kindly relate all known facts concerning this Captain Cope."

John Quincy told of his first meeting with Cope in the San Franciscoclub, and repeated the conversation as he recalled it.

"Evidence of warm dislike for Dan Winterslip were not to be concealed?"inquired Chan.

"Oh, quite plain, Charlie. He certainly had no love for Cousin Dan. Butwhat—"

"Immediately he was leaving for Hawaii—pardon the interrupt. Does ithappily chance you know his date of arrival here?"

"I do. I saw him in the Alexander Young Hotel last Tuesday evening whenI was looking for you. He was rushing off to the Fanning Islands, and hetold me he had got in the previous day at noon—"

"Monday noon to put it lucidly."

"Yes—Monday noon. But Charlie—what are you trying to get at?"

"Groping about," Chan smiled. "Seeking to seize truth in my hot hands."

They walked on in silence to the station, where Chan led the way intothe deserted room of Captain Hallet. He went directly to the safe andopened it. From a drawer he removed several small objects, which hecarried over to the captain's table.

"Property Mr. Jim Egan," he announced, and laid a case of tarnishedsilver before John Quincy. "Open it—what do you find now? Corsicancigarettes." He set down another exhibit. "Tin box found in room of Mr.Brade. Open that, also. You find more Corsican cigarettes."

He removed an envelope from his pocket and taking out a charred stub,laid that too on the table. "Fragment found by walk outside door of DanWinterslip's mansion," he elucidated. "Also Corsican brand."

Frowning deeply, he removed a second charred stub from his pocket andlaid it some distance from the other exhibits. "Cigarette offered justnow with winning air of hospitality by Captain Arthur Temple Cope. Leanclose and perceive. More Corsican brand!"

"Good lord!" John Quincy cried.

"Can it be you are familiar with these Corsicans?" inquired Chan.

"Not at all."

"I am more happily located. This afternoon before the swim I pause atpublic library for listless reading. In Australian newspaper I encounteradvertising talk of Corsican cigarette. It are assembled in two distinctfashions, one, labeled on tin 222, holds Turkish tobacco. Note 222 ontin of Brade. Other labeled 444 made up from Virginia weeds. Is it thatyou are clever to know difference between Turkish and Virginia tobacco?"

"Well, I think so—" began John Quincy.

"Same with me, but thinking are not enough now. The moment are serious.We will interrogate expert opinion. Honor me by a journey to smokingemporium."

He took a cigarette from Brack's tin, put it in an envelope and wrotesomething on the outside, then did the same with one from Egan's case.The two stubs were similarly classified.

They went in silence to the street. John Quincy, amazed by this new turnof events, told himself the idea was absurd. But Chan's face was grave,his eyes awake and eager.

John Quincy was vastly more amazed when they emerged from the tobaccoshop after a brisk interview with the young man in charge. Chan wasjubilant now.

"Again we advance! You hear what he tells us. Cigarette from Brade's tinand little brother from Egan's case are of identical contents, bothbeing of Turkish tobacco. Stub found near walk are of Virginia stuff.So also are remnant received by me from the cordial hand of CaptainArthur Temple Cope!"

"It's beyond me," replied John Quincy. "By gad—that lets Egan out.Great news for Carlota. I'll hurry to the Reef and Palm and tell her—"

"Oh, no, no," protested Chan. "Please to let that happy moment wait. Forthe present, indulge only in silence. Before asking Captain Cope forstatement we spy over his every move. Much may be revealed by theunsuspecting. I go to station to make arrangements—"

"But the man's a gentleman," John Quincy cried. "A captain in theBritish Admiralty. What you suggest is impossible."

Chan shook his head. "Impossible in Rear Bay at Boston," he said, "buthere at moorly crossroads of Pacific, not so much so. Twenty-five yearsof my life are consumed in Hawaii, and I have many times been witnesswhen the impossible roused itself and occurred."

CHAPTER XVII

NIGHT LIFE IN HONOLULU

Monday brought no new developments, and John Quincy spent a restlessday. Several times he called Chan at the police station, but thedetective was always out.

Honolulu, according to the evening paper, was agog. This was not, asJohn Quincy learned to his surprise, a reference to the Winterslip case.An American fleet had just left the harbor of San Pedro bound forHawaii. This was the annual cruise of the graduating class at Annapolis;the war-ships were overflowing with future captains and admirals. Theywould linger at the port of Honolulu for several days and a gay round ofsocial events impended—dinners, dances, moonlight swimming parties.

John Quincy had not seen Barbara all day; the girl had not appeared atbreakfast and had lunched with a friend down the beach. They met atdinner, however, and it seemed to him that she looked more tired and wanthan ever. She spoke about the coming of the war-ships.

"It's always such a happy time," she said wistfully. "The town simplyblooms with handsome boys in uniform. I don't like to have you miss allthe parties, John Quincy. You're not seeing Honolulu at its best."

"Why—that's all right," John Quincy assured her.

She shook her head. "Not with me. You know, we're not such slaves toconvention out here. If I should get you a few invitations—what do youthink, Cousin Minerva?"

"I'm an old woman," said Miss Minerva. "According to the standards ofyour generation, I suppose it would be quite the thing. But it's not thesort of conduct I can view approvingly. Now, in my day—"

"Don't you worry, Barbara," John Quincy broke in. "Parties mean nothingto me. Speaking of old women, I'm an old man myself—thirty my nextbirthday. Just my pipe and slippers by the fire—or the electricfan—that's all I ask of life now."

She smiled and dropped the matter. After dinner, she followed JohnQuincy to the lanai. "I want you to do something for me," she began.

"Anything you say."

"Have a talk with Mr. Brade, and tell me what he wants."

"Why, I thought that Jennison—" said John Quincy.

"No, I didn't ask him to do it," she replied. For a long moment she wassilent. "I ought to tell you—I'm not going to marry Mr. Jennison, afterall."

A shiver of apprehension ran down John Quincy's spine. Good lord—thatkiss! Had she misunderstood? And he hadn't meant a thing by it. Just acousinly salute—at least, that was what it had started out to be.Barbara was a sweet girl, yes, but a relative, a Winterslip, andrelatives shouldn't marry, no matter how distant the connection. Then,too, there was Agatha. He was bound to Agatha by all the ties of honor.What had he got himself into, anyhow?

"I'm awfully sorry to hear that," he said. "I'm afraid I'm to blame—"

"Oh, no," she protested.

"But surely Mr. Jennison understood. He knows we're related, and thatwhat he saw last night meant—nothing." He was rather proud of himself.Pretty neat the way he'd got that over.

"If you don't mind," Barbara said, "I'd rather not talk about it anymore. Harry and I will not be married—not at present, at any rate. Andif you'll see Mr. Brade for me—"

"I certainly will," John Quincy promised. "I'll see him at once." He wasglad to get away, for the moon was rising on that "spot ofheart-breaking charm."

A fellow ought to be more careful, he reflected as he walked along thebeach. Fit upon himself the armor of preparation, as Chan had said.Strange impulses came to one here in this far tropic land; to yield tothem was weak. Complications would follow, as the night the day. Herewas one now, Barbara and Jennison estranged, and the cause was clear.Well, he was certainly going to watch his step hereafter.

On the far end of the Reef and Palm's first floor balcony, Brade and hiswife sat together in the dusk. John Quincy went up to them.

"May I speak with you, Mr. Brade?" he said.

The man looked up out of a deep reverie. "Ah, yes—of course—"

"I'm John Quincy Winterslip. We've met before."

"Oh, surely, surely sir." Brade rose and shook hands. "My dear—" heturned to his wife, but with one burning glance at John Quincy, thewoman had fled. The boy tingled—in Boston a Winterslip was neversnubbed. Well, Dan Winterslip had arranged it otherwise in Hawaii.

"Sit down, sir," said Brade, somewhat embarrassed by his wife's action."I've been expecting some one of your name."

"Naturally. Will you have a cigarette, sir." John Quincy proffered hiscase, and when the cigarettes were lighted, seated himself at the man'sside. "I'm here, of course, in regard to that story you told Saturdaynight."

"Story?" flashed Brade.

John Quincy smiled. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not questioning thetruth of it. But I do want to say this, Mr. Brade—you must be awarethat you will have considerable difficulty establishing your claim in acourt of law. The 'eighties are a long time back."

"What you say may be true," Brade agreed. "I'm relying more on the factthat a trial would result in some rather unpleasant publicity for theWinterslip family."

"Precisely," nodded John Quincy. "I am here at the request of MissBarbara Winterslip, who is Dan Winterslip's sole heir. She's a very finegirl, sir—"

"I don't question that," cut in Brade impatiently.

"And if your demands are not unreasonable—" John Quincy paused, andleaned closer. "Just what do you want, Mr. Brade?"

Brade stroked those gray mustaches that drooped "in saddened mood." "Nomoney," he said, "can make good the wrong Dan Winterslip did. But I'm anold man, and it would be something to feel financially secure for therest of my life. I'm not inclined to be grasping—particularly since DanWinterslip has passed beyond my reach. There were twenty thousand poundsinvolved. I'll say nothing about interest for more than forty years. Asettlement of one hundred thousand dollars would be acceptable."

John Quincy considered. "I can't speak definitely for my cousin," hesaid, "but to me that sounds fair enough. I have no doubt Barbara willagree to give you that sum"—he saw the man's tired old eyes brighten inthe semi-darkness—"the moment the murderer of Dan Winterslip is found,"he added quickly.

"What's that you say?" Brade leaped to his feet.

"I say she'll very likely pay you when this mystery is cleared up.Surely you don't expect her to do so before that time?" John Quincy rosetoo.

"I certainly do!" Brade cried. "Why, look here, this thing may drag onindefinitely. I want England again—the Strand, Piccadilly—it'stwenty-five years since I saw London. Wait! Damn it, why should I wait!What's this murder to me—by gad, sir—" He came close, erect, flaming,the son of Tom Brade, the blackbirder, now. "Do you mean to insinuatethat I—"

John Quincy faced him calmly. "I know you can't prove where you wereearly last Tuesday morning," he said evenly. "I don't say thatincriminates you, but I shall certainly advise my cousin to wait. I'dnot care to see her in the position of having rewarded the man whokilled her father."

"I'll fight," cried Brade. "I'll take it to the courts—"

"Go ahead," John Quincy said. "But it will cost you every penny you'vesaved, and you may lose in the end. Good night, sir."

"Good night!" Brade answered, standing as his father might have stood onthe Maid of Shiloh's deck.

John Quincy had gone half-way down the balcony when he heard quickfootsteps behind him. He turned. It was Brade, Brade the civil servant,the man who had labored thirty-six years in the oven of India, a beaten,helpless figure.

"You've got me," he said, laying a hand on John Quincy's arm. "I can'tfight. I'm too tired, too old—I've worked too hard. I'll take whateveryour cousin wants to give me—when she's ready to give it."

"That's a wise decision, sir," John Quincy answered. A sudden feeling ofpity gripped his heart. He felt toward Brade as he had felt toward thatother exile, Arlene Compton. "I hope you see London very soon," headded, and held out his hand.

Brade took it. "Thank you, my boy. You're a gentleman, even if your nameis Winterslip."

Which, John Quincy reflected as he entered the lobby of the Reef andPalm, was a compliment not without its flaw.

He didn't worry over that long, however, for Carlota Egan was behind thedesk. She looked up and smiled, and it occurred to John Quincy that hereyes were happier than he had seen them since that day on the Oaklandferry.

"Hello," he said. "Got a job for a good book-keeper?"

She shook her head. "Not with business the way it is now. I was justfiguring my pay-roll. You know, we've no undertow at Waikiki, but all mylife I've had to worry about the overhead."

He laughed. "You talk like a brother Kiwanian. By the way, has anythinghappened? You seem considerably cheered."

"I am," she replied. "I went to see poor dad this morning in thathorrible place—and when I left some one else was going in to visit him.A stranger."

"A stranger?"

"Yes—and the handsomest thing you ever saw—tall, gray,capable-looking. He had such a friendly air, too—I felt better themoment I saw him."

"Who was he?" John Quincy inquired, with sudden interest.

"I'd never seen him before, but one of the men told me he was CaptainCope, of the British Admiralty."

"Why should Captain Cope want to see your father?"

"I haven't a notion. Do you know him?"

"Yes—I've met him," John Quincy told her.

"Don't you think he's wonderful-looking?" Her dark eyes glowed.

"Oh, he's all right," replied John Quincy without enthusiasm. "You know,I can't help feeling that things are looking up for you."

"I feel that too," she said.

"What do you say we celebrate?" he suggested. "Go out among 'em and geta little taste of night life. I'm a bit fed up on the police station.What do people do here in the evening? The movies?"

"Just at present," the girl told him, "everybody visits Punahou to seethe night-blooming cereus. It's the season now, you know."

"Sounds like a big evening," John Quincy laughed. "Go and look at theflowers. Well, I'm for it. Will you come?"

"Of course." She gave a few directions to the clerk, then joined him bythe door. "I can run down and get the roadster," he offered.

"Oh, no," she smiled. "I'm sure I'll never own a motor-car, and it mightmake me discontented to ride in one. The trolley's my carriage—and it'slots of fun. One meets so many interesting people."

On the stone walls surrounding the campus of Oahu College, the strangeflower that blooms only on a summer night was heaped in snowy splendor.John Quincy had been a bit lukewarm regarding the expedition when theyset out, but he saw his error now. For here was beauty, breath-takingand rare. Before the walls paraded a throng of sight-seers; they joinedthe procession. The girl was a charming companion, her spirits hadrevived and she chatted vivaciously. Not about Shaw and the artgalleries, true enough, but bright human talk that John Quincy liked tohear.

He persuaded her to go to the city for a maidenly ice-cream soda, and itwas ten o'clock when they returned to the beach. They left the trolleyat a stop some distance down the avenue from the Reef and Palm, andstrolled slowly toward the hotel. The sidewalk was lined at their rightby dense foliage, almost impenetrable. The night was calm; the streetlamps shone brightly; the paved street gleamed white in the moonlight.John Quincy was talking of Boston.

"I think you'd like it there. It's old and settled, but—"

From the foliage beside them came the flash of a pistol, and John Quincyheard a bullet sing close to his head. Another flash, another bullet.The girl gave a startled little cry.

John Quincy circled round her and plunged into the bushes. Angrybranches stung his cheek. He stopped; he couldn't leave the girl alone.He returned to her side.

"What did that mean?" he asked, amazed. He stared in wonder at thepeaceful scene before him.

"I—I don't know." She took his arm. "Come—hurry!"

"Don't be afraid," he said reassuringly.

"Not for myself," she answered.

They went on to the hotel, greatly puzzled. But when they entered thelobby, they had something else to think about. Captain Arthur TempleCope was standing by the desk, and he came at once to meet them.

"This is Miss Egan, I believe. Ah, Winterslip, how are you?" He turnedagain to the girl. "I've taken a room here, if you don't mind."

"Why, not at all," she gasped.

"I talked with your father this morning. I didn't know about his troubleuntil I had boarded a ship for the Fanning Islands. I came back asquickly as I could."

"You came back—" She stared at him.

"Yes. I came back to help him."

"That's very kind of you," the girl said. "But I'm afraid I don'tunderstand—"

"Oh, no, you don't understand. Naturally." The captain smiled down ather. "You see, Jim's my young brother. You're my niece, and your name isCarlota Maria Cope. I fancy I've persuaded old Jim to own up to us atlast."

The girl's dark eyes were wide. "I—I think you're a very nice uncle,"she said at last.

"Do you really?" The captain bowed. "I aim to be," he added.

John Quincy stepped forward. "Pardon me," he said. "I'm afraid I'mintruding. Good night, Captain."

"Good night, my boy," Cope answered.

The girl went with John Quincy to the balcony. "I—don't know what tomake of it," she said.

"Things are coming rather fast," John Quincy admitted. He remembered theCorsican cigarette. "I wouldn't trust him too far," he admonished.

"But he's so wonderful—"

"Oh, he's all right, probably. But looks are often deceptive. I'll goalong now and let you talk with him."

She laid one slim tanned hand on his white-clad arm "Do be careful!"

"Oh, I'm all right," he told her.

"But some one shot at you."

"Yes, and a very poor aim he had, too. Don't worry about me." She wasvery close, her eyes glowing in the dark. "You said you weren't afraidfor yourself," he added. "Did you mean—"

"I meant—I was afraid—for you."

The moon, of course, was shining. The cocoa-palms turned their headsaway at the suggestion of the trades. The warm waters of Waikikimurmured near by. John Quincy Winterslip, from Boston and immune, drewthe girl to him and kissed her. Not a cousinly kiss, either—but whyshould it have been? She wasn't his cousin.

"Thank you, my dear," he said. He seemed to be floating dizzily inspace. It came to him that he might reach out and pluck her a handful ofstars.

It came to him a second later that, despite his firm resolve, he haddone it again. Kissed another girl. Three—that made three with whom hewas sort of entangled.

"Good night," he said huskily, and leaping over the rail, fled hastilythrough the garden.

Three girls now—but he hadn't a single regret. He was living at last.As he hurried through the dark along the beach, his heart was light.Once he fancied he was being followed, but he gave it little thought.What of it?

On the bureau in his room he found an envelope with his nametypewritten on the outside. The note within was typewritten too. Heread:

"You are too busy out here. Hawaii can manage her affairs withoutthe interference of a malihini. Boats sail almost daily. If you arestill here forty-eight hours after you get this—look out!To-night's shots were fired into the air. The aim will quicklyimprove!"

Delighted, John Quincy tossed the note aside. Threatening him, eh? Hisactivities as a detective were bearing fruit. He recalled the gloweringface of Kaohla when he said: "You did this. I don't forget." And aremark of Dan Winterslip's his aunt had quoted: "Civilized—yes. But farunderneath there are deep dark waters flowing still."

Boats were sailing almost daily, were they? Well, let them sail. Hewould be on one some day—but not until he had brought Dan Winterslip'smurderer to justice.

Life had a new glamour now. Look out? He'd be looking—and enjoying it,too. He smiled happily to himself as he took off his coat. This wasbetter than selling bonds in Boston.

CHAPTER XVIII

A CABLE FROM THE MAINLAND

John Quincy awoke at nine the following morning, and slipped from underhis mosquito netting eager to face the responsibilities of a new day. Onthe floor near his bureau lay the letter designed to speed the partingguest. He picked it up and read it again with manifest enjoyment.

When he reached the dining-room Haku informed him that Miss Minerva andBarbara had breakfasted early and gone to the city on a shopping tour.

"Look here, Haku," the boy said. "A letter came for me late last night?"

"Yes-s," admitted Haku.

"Who delivered it?"

"Can not say. It were found on floor of hall close by big front door."

"Who found it?"

"Kamaikui."

"Oh, yes—Kamaikui."

"I tell her to put in your sleeping room."

"Did Kamaikui see the person who brought it?"

"Nobody see him. Nobody on place."

"All right," John Quincy said.

He spent a leisurely hour on the lanai with his pipe and the morningpaper. At about half past ten he got out the roadster and drove to thepolice station.

Hallet and Chan, he was told, were in a conference with the prosecutor.He sat down to wait, and in a few moments word came for him to jointhem. Entering Greene's office, he saw the three men seated gloomilyabout the prosecutor's desk.

"Well, I guess I'm some detective," he announced.

Greene looked up quickly. "Found anything new?"

"Not precisely," John Quincy admitted. "But last night when I waswalking along Kalakaua Avenue with a young woman, somebody took a coupleof wild shots at me from the bushes. And when I got home I found thisletter waiting."

He handed the epistle to Hallet, who read it with evident disgust, thenpassed it on to the prosecutor "That doesn't get us anywhere," thecaptain said.

"It may get me somewhere, if I'm not careful," John Quincy replied."However, I'm rather proud of it. Sort of goes to show that my detectivework is hitting home."

"Maybe," answered Hallet, carelessly.

Greene laid the letter on his desk. "My advice to you," he said, "is tocarry a gun. That's unofficial, of course."

"Nonsense, I'm not afraid," John Quincy told him. "I've got a prettygood idea who sent this thing."

"You have?" Greene said.

"Yes. He's a friend of Captain Hallet's. Dick Kaohla."

"What do you mean he's a friend of mine?" flared Hallet.

"Well, you certainly treated him pretty tenderly the other night."

"I knew what I was doing," said Hallet grouchily.

"I hope you did. But if he puts a bullet in me some lovely evening, I'mgoing to be pretty annoyed with you."

"Oh, you're in no danger," Hallet answered. "Only a coward writesanonymous letters."

"Yes, and only a coward shoots from ambush. But that isn't saying hecan't take a good aim."

Hallet picked up the letter. "I'll keep this. It may prove to beevidence."

"Surely," agreed John Quincy. "And you haven't got any too muchevidence, as I see it."

"Is that so?" growled Hallet. "We've made a rather important discoveryabout that Corsican cigarette."

"Oh, I'm not saying Charlie isn't good," smiled John Quincy. "I was withhim when he worked that out."

A uniformed man appeared at the door. "Egan and his daughter and CaptainCope," he announced to Greene. "Want to see them now, sir?"

"Send them in," ordered the prosecutor.

"I'd like to stay, if you don't mind," John Quincy suggested.

"Oh, by all means," Greene answered. "We couldn't get along withoutyou."

The policeman brought Egan to the door, and the proprietor of the Reefand Palm came into the room. His face was haggard and pale; his longsiege with the authorities had begun to tell. But a stubborn light stillflamed in his eyes. After him came Carlota Egan, fresh and beautiful,and with a new air of confidence about her. Captain Cope followed, tall,haughty, a man of evident power and determination.

"This is the prosecutor, I believe?" he said. "Ah, Mr. Winterslip; Ifind you everywhere I go."

"You don't mind my staying?" inquired John Quincy.

"Not in the least, my boy. Our business here will take but a moment." Heturned to Greene. "Just as a preliminary," he continued, "I am CaptainArthur Temple Cope of the British Admiralty, and this gentleman"—henodded toward the proprietor of the Reef and Palm—"is my brother."

"Really?" said Greene. "His name is Egan, as I understand it."

"His name is James Egan Cope," the captain replied. "He dropped the Copemany years ago for reasons that do not concern us now. I am here simplyto say, sir, that you are holding my brother on the flimsiest pretext Ihave ever encountered in the course of my rather extensive travels. Ifnecessary, I propose to engage the best lawyer in Honolulu and have himfree by night. But I'm giving you this last chance to release him andavoid a somewhat painful expose of the sort of nonsense you go in for."

John Quincy glanced at Carlota Egan. Her eyes were shining but not onhim. They were on her uncle.

Greene flushed slightly. "A good bluff, Captain, is always worthtrying," he said.

"Oh, then you admit you've been bluffing," said Cope quickly.

"I was referring to your attitude, sir," Greene replied.

"Oh, I see," Cope said. "I'll sit down, if you don't mind. As Iunderstand it, you have two things against old Jim here. One is that hevisited Dan Winterslip on the night of the murder, and now refuses todivulge the nature of that call. The other is the stub of a Corsicancigarette which was found by the walk outside the door of Winterslip'sliving-room."

Greene shook his head. "Only the first," he responded. "The Corsicancigarette is no longer evidence against Egan." He leaned suddenly acrosshis desk. "It is, my dear Captain Cope, evidence against you."

Cope met his look unflinchingly. "Really?" he remarked.

John Quincy noted a flash of startled bewilderment in Carlota Egan'seyes.

"That's what I said," Greene continued. "I'm very glad you dropped inthis morning, sir. I've been wanting to talk to you. I've been told thatyou were heard to express a strong dislike for Dan Winterslip."

"I may have. I certainly felt it."

"Why?"

"As a midshipman on a British war-ship, I was familiar with Australiangossip in the 'eighties. Mr. Dan Winterslip had an unsavory reputation.It was rumored on good authority that he rifled the sea chest of hisdead captain on the Maid of Shiloh. Perhaps we're a bit squeamish, butthat is the sort of thing we sailors can not forgive. There were otherquaint deeds in connection with his blackbirding activities. Yes, mydear sir, I heartily disliked Dan Winterslip, and if I haven't said sobefore, I say it now."

"You arrived in Honolulu a week ago yesterday," Greene continued. "Atnoon—Monday noon. You left the following day. Did you, by any chance,call on Dan Winterslip during that period?"

"I did not."

"Ah, yes. I may tell you, sir, that the Corsican cigarettes found inEgan's case were of Turkish tobacco. The stub found near the scene ofDan Winterslip's murder was of Virginia tobacco. So also, my dearCaptain Cope, was the Corsican cigarette you gave our man Charlie Chanin the lobby of the Alexander Young Hotel last Sunday night."

Cope looked at Chan, and smiled. "Always the detective, eh?" he said.

"Never mind that!" Greene cried. "I'm asking for an explanation."

"The explanation is very simple," Cope replied. "I was about to give itto you when you launched into this silly cross-examination. The Corsicancigarette found by Dan Winterslip's door was, naturally, of Virginiatobacco. I never smoke any other kind."

"What!"

"There can be no question about it, sir. I dropped that cigarette theremyself."

"But you just told me you didn't call on Dan Winterslip."

"That was true. I didn't. I called on Miss Minerva Winterslip, ofBoston, who is a guest in the house. As a matter of fact, I had tea withher last Monday at five o'clock. You may verify that by telephoning thelady."

Greene glanced at Hallet, who glanced at the telephone, then turnedangrily to John Quincy. "Why the devil didn't she tell me that?" hedemanded.

John Quincy smiled. "I don't know, sir. Possibly because she neverthought of Captain Cope in connection with the murder."

"She'd hardly be likely to," Cope said. "Miss Winterslip and I had teain the living-room, then went out and sat on a bench in the garden,chatting over old times. When I returned to the house I was smoking acigarette. I dropped it just outside the living-room door. Whether MissWinterslip noted my action or not, I don't know. She probably didn't,it isn't the sort of thing one remembers. You may call her on thetelephone if you wish, sir."

Again Greene looked at Hallet, who shook his head. "I'll talk with herlater," announced the Captain of Detectives. Evidently Miss Minerva hadan unpleasant interview ahead.

"At any rate," Cope continued to the prosecutor, "you had yourselfdisposed of the cigarette as evidence against old Jim. That leaves onlythe fact of his silence—"

"His silence, yes," Greene cut in, "and the fact that Winterslip hadbeen heard to express a fear of Jim Egan."

Cope frowned. "Had he, really?" He considered a moment. "Well, what ofit? Winterslip had good reason to fear a great many honest men. No, mydear sir, you have nothing save my brother's silence against him, andthat is not enough. I demand—"

Greene raised his hand. "Just a minute. I said you were bluffing, and Istill think so. Any other assumption would be an insult to yourintelligence. Surely you know enough about the law to understand thatyour brother's refusal to tell me his business with Winterslip, added tothe fact that he was presumably the last person to see Winterslip alive,is sufficient excuse for holding him. I can hold him on those grounds, Iam holding him, and, my dear Captain, I shall continue to hold him untilhell freezes over."

"Very good," said Cope, rising. "I shall engage a capable lawyer—"

"That is, of course, your privilege," snapped Greene. "Good morning."

Cope hesitated. He turned to Egan. "It means more publicity, Jim," hesaid. "Delay, too. More unhappiness for Carlota here. And sinceeverything you did was done for her—"

"How did you know that?" asked Egan quickly.

"I've guessed it. I can put two and two together, Jim. Carlota was toreturn with me for a bit of schooling in England. You said you had themoney, but you hadn't. That was your pride again, Jim. It's got you intoa lifetime of trouble. You cast about for the funds, and you rememberedWinterslip. I'm beginning to see it all now. You had something on DanWinterslip, and you went to his house that night to—er—"

"To blackmail him," suggested Greene.

"It wasn't a pretty thing to do, Jim," Cope went on. "But you weren'tdoing it for yourself. Carlota and I know you would have died first. Youdid it for your girl, and we both forgive you." He turned to Carlota."Don't we, my dear?"

The girl's eyes were wet. She rose and kissed her father. "Dear olddad," she said.

"Come on, Jim," pleaded Captain Cope. "Forget your pride for once. Speakup, and we'll take you home with us. I'm sure the prosecutor will keepthe thing from the newspapers—"

"We've promised him that a thousand times," Greene said.

Egan lifted his head. "I don't care anything about the newspapers," heexplained. "It's you, Arthur—you and Cary—I didn't want you two toknow. But since you've guessed, and Cary knows too—I may as well telleverything."

John Quincy stood up. "Mr. Egan," he said. "I'll leave the room, if youwish."

"Sit down, my boy," Egan replied. "Cary's told me of your kindness toher. Besides, you saw the check—"

"What check was that?" cried Hallet. He leaped to his feet and stoodover John Quincy.

"I was honor bound not to tell," explained the boy gently.

"You don't say so!" Hallet bellowed. "You're a fine pair, you and thataunt of yours—"

"One minute, Hallet," cut in Greene. "Now, Egan, or Cope, or whateveryour name happens to be—I'm waiting to hear from you."

Egan nodded. "Back in the 'eighties I was teller in a bank in Melbourne,Australia," he said. "One day a young man came to my window—Williams orsome such name he called himself. He had a green hide bag full of goldpieces—Mexican, Spanish and English coins, some of them crusted withdirt—and he wanted to exchange them for bank-notes. I made the exchangefor him. He appeared several times with similar bags, and thetransaction was repeated. I thought little of it at the time, though thefact that he tried to give me a large tip did rather rouse my suspicion.

"A year later, when I had left the bank and gone to Sydney, I heardrumors of what Dan Winterslip had done on the Maid of Shiloh. Itoccurred to me that Williams and Winterslip were probably the same man.But no one seemed to be prosecuting the case, the general feeling wasthat it was blood money anyhow, that Tom Brade had not come by ithonestly himself. So I said nothing.

"Twelve years later I came to Hawaii, and Dan Winterslip was pointed outto me. He was Williams, right enough. And he knew me, too. But I'm not ablack-mailer—I've been in some tight places, Arthur, but I've alwaysplayed fair—so I let the matter drop. For more than twenty yearsnothing happened.

"Then, a few months ago, my family located me at last, and Arthur herewrote me that he was coming to Honolulu and would look me up. I'd alwaysfelt that I'd not done the right thing by my girl—that she was nottaking the place in the world to which she was entitled. I wanted her tovisit my old mother and get a bit of English training. I wrote to Arthurand it was arranged. But I couldn't let her go as a charity child—Icouldn't admit I'd failed and was unable to do anything for her—I saidI'd pay her way. And I—I didn't have a cent.

"And then Brade came. It seemed providential. I might have sold myinformation to him, but when I talked with him I found he had verylittle money, and I felt that Winterslip would beat him in the end. No,Winterslip was my man—Winterslip with his rotten wealth. I don't knowjust what happened—I was quite mad, I fancy—the world owed me that, Ifigured, just for my girl, not for me. I called Winterslip up and madean appointment for that Monday night.

"But somehow—the standards of a lifetime—it's difficult to change. Themoment I had called him, I regretted it. I tried to slip out of it—Itold myself there must be some other way—perhaps I could sell the Reefand Palm—anyhow, I called him again and said I wasn't coming. But heinsisted, and I went.

"I didn't have to tell him what I wanted. He knew. He had a check readyfor me—a check for five thousand dollars. It was Cary's happiness, herchance. I took it, and came away—but I was ashamed. I'm not trying toexcuse my action; however, I don't believe I would ever have cashed it.When Cary found it in my desk and brought it to me, I tore it up.That's all." He turned his tired eyes toward his daughter. "I did it foryou, Cary, but I didn't want you to know." She went over and put her armabout his shoulder, and stood smiling down at him through her tears.

"If you'd told us that in the first place," said Greene, "you could havesaved everybody a lot of trouble, yourself included."

Cope stood up. "Well, Mr. Prosecutor, there you are. You're not going tohold him now?"

Greene rose briskly. "No. I'll arrange for his release at once." He andEgan went out together, then Hallet and Cope. John Quincy held out hishand to Carlota Egan—for by that name he thought of her still.

"I'm mighty glad for you," he said.

"You'll come and see me soon?" she asked. "You'll find a very differentgirl. More like the one you met on the Oakland ferry."

"She was very charming," John Quincy replied. "But then, she was boundto be—she had your eyes." He suddenly remembered Agatha Parker."However, you've got your father now," he added. "You won't need me."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I wonder," she said, and went out.

John Quincy turned to Chan. "Well, that's that," he remarked. "Where arewe now?"

"Speaking personally for myself," grinned Chan, "I am static in sameplace as usual. Never did have fondly feeling for Egan theory."

"But Hallet did," John Quincy answered. "A black morning for him."

In the small anteroom they encountered the Captain of Detectives. Heappeared disgruntled.

"We were just remarking," said John Quincy pleasantly, "that there goesyour little old Egan theory. What have you left?"

"Oh, I've got plenty," growled Hallet.

"Yes, you have. One by one your clues have gone up in smoke. The pagefrom the guest book, the brooch, the torn newspaper, the ohia wood box,and now Egan and the Corsican cigarette."

"Oh, Egan isn't out of it. We may not be able to hold him, but I'm notforgetting Mr. Egan."

"Nonsense," smiled John Quincy. "I asked what you had left. A littlebutton from a glove—useless. The glove was destroyed long ago. A wristwatch with an illuminated dial and a damaged numeral two—"

Chan's amber eyes narrowed. "Essential clue," he murmured. "Remember howI said it."

Hallet banged his fist on a table. "That's it—the wrist watch! If theperson who wore it knows any one saw it, it's probably where we'll neverfind it now. But we've kept it pretty dark—perhaps he doesn't know.That's our only chance." He turned to Chan. "I've combed these islandsonce hunting that watch," he cried, "now I'm going to start all overagain. The jewelry stores, the pawn shops, every nook and corner. You goout, Charlie, and start the ball rolling."

Chan moved with alacrity despite his weight. "I will give it onepowerful push," he promised, and disappeared.

"Well, good luck," said John Quincy, moving on.

Hallet grunted. "You tell that aunt of yours I'm pretty sore," heremarked. He was not in the mood for elegance of diction.

John Quincy's opportunity to deliver the message did not come at lunch,for Miss Minerva remained with Barbara in the city. After dinner thatevening he led his aunt out to sit on the bench under the hau tree.

"By the way," he said, "Captain Hallet is very much annoyed with you."

"I'm very much annoyed with Captain Hallet," she replied, "so that makesus even. What's his particular grievance now?"

"He believes you knew all the time the name of the man who dropped thatCorsican cigarette."

She was silent for a moment. "Not all the time," she said at length."What has happened?"

John Quincy sketched briefly the events of the morning at the policestation. When he had finished he looked at her inquiringly.

"In the first excitement I didn't remember, or I should have spoken,"she explained. "It was several days before the thing came to me. I sawit clearly then—Arthur—Captain Cope—tossing that cigarette aside aswe reentered the house. But I said nothing about it."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought it would be a good test for the police. Let themdiscover it for themselves."

"That's a pretty weak explanation," remarked John Quincy severely."You've been responsible for a lot of wasted time."

"It—it wasn't my only reason," said Miss Minerva softly.

"Oh—I'm glad to hear that. Go on."

"Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to link up that call of Captain Cope'swith—a murder mystery."

Another silence. And suddenly—he was never dense—John Quincyunderstood.

"He told me you were very beautiful in the 'eighties," said the boygently. "The captain, I mean. When I met him in that San Franciscoclub."

Miss Minerva laid her own hand on the boy's. When she spoke her voice,which he had always thought firm and sharp, trembled a little. "On thisbeach in my girl-hood," she said, "happiness was within my grasp. I hadonly to reach out and take it. But somehow—Boston—Boston held me back.I let my happiness slip away."

"Not too late yet," suggested John Quincy.

She shook her head. "So he tried to tell me that Monday afternoon. Butthere was something in his tone—I may be in Hawaii, but I'm not quitemad. Youth, John Quincy, youth doesn't return, whatever they may say outhere." She pressed his hand, and stood. "If your chance comes, dearboy," she added, "don't be such a fool."

She moved hastily away through the garden, and John Quincy looked afterher with a new affection in his eyes.

Presently he saw the yellow glare of a match beyond the wire. Amosagain, still loitering under his algaroba tree. John Quincy rose andstrolled over to him.

"Hello, Cousin Amos," he said. "When are you going to take down thisfence?"

"Oh, I'll get round to it some time," Amos answered. "By the way, Iwanted to ask you. Any new developments?"

"Several," John Quincy told him. "But nothing that gets us anywhere. Sofar as I can see, the case has blown up completely."

"Well, I've been thinking it over," Amos said. "Maybe that would be thebest outcome, after all. Suppose they do discover who did for Dan—itmay only reveal a new scandal, worse than any of the others."

"I'll take a chance on that," replied John Quincy. "For my part, Iintend to see this thing through—"

Haku came briskly through the garden. "Cable message for Mr. John QuincyWinterslip. Boy say collect. Requests money."

John Quincy followed quickly to the front door. A bored small boyawaited him. He paid the sum due and tore open the cable. It was signedby the postmaster at Des Moines, and it read:

"No one named Saladine ever heard of here."

John Quincy dashed to the telephone. Some one on duty at the stationinformed him that Chan had gone home, and gave him an address onPunchbowl Hill. He got out the roadster, and in five minutes more wasspeeding toward the city.

CHAPTER XIX

"GOOD-BY, PETE!"

Charlie Chan lived in a bungalow that clung precariously to the side ofPunchbowl Hill. Pausing a moment at the Chinaman's gate, John Quincylooked down on Honolulu, one great gorgeous garden set in anamphitheater of mountains. A beautiful picture, but he had no time forbeauty now. He hurried up the brief walk that lay in the shadow of thepalm trees.

A Chinese woman—a servant, she seemed—ushered him into Chan'sdimly-lighted living-room. The detective was seated at a table playingchess; he rose with dignity when he saw his visitor. In this, his hourof ease, he wore a long loose robe of dark purple silk, which fittedclosely at the neck and had wide sleeves. Beneath it showed widetrousers of the same material, and on his feet were shoes of silk, withthick felt soles. He was all Oriental now, suave and ingratiating butremote, and for the first time John Quincy was really conscious of thegreat gulf across which he and Chan shook hands.

"You do my lowly house immense honor," Charlie said. "This proud momentare made still more proud by opportunity to introduce my eldest son." Hemotioned for his opponent at chess to step forward, a slim sallow boywith amber eyes—Chan himself before he put on weight. "Mr. John QuincyWinterslip, of Boston, kindly condescend to notice Henry Chan. When youappear I am giving him lesson at chess so he may play in such manner asnot to tarnish honored name."

The boy bowed low; evidently he was one member of the younger generationwho had a deep respect for his elders. John Quincy also bowed. "Yourfather is my very good friend," he said. "And from now on, you are too."

Chan beamed with pleasure. "Condescend to sit on this atrocious chair.Is it possible you bring news?"

"It certainly is," smiled John Quincy. He handed over the message fromthe postmaster at Des Moines.

"Most interesting," said Chan. "Do I hear impressive chug of richautomobile engine in street?"

"Yes, I came in the car," John Quincy replied.

"Good. We will hasten at once to home of Captain Hallet, not far away. Ibeg of you to pardon my disappearance while I don more appropriatecostume."

Left alone with the boy, John Quincy sought a topic of conversation."Play baseball?" he asked.

The boy's eyes glowed. "Not very good, but I hope to improve. My cousinWillie Chan is great expert at that game. He has promised to teach me."

John Quincy glanced about the room. On the back wall hung a scroll withfelicitations, the gift of some friend of the family at New Year's.Opposite him, on another wall, was a single picture, painted on silk,representing a bird on an apple bough. Charmed by its simplicity, hewent over to examine it. "That's beautiful," he said.

"Quoting old Chinese saying, a picture is a voiceless poem," replied theboy.

Beneath the picture stood a square table, flanked by straight,low-backed armchairs. On other elaborately carved teakwood standsdistributed about the room were blue and white vases, porcelain winejars, dwarfed trees. Pale golden lanterns hung from the ceiling; asoft-toned rug lay on the floor. John Quincy felt again the gulf betweenhimself and Charlie Chan.

But when the detective returned, he wore the conventional garb of LosAngeles or Detroit, and the gulf did not seem so wide. They went outtogether and entering the roadster, drove to Hallet's house on IolaniAvenue.

The captain lolled in pajamas on his lanai. He greeted his callers withinterest.

"You boys are out late," he said. "Something doing?"

"Certainly is," replied John Quincy, taking a proffered chair. "There'sa man named Saladine—"

At mention of the name, Hallet looked at him keenly. John Quincy went onto tell what he knew of Saladine, his alleged place of residence, hisbusiness, the tragedy of the lost teeth.

"Some time ago we got on to the fact that every time Kaohla figured inthe investigation, Saladine was interested. He managed to be at the deskof the Reef and Palm the day Kaohla inquired for Brade. On the nightKaohla was questioned by your men, Miss Egan saw Mr. Saladine crouchingoutside the window. So Charlie and I thought it a good scheme to send acable of inquiry to the postmaster at Des Moines, where Saladine claimedto be in the wholesale grocery business." He handed an envelope toHallet. "That answer arrived to-night," he added.

An odd smile had appeared on Hallet's usually solemn face. He took thecable and read it, then slowly tore it into bits.

"Forget it, boys," he said calmly.

"Wha—what!" gasped John Quincy.

"I said forget it. I like your enterprise, but you're on the wrong trailthere."

John Quincy was greatly annoyed. "I demand an explanation," he cried.

"I can't give it to you," Hallet answered. "You'll have to take my wordfor it."

"I've taken your word for a good many things," said John Quincy hotly."This begins to look rather suspicious to me. Are you trying to shieldsomebody?"

Hallet rose and laid his hand on John Quincy's shoulder. "I've had ahard day," he remarked, "and I'm not going to get angry with you. I'mnot trying to shield anybody. I'm as anxious as you are to discover whokilled Dan Winterslip. More anxious, perhaps."

"Yet when we bring you evidence you tear it up—"

"Bring me the right evidence," said Hallet. "Bring me that wrist watch.I can promise you action then."

John Quincy was impressed by the sincerity in his tone. But he was sadlypuzzled, too. "All right," he said, "that's that. I'm sorry if we'vetroubled you with this trivial matter—"

"Don't talk like that," Hallet broke in. "I'm glad of your help. But asfar as Mr. Saladine is concerned—" he looked at Chan—"let him alone."

Chan bowed. "You are undisputable chief," he replied.

They went back to Punchbowl Hill in the roadster, both rather dejected.As Chan alighted at his gate, John Quincy spoke: "Well, I'm pau.Saladine was my last hope."

The Chinaman stared for a moment at the moonlit Pacific that lay beyondthe water-front lamps. "Stone wall surround us," he said dreamily. "Butwe circle about, seeking loophole. Moment of discovery will come."

"I wish I thought so," replied John Quincy.

Chan smiled. "Patience are a very lovely virtue," he remarked. "Seemthat way to me. But maybe that are my Oriental mind. Your race, Iperceive, regard patience with ever-swelling disfavor."

It was with swelling disfavor that John Quincy regarded it as he droveback to Waikiki. Yet he had great need of patience in the daysimmediately following. For nothing happened.

The forty-eight-hour period given him to leave Hawaii expired, but thewriter of that threatening letter failed to come forward and relieve thetedium. Thursday arrived, a calm day like the others; Thursday night,peaceful and serene.

On Friday afternoon Agatha Parker broke the monotony by a cable sentfrom the Wyoming ranch.

"You must be quite mad. I find the West crude and impossible."

John Quincy smiled; he could picture her as she wrote it, proud,haughty, unyielding. She must have been popular with the man whotransmitted the message. Or was he, too, an exile from the East?

And perhaps the girl was right. Perhaps he was mad, after all. He sat onDan Winterslip's lanai, trying to think things out. Boston, the office,the art gallery, the theaters. The Common on a winter's day, with theair bracing and full of life. The thrill of a new issue of bonds, likethe thrill of a theatrical first night—would it get over big or flop athis feet? Tennis at Longwood, long evenings on the Charles, golf withpeople of his own kind at Magnolia. Tea out of exquisite cups in dim olddrawing-rooms. Wasn't he mad to think of giving up all that? But whathad Miss Minerva said? "If your chance ever comes—"

The problem was a big one, and big problems were annoying out here wherethe lotus grew. He yawned, and went aimlessly down-town. Drifting intothe public library, he saw Charlie Chan hunched over a table that heldan enormous volume. John Quincy went closer. The book was made up ofback numbers of the Honolulu morning paper, and it was open at atime-yellowed sporting page.

"Hello, Chan. What are you up to?"

The Chinaman gave him a smile of greeting. "Hello. Little bit ofcareless reading while I gallop about seeking loophole." He closed thebig volume casually. "You seem in the best of health."

"Oh, I'm all right."

"No more fierce shots out of bushes?"

"Not a trigger pulled. I imagine that was a big bluff—nothing more."

"What do you say—bluff?"

"I mean the fellow's a coward, after all."

Chan shook his head solemnly. "Pardon humble suggestion—do not losecarefulness. Hot heads plenty in hot climate."

"I'll look before I leap," John Quincy promised. "But I'm afraid Iinterrupted you."

"Ridiculous thought," protested Chan.

"I'll go along. Let me know if anything breaks."

"Most certainly. Up to present, everything are intact."

John Quincy paused at the door of the reference room Charlie Chan hadpromptly opened the big book, and was again bending over it with everyshow of interest.

Returning to Waikiki, John Quincy faced a dull evening. Barbara had goneto the island of Kauai for a visit with old friends of the family. Hehad not been sorry when she went, for he didn't feel quite at ease inher presence. The estrangement between the girl and Jennison continued;the lawyer had not been at the dock to see her off. Yes, John Quincy hadparted from her gladly, but her absence cast a pall of loneliness overthe house on Kalia Road.

After dinner, he sat with his pipe on the lanai. Down the beach at theReef and Palm pleasant company was available—but he hesitated. He hadseen Carlota Egan several times by day, on the beach or in the water.She was very happy now, though somewhat appalled at thought of herapproaching visit to England. They'd had several talks aboutthat—daylight talks. John Quincy was a bit afraid to entrusthimself—as Chan had said in speaking of his stone idol—of an evening.After all, there was Agatha, there was Boston. There was Barbara, too.Being entangled with three girls at once was a rather wearingexperience. He rose, and went down-town to the movies.

On Saturday morning he was awakened early by the whir of aeroplanesabove the house. The American fleet was in the offing, and the littlebrothers of the air service hastened out to hover overhead in friendlywelcome. That day a spirit of carnival prevailed in Honolulu, flagsfloated from every masthead, and the streets bloomed, as Barbara hadpredicted, with handsome boys in spotless uniforms. They wereeverywhere, swarming in the souvenir stores, besieging the sodafountains, sky-larking on the trolley-cars. Evening brought a great ballat the beach hotel, and John Quincy, out for a walk, saw that every spicand span uniform moved toward Waikiki, accompanied by a fair young thingwho was only too happy to serve as sweetheart in that particular port.

John Quincy felt, suddenly, rather out of things. Each pretty girl hesaw recalled Carlota Egan. He turned his wandering footsteps toward theReef and Palm, and oddly enough, his pace quickened at once.

The proprietor himself was behind the desk, his eyes calm and untroublednow.

"Good evening, Mr. Egan—or should I say Mr. Cope," remarked JohnQuincy.

"Oh, we'll stick to the Egan, I guess," the man replied. "Sort of gotout of the hang of the other. Mr. Winterslip, I'm happy to see you. Carywill be down in a moment."

John Quincy gazed about the big public room. It was a scene ofconfusion, spattered ladders, buckets of paint, rolls of new wall-paper."What's going on?" he inquired.

"Freshening things up a bit," Egan answered. "You know, we're in societynow." He laughed. "Yes, sir, the old Reef and Palm has been standinghere a long time without so much as a glance from the better element ofHonolulu. But now they know I'm related to the British Admiralty,they've suddenly discovered it's a quaint and interesting place. They'redropping in for tea. Just fancy. But that's Honolulu."

"That's Boston, too," John Quincy assured him.

"Yes—and precisely the sort of thing I ran away from England to escape,a good many years ago. I'd tell them all to go to the devil—but there'sCary. Somehow, women feel differently about those things. It will warmher heart a bit to have these dowagers smile upon her. And they'resmiling—you know, they've even dug up the fact that my Cousin Georgehas been knighted for making a particularly efficient brand of soap." Hegrimaced. "It's nothing I'd have mentioned myself—a family skeleton, asI see it. But society has odd standards. And I mustn't be hard on poorold George. As Arthur says, making soap is good clean fun."

"Is your brother still with you?"

"No. He's gone back to finish his job in the Fanning Group. When hereturns, I'm sending Cary to England for a long stop. Yes, that'sright—I'm sending her," he added quickly. "I'm paying for theserepairs, too. You see, I've been able to add a second mortgage to theone already on the poor tottering Reef and Palm. That's another outcomeof my new-found connection with the British Admiralty and the silly oldsoap business. Here's Cary now."

John Quincy turned. And he was glad he had, for he would not willinglyhave missed the picture of Carlota on the stairs. Carlota in an eveninggown of some shimmering material, her dark hair dressed in a new andamazingly effective way, her white shoulders gleaming, her eyes happy atlast. As she came quickly toward him he caught his breath, never had heseen her look so beautiful. She must have heard his voice in the office,he reflected, and with surprising speed arrayed herself thus to greethim. He was deeply grateful as he took her hand.

"Stranger," she rebuked. "We thought you'd deserted us."

"I'd never do that," he answered. "But I've been rather busy—"

A step sounded behind him. He turned, and there stood one of thoseubiquitous navy boys, a tall, blond Adonis who held his cap in his handand smiled in a devastating way.

"Hello, Johnnie," Carlota said. "Mr. Winterslip, of Boston, this isLieutenant Booth, of Richmond, Virginia."

"How are you," nodded the boy, without removing his eyes from the girl'sface. Just one of the guests, this Winterslip, no account at all—suchwas obviously the lieutenant's idea. "All ready, Cary? The car'soutside."

"I'm frightfully sorry, Mr. Winterslip," said the girl, "but we're offto the dance. This week-end belongs to the navy, you know. You'll comeagain, won't you?"

"Of course," John Quincy replied. "Don't let me keep you."

She smiled at him and fled with Johnnie at her side. Looking after them,John Quincy felt his heart sink to his boots, an unaccountable sensationof age and helplessness. Youth, youth was going through that door, andhe was left behind.

"A great pity she had to run," said Egan in a kindly voice.

"Why, that's all right," John Quincy assured him. "Old friend of thefamily, this Lieutenant Booth?"

"Not at all. Just a lad Cary met at parties in San Francisco. Won't yousit down and have a smoke with me?"

"Some other time, thanks," John Quincy said wearily. "I must hurry backto the house."

He wanted to escape, to get out into the calm lovely night, the nightthat was ruined for him now. He walked along the beach, savagely kickinghis toes into the white sand. "Johnnie!" She had called him Johnnie.And the way she had looked at him, too! Again John Quincy felt thatsharp pang in his heart. Foolish, foolish; better go back to Boston andforget. Peaceful old Boston, that was where he belonged. He was an oldman out here—thirty, nearly. Better go away and leave these children tolove and the moonlit beach.

Miss Minerva had gone in the big car to call on friends, and the housewas quiet as the tomb. John Quincy wandered aimlessly about the rooms,gloomy and bereft. Down at the Moana an Hawaiian orchestra was playingand Lieutenant Booth, of Richmond, was holding Carlota close in theintimate manner affected these days by the young. Bah! If he hadn't beenordered to leave Hawaii, by gad, he'd go to-morrow.

The telephone rang. None of the servants appeared to answer it, so JohnQuincy went himself.

"Charlie Chan speaking," said a voice. "That is you, Mr. Winterslip?Good. Big events will come to pass very quick. Meet me drug and groceryemporium of Liu Yin, number 927 River Street, soon as you can do so. Yousavvy locality?"

"I'll find it," cried John Quincy, delighted.

"By bank of stream. I will await. Good-by."

Action—action at last! John Quincy's heart beat fast. Action was whathe wanted to-night. As usually happens in a crisis, there was noautomobile available; the roadster was at a garage undergoing repairs,and the other car was in use. He hastened over to Kalakaua Avenueintending to rent a machine, but a trolley approaching at the momentaltered his plans and he swung aboard.

Never had a trolley moved at so reluctant a pace. When they reached thecorner of Fort Street in the center of the city, he left it andproceeded on foot. The hour was still fairly early, but the scene wasone of somnolent calm. A couple of tourists drifted aimlessly by. Aboutthe bright doorway of a shooting gallery loitered a group of soldiersfrom the fort, with a sprinkling of enlisted navy men. John Quincyhurried on down King Street, past Chinese noodle cafés and pawn shops,and turned presently off into River Street.

On his left was the river, on his right an array of shabby stores. Hepaused at the door of number 927, the establishment of Liu Yin. Inside,seated behind a screen that revealed only their heads, a number ofChinese were engrossed in a friendly little game. John Quincy opened thedoor; a bell tinkled, and he stepped into an odor of must and decay.Curious sights met his quick eye, dried roots and herbs, jars ofsea-horse skeletons, dejected ducks flattened out and varnished to temptthe palate, gobbets of pork. An old Chinaman rose and came forward.

"I'm looking for Mr. Charlie Chan," said John Quincy.

The old man nodded and led the way to a red curtain across the rear ofthe shop. He lifted it, and indicated that John Quincy was to pass. Theboy did so, and came into a bare room furnished with a cot, a table onwhich an oil lamp burned dimly behind a smoky chimney, and a couple ofchairs. A man who had been sitting on one of the chairs rose suddenly; ahuge red-haired man with the smell of the sea about him.

"Hello," he said.

"Is Mr. Chan here?" John Quincy inquired.

"Not yet. He'll be along in a minute. What say to a drink while we'rewaiting. Hey, Liu, a coupla glasses that rotten rice wine!"

The Chinaman withdrew. "Sit down," said the man. John Quincy obeyed; thesailor sat too. One of his eye-lids drooped wickedly; he rested hishands on the table—enormous hairy hands. "Charlie'll be here prettyquick," he said. "Then I got a little story to tell the two of you."

"Yes?" John Quincy replied. He glanced about the little vile-smellingroom. There was a door, a closed door, at the back. He looked again atthe red-haired man. He wondered how he was going to get out of there.

For he knew now that Charlie Chan had not called him on the telephone.It came to him belatedly that the voice was never Charlie's. "You savvylocality?" the voice had said. A clumsy attempt at Chan's style, butChan was a student of English; he dragged his words painfully from thepoets; he was careful to use nothing that savored of "pidgin." No, thedetective had not telephoned; he was no doubt at home now bending overhis chess-board, and here was John Quincy shut up in a little room onthe fringe of the River District with a husky sailorman who leered athim knowingly.

The old Chinaman returned with two small glasses into which the liquorhad already been poured. He set them on the table. The red-haired manlifted one of them. "Your health, sir," he said.

John Quincy took up the other glass and raised it to his lips. There wasa suspicious eagerness in the sailor's one good eye. John Quincy put theglass back on the table. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want a drink,thank you."

The great face with its stubble of red beard leaned close to his. "Y'mean you won't drink with me?" said the red-haired man belligerently.

"That's just what I mean," John Quincy answered. Might as well get itover with, he felt; anything was better than this suspense. He stood up."I'll be going along," he announced.

He took a step toward the red curtain. The sailor, evidently a fellow offew words, rose and got in his way. John Quincy, himself feeling thefutility of talk, said nothing, but struck the man in the face. Thesailor struck back with efficiency and promptness. In another second theroom was full of battle, and John Quincy saw red everywhere, redcurtain, red hair, red lamp flame, great red hairy hands cunninglyseeking his face. What was it Roger had said? "Ever fought with a ship'sofficer—the old-fashioned kind with fists like flying hams?" No, hehadn't up to then, but that sweet experience was his now, and it came toJohn Quincy pleasantly that he was doing rather well at his new trade.

This was better than the attic; here he was prepared and had a chance.Time and again he got his hands on the red curtain, only to be draggedback and subjected to a new attack. The sailor was seeking to knock himout, and though many of his blows went home, that happy result—from thestandpoint of the red-haired man—was unaccountably delayed. John Quincyhad a similar aim in life; they lunged noisily about the room, while thesurprising Orientals in the front of the shop continued their quietgame.

John Quincy felt himself growing weary; his breath came painfully; herealized that his adversary had not yet begun to fight. Standing withhis back to the table in an idle moment while the red-haired man madeplans for the future, the boy hit on a plan of his own. He overturnedthe table; the lamp crashed down; darkness fell over the world. In thefinal glimmer of light he saw the big man coming for him and dropping tohis knees he tackled in the approved manner of Soldiers' Field,Cambridge, Massachusetts. Culture prevailed; the sailor went on his headwith a resounding thump; John Quincy let go of him and sought thenearest exit. It happened to be the door at the rear, and it wasunlocked.

He passed hurriedly through a cluttered back yard and climbing a fence,found himself in the neighborhood known as the River District. There incrazy alleys that have no names, no sidewalks, no beginning and no end,five races live together in the dark. Some houses were above the walklevel, some below, all were out of alignment. John Quincy felt he hadwandered into a futurist drawing. As he paused he heard the whine andclatter of Chinese music, the clicking of a typewriter, the rasp of acheap phonograph playing American jazz, the distant scream of an autohorn, a child wailing Japanese lamentations. Footsteps in the yardbeyond the fence roused him, and he fled.

He must get out of this mystic maze of mean alleys, and at once. Oddpainted faces loomed in the dusk: pasty-white faces with just asuggestion of queer costumes beneath. A babel of tongues, queer eyesthat glittered, once a lean hand on his arm. A group of moon-facedChinese children under a lamp who scattered at his approach. And when hepaused again, out of breath, the patter of many feet, bare feet,sandaled feet, the clatter of wooden clogs, the squeak of cheap shoesmade in his own Massachusetts. Then suddenly the thump of large feetsuch as might belong to a husky sailor. He moved on.

Presently he came into the comparative quiet of River Street, andrealized that he had traveled in a circle, for there was Liu Yin's shopagain. As he hurried on toward King Street, he saw, over his shoulder,that the red-haired man still followed. A big touring car, with curtainsdrawn, waited by the curb. John Quincy leaped in beside the driver.

"Get out of here, quick!" he panted.

A sleepy Japanese face looked at him through the gloom. "Busy now."

"I don't care if you are—" began John Quincy, and glanced down at oneof the man's arms resting on the wheel. His heart stood still. In thedusk he saw a wrist watch with an illuminated dial, and the numeral twowas very dim.

Even as he looked, strong hands seized him by the collar and dragged himinto the dark tonneau. At the same instant, the red-haired man arrived.

"Got him, Mike? Say, that's luck!" He leaped into the rear of the car.Quick able work went forward, John Quincy's hands were bound behind hisback, a vile-tasting gag was put in his mouth. "Damned if this birddidn't land me one in the eye," said the red-haired man. "I'll pay himfor it when we get aboard. Hey you—Pier 78. Show us some speed!"

The car leaped forward. John Quincy lay on the dusty floor, bound andhelpless. To the docks? But he wasn't thinking of that, he was thinkingof the watch on the driver's wrist.

A brief run, and they halted in the shadow of a pier-shed. John Quincywas lifted and propelled none too gently from the car. His cheek wasjammed against one of the buttons holding the side curtain, and he hadsufficient presence of mind to catch the gag on it and loosen it. Asthey left the car he tried to get a glimpse of its license plate, but hewas able to ascertain only the first two figures—33—before it spedaway.

His two huge chaperons hurried him along the dock. Some distance off hesaw a little group of men, three in white uniforms, one in a darkergarb. The latter was smoking a pipe. John Quincy's heart leaped. Hemaneuvered the loosened gag with his teeth, so that it dropped about hiscollar. "Good-by, Pete!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, andlaunched at once into a terrific struggle to break away from hisstartled captors.

There was a moment's delay, and then the clatter of feet along the dock.A stocky boy in a white uniform began an enthusiastic debate with Mike,and the other two were prompt to claim the attention of the red-hairedman. Pete Mayberry was at John Quincy's back, cutting the rope on hiswrists.

"Well, I'll be damned, Mr. Winterslip," he cried.

"Same here," laughed John Quincy. "Shanghaied in another minute but foryou." He leaped forward to join the battle, but the red-haired man andhis friend had already succumbed to youth and superior forces, and werein full retreat. John Quincy followed joyously along the dock, andplanted his fist back of his old adversary's ear. The sailor staggered,but regained his balance and went on.

John Quincy returned to his rescuers. "The last blow is the sweetest,"he remarked.

"I can place those guys," said Mayberry. "They're off that tramp steamerthat's been lying out in the harbor the past week. An opium runner, I'llgamble on it. You go to the police station right away—"

"Yes," said John Quincy, "I must. But I want to thank you, Mr. Mayberry.And"—he turned to the white uniforms—"you fellows too."

The stocky lad was picking up his cap. "Why, that's all right," he said."A real pleasure, if you ask me. But look here, old timer," he added,addressing Mayberry, "how about your Honolulu water-front and its lostromance? You go tell that to the marines."

As John Quincy hurried away Pete Mayberry was busily explaining that thething was unheard of—not in twenty years—maybe more than that—hisvoice died in the distance.

Hallet was in his room, and John Quincy detailed his evening'sadventure. The captain was incredulous, but when the boy came to thewrist watch on the driver of the car, he sat up and took notice.

"Now you're talking," he cried. "I'll start the force after that carto-night. First two figures 33, you say. I'll send somebody aboard thattramp, too. They can't get away with stuff like that around here."

"Oh, never mind them," said John Quincy magnanimously. "Concentrate onthe watch."

Back in the quiet town he walked with his head up, his heart full of thejoy of battle. And while he thought of it, he stepped into the cableoffice. The message he sent was addressed to Agatha Parker on thatWyoming ranch. "San Francisco or nothing," was all it said.

As he walked down the deserted street on his way to the corner to waitfor his trolley, he heard quick footsteps on his trail again. Who now?He was sore and weary, a bit fed up on fighting for one evening. Hequickened his pace. The steps quickened too. He went even faster. Sodid his pursuer. Oh, well, might as well stop and face him.

John Quincy turned. A young man rushed up, a lean young man in a cap.

"Mr. Winterslip, ain't it?" He thrust a dark brown object into JohnQuincy's hand. "Your July Atlantic, sir. Came in on the Maui thismorning."

"Oh," said John Quincy limply. "Well, I'll take it. My aunt might liketo look at it. Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir," said the newsman, touching his cap.

John Quincy rode out to Waikiki on the last seat of the car. His facewas swollen and cut, every muscle ached. Under his arm, clasped tightly,he held the July Atlantic. But he didn't so much as look at the tableof contents. "We move, we advance," he told himself exultantly. For hehad seen the watch with the illuminated dial—the dial on which thenumeral two was very dim.

CHAPTER XX

THE STORY OF LAU HO

Early Sunday morning John Quincy was awakened by a sharp knock on hisdoor. Rising sleepily and donning dressing-gown and slippers, he openedit to admit his Aunt Minerva. She had a worried air.

"Are you all right, John Quincy?" she inquired.

"Surely. That is, I would be if I hadn't been dragged out of bed a fullhour before I intended to get up."

"I'm sorry, but I had to have a look at you." She took a newspaper fromunder her arm and handed it to him. "What's all this?"

An eight-column head on the first page caught even John Quincy's sleepyeye. "Boston Man has Strange Adventure on Water-Front." Smaller headsannounced that Mr. John Quincy Winterslip had been rescued from anunwelcome trip to China, "in the nick of time" by three midshipmen fromthe Oregon. Poor Pete Mayberry! He had been the real hero of theaffair, but his own paper would not come out again until Monday evening,and rivals had beaten him to the story.

John Quincy yawned. "All true, my dear," he said. "I was on the verge ofleaving you when the navy saved me. Life, you perceive, has become amusical comedy."

"But why should any one want to shanghai you?" cried Miss Minerva.

"Ah, I hoped you'd ask me that. It happens that your nephew has abrain. His keen analytical work as a detective is getting some one'sgoat. He admitted as much in a letter he sent me the night he took a fewshots at my head."

"Some one shot at you!" gasped Miss Minerva.

"I'll say so. You rather fancy yourself as a sleuth, but is anybodytaking aim at you from behind bushes? Answer me that."

Miss Minerva sat down weakly on a chair. "You're going home on the nextboat," she announced.

He laughed. "About two weeks ago I made that suggestion to you. And whatwas your reply? Ah, my dear, the tables are turned. I'm not going homeon the next boat. I may never go home. This gay, care-free, suddencountry begins to appeal to me. Let me read about myself."

He returned to the paper. "The clock was turned back thirty years on theHonolulu water-front last night," began the somewhat imaginativeaccount. It closed with the news that the tramp steamer Mary S.Allison had left port before the police could board her. Evidentlyshe'd had steam up and papers ready, and was only awaiting the return ofthe red-haired man and his victim. John Quincy handed the newspaper backto his aunt.

"Too bad," he remarked. "They slipped through Hallet's fingers."

"Of course they did," she snapped. "Everybody does. I'd like a talk withCaptain Hallet. If I could only tell him what I think of him, I'd feelbetter."

"Save that paper," John Quincy said. "I want to send it to mother."

She stared at him. "Are you mad? Poor Grace—she'd have a nervousbreakdown. I only hope she doesn't hear of this until you're back inBoston safe and sound."

"Oh, yes—Boston," laughed John Quincy. "Quaint old town, they tell me.I must visit there some day. Now if you'll leave me a minute, I'llprepare to join you at breakfast and relate the story of my adventurouslife."

"Very well," agreed Miss Minerva, rising. She paused at the door. "Alittle witch-hazel might help your face."

"The scars of honorable battle," said her nephew. "Why remove them?"

"Honorable fiddlesticks," Miss Minerva answered. "After all, the BackBay has its good points." But in the hall outside she smiled a delightedlittle smile.

When John Quincy and his aunt were leaving the dining-room afterbreakfast Kamaikui, stiff and dignified in a freshly-laundered holoku,approached the boy.

"So very happy to see you safe this morning," she announced.

"Why, thank you, Kamaikui," he answered. He wondered. Was Kaohlaresponsible for his troubles, and if so, did this huge silent woman knowof her grandson's activities?

"Poor thing," Miss Minerva said as they entered the living-room. "She'sbeen quite downcast since Dan went. I'm sorry for her. I've always likedher."

"Naturally," smiled John Quincy. "There's a bond between you."

"What's that?"

"Two vanishing races, yours and hers. The Boston Brahman and the pureHawaiian."

Later in the morning Carlota Egan telephoned him, greatly excited. Shehad just seen the Sunday paper.

"All true," he admitted. "While you were dancing your heart out, I wasstruggling to sidestep a Cook's tour of the Orient."

"I shouldn't have had a happy moment if I'd known."

"Then I'm glad you didn't. Big party, I suppose?"

"Yes. You know, I've been terribly worried about you ever since thatnight on the avenue. I want to talk with you. Will you come to see me?"

"Will I? I'm on my way already."

He hung up the receiver and hastened down the beach. Carlota was sittingon the white sand not far from the Reef and Palm, all in white herself.A serious wide-eyed Carlota quite different from the gay girl who hadbeen hurrying to a party the night before.

John Quincy dropped down beside her, and for a time they talked of thedance and of his adventure. Suddenly she turned to him.

"I have no right to ask it, I know, but—I want you to do something forme."

"It will make me very happy—anything you ask."

"Go back to Boston."

"What! Not that. I was wrong—that wouldn't make me happy."

"Yes, it would. You don't think so now, perhaps. You're dazzled by thesun out here, but this isn't your kind of place. We're not your kind ofpeople. You think you like us, but you'd soon forget. Back among yourown sort—the sort who are interested in the things that interest you.Please go."

"It would be retreating under fire," he objected.

"But you proved your courage, last night. I'm afraid for you. Some oneout here has a terrible grudge against you. I'd never forgive Hawaiiif—if anything happened to you."

"That's sweet of you." He moved closer. But—confound it—there wasAgatha. Bound to Agatha by all the ties of honor. He edged away again."I'll think about it," he agreed.

"I'm leaving Honolulu too, you know," she reminded him.

"I know. You'll have a wonderful time in England."

She shook her head. "Oh, I dread the whole idea. Dad's heart is set onit, and I shall go to please him. But I shan't enjoy it. I'm not up toEngland."

"Nonsense."

"No, I'm not. I'm unsophisticated—crude, really—just a girl of theIslands."

"But you wouldn't care to stay here all your life?"

"No, indeed. It's a beautiful spot—to loll about in. But I've too muchnorthern blood to be satisfied with that. One of these days I want dadto sell and we'll go to the mainland. I could get some sort of work—"

"Any particular place on the mainland?"

"Well, I haven't been about much, of course. But all the time I was atschool I kept thinking I'd rather live in San Francisco than anywhereelse in the world—"

"Good," John Quincy cried. "That's my choice too. You remember thatmorning on the ferry, how you held out your hand to me and said:'Welcome to your city—'"

"But you corrected me at once. You said you belonged in Boston."

"I see my error now."

She shook her head. "A moment's madness, but you'll recover. You're aneasterner, and you could never be happy anywhere else."

"Oh, yes, I could," he assured her. "I'm a Winterslip, a wanderingWinterslip. Any old place we hang our hats—" This time he did leanrather close. "I could be happy anywhere—" he began. He wanted to add"with you." But Agatha's slim patrician hand was on his shoulder."Anywhere," he repeated, with a different inflection. A gong soundedfrom the Reef and Palm.

Carlota rose. "That's lunch." John Quincy stood too. "It's beside thepoint—where you go," she went on. "I asked you to do something for me."

"I know. If you'd asked anything else in the world, I'd be up to my neckin it now. But what you suggest would take a bit of doing. To leaveHawaii—and say good-by to you—"

"I meant to be very firm about it," she broke in.

"But I must have a little time to consider. Will you wait?"

She smiled up at him. "You're so much wiser than I am," she said."Yes—I'll wait."

He went slowly along the beach. Unsophisticated, yes—and charming."You're so much wiser than I am." Where on the mainland could oneencounter a girl nowadays who'd say that? He had quite forgotten thatshe smiled when she said it.

In the afternoon, John Quincy visited the police station. Hallet was inhis room in rather a grouchy mood. Chan was out somewhere hunting thewatch. No, they hadn't found it yet.

John Quincy was mildly reproving. "Well, you saw it, didn't you?"growled Hallet. "Why in Sam Hill didn't you grab it?"

"Because they tied my hands," John Quincy reminded him. "I've narrowedthe search, down for you to the taxi drivers of Honolulu."

"Hundreds of them, my boy."

"More than that, I've given you the first two numbers on the licenseplate of the car. If you're any good at all, you ought to be able toland that watch now."

"Oh, we'll land it," Hallet said. "Give us time."

Time was just what John Quincy had to give them. Monday came and went.Miss Minerva was bitterly sarcastic.

"Patience are a very lovely virtue," John Quincy told her. "I got thatfrom Charlie."

"At any rate," she snapped, "it are a virtue very much needed withCaptain Hallet in charge."

In another direction, too, John Quincy was called upon to exercisepatience. Agatha Parker was unaccountably silent regarding that shortperemptory cable he had sent on his big night in town. Was she offended?The Parkers were notoriously not a family who accepted dictation. But insuch a vital matter as this, a girl should be willing to listen toreason.

Late Tuesday afternoon Chan telephoned from thestation-house—unquestionably Chan this time. Would John Quincy do himthe great honor to join him for an early dinner at the Alexander Youngcafé?

"Something doing, Charlie?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Maybe it might be," answered Chan, "and maybe also not. At six o'clockin hotel lobby, if you will so far condescend."

"I'll be there," John Quincy promised, and he was.

He greeted Chan with anxious, inquiring eyes, but the Chinaman was suaveand entirely non-committal. He led John Quincy to the dining-room andcarefully selected a table by a front window.

"Do me the great favor to recline," he suggested.

John Quincy reclined. "Charlie, don't keep me in suspense," he pleaded.

Chan smiled. "Let us not shade the feast with gloomy murder talk," hereplied. "This are social meeting. Is it that you are in the mood to dryup plate of soup?"

"Why, yes, of course," John Quincy answered. Politeness, he saw,dictated that he hide his curiosity.

"Two of the soup," ordered Chan of a white-jacketed waiter. A car drewup to the door of the Alexander Young. Chan half rose, staring at itkeenly. He dropped back to his seat. "It is my high delight to entertainyou thus humbly before you are restored to Boston. Converse at somelength of Boston. I feel interested."

"Really?" smiled the boy.

"Undubitably. Gentleman I meet once say Boston are like China. Thefuture of both, he say, lies in graveyards where repose useless bodiesof honored guests on high. I am fogged as to meaning."

"He meant both places live in the past," John Quincy explained. "And hewas right, in a way. Boston, like China, boasts a glorious history. Butthat's not saying the Boston of to-day isn't progressive. Why, do youknow—"

He talked eloquently of his native city. Chan listened, rapt.

"Always," he sighed, when John Quincy finished, "I have unlimitedyearning for travel." He paused to watch another car draw up before thehotel. "But it are unavailable. I am policeman on small remuneration. Inmy youth, rambling on evening hillside or by moonly ocean, I dream ofmore lofty position. Not so now. But that other American citizen, myeldest son, he are dreaming too. Maybe for him dreams eventuate. Perhapshe become second Baby Ruth, home run emperor, applause of thousandsmaking him deaf. Who knows it?"

The dinner passed, unshaded by gloomy talk, and they went outside. Chanproffered a cigar of which he spoke in the most belittling fashion. Hesuggested that they stand for a time before the hotel door.

"Waiting for somebody?" inquired John Quincy, unable longer todissemble.

"Precisely the fact. Barely dare to mention it, however. Greatdisappointment may drive up here any minute now."

An open car stopped before the hotel entrance. John Quincy's eyes soughtthe license plate, and he got an immediate thrill. The first two figureswere 33.

A party of tourists, a man and two women, alighted. The doorman ranforward and busied himself with luggage. Chan casually strolled acrossthe walk, and as the Japanese driver shifted his gears preparatory todriving away, put a restraining hand on the car door.

"One moment, please." The Jap turned, fright in his eyes. "You areOkuda, from auto stand across way?"

"Yes-s," hissed the driver.

"You are now returned from exploring island with party of tourists? Youleave this spot early Sunday morning?"

"Yes-s."

"Is it possible that you wear wrist watch, please?"

"Yes-s."

"Deign to reveal face of same."

The Jap hesitated. Chan leaned far over into the car and thrust asidethe man's coat sleeve. He came back, a pleased light in his eyes, andheld open the rear door. "Kindly embark into tonneau, Mr. Winterslip."Obediently John Quincy got in. Chan took his place by the driver's side."The police station, if you will be so kind." The car leaped forward.

The essential clue! They had it at last. John Quincy's heart beat fastthere in the rear of the car where, only a few nights before, he hadbeen bound and gagged.

Captain Hallet's grim face relaxed into happy lines when he met them atthe door of his room. "You got him, eh? Good work." He glanced at theprisoner's wrist. "Rip that watch off him, Charlie."

Charlie obeyed. He examined the watch for a moment, then handed it tohis chief.

"Inexpensive time-piece of noted brand," he announced. "Numeral twofaint and far away. One other fact emerge into light. This Jap here havesmall wrist. Yet worn place on strap convey impression of being worn byman with wrist of vastly larger circumference."

Hallet nodded. "Yes, that's right. Some other man has owned this watch.He had a big wrist—but most men in Honolulu have, you know. Sit down,Okuda. I want to hear from you. You understand what it means to lie tome?"

"I do not lie, sir."

"No, you bet your sweet life you don't. First, tell me who engaged yourcar last Saturday night."

"Saturday night?"

"That's what I said!"

"Ah, yes. Two sailors from ship. Engage for evening paying large cash atonce. I drive to shop on River Street, wait long time. Then off we go todock with extra passenger in back."

"Know the names of those sailors?"

"Could not say."

"What ship were they from?"

"How can I know? Not told."

"All right. I'm coming to the important thing. Understand? Thetruth—that's what I want! Where did you get this watch?"

Chan and John Quincy leaned forward eagerly. "I buy him," said the Jap.

"You bought him? Where?"

"At jewel store of Chinese Lau Ho on Maunakea Street."

Hallet turned to Chan. "Know the place, Charlie?"

Chan nodded. "Yes, indeed."

"Open now?"

"Open until hour of ten, maybe more."

"Good," said Hallet. "Come along, Okuda. You can drive us there."

Lau Ho, a little wizened Chinaman, sat back of his work bench with amicroscope screwed into one dim old eye. The four men who entered histiny store filled it to overflowing, but he gave them barely a glance.

"Come on, Ho—wake up," Hallet cried. "I want to talk to you."

With the utmost deliberation the Chinaman descended from his stool andapproached the counter. He regarded Hallet with a hostile eye. Thecaptain laid the wrist watch on top of a showcase in which reposed manytrays of jade.

"Ever see that before?" he inquired.

Lau Ho regarded it casually. Slowly he raised his eyes. "Maybe so. Cannot say," he replied in a high squeaky voice.

Hallet reddened. "Nonsense. You had it here in the store, and you soldit to this Jap. Now, didn't you?"

Lau Ho dreamily regarded the taxi driver. "Maybe so. Can not say."

"Damn it!" cried Hallet. "You know who I am?"

"Policeman, maybe."

"Policeman maybe yes! And I want you to tell me about this watch. Nowwake up and come across or by the Lord Harry—"

Chan laid a deferential hand on his chief's arm. "Humbly suggest Iattempt this," he said.

Hallet nodded. "All right, he's your meat, Charlie." He drew back.

Chan bowed with a great show of politeness. He launched into a longstory in Chinese. Lau Ho looked at him with slight interest. Presentlyhe squeaked a brief reply. Chan resumed his flow of talk. Occasionallyhe paused, and Lau Ho spoke. In a few moments Chan turned beaming.

"Story are now completely extracted like aching tooth," he said. "Wristwatch was brought to Lau Ho on Thursday, same week as murder. Offeredhim on sale by young man darkly colored with small knife scar marringcheek. Lau Ho buy and repair watch, interior works being in injuredstate. Saturday morning he sell at seemly profit to Japanese, presumablythis Okuda here but Lau Ho will not swear. Saturday night dark young manappear much overwhelmed with excitement and demand watch again, please.Lau Ho say it is sold to Japanese. Which Japanese? Lau Ho is not awareof name, and can not describe, all Japanese faces being uninterestingoutlook for him. Dark young man curse and fly. Appear frequentlydemanding any news, but Lau Ho is unable to oblige. Such are story ofthis jewel merchant here."

They went out on the street. Hallet scowled at the Jap. "All right—runalong. I'll keep the watch."

"Very thankful," said the taxi driver, and leaped into his car.

Hallet turned to Chan. "A dark young man with a scar?" he queried.

"Clear enough to me," Chan answered. "Same are the Spaniard JoséCabrera, careless man about town with reputation not so savory. Mr.Winterslip, is it that you have forgotten him?"

John Quincy started. "Me? Did I ever see him?"

"Recall," said Chan. "It are the night following murder. You and Ilinger in All American Restaurant engaged in debate regarding hygiene ofpie. Door open, admitting Bowker, steward on President Tyler, joyouslyfull of okolehau. With him are dark young man—this José Cabrerahimself."

"Oh, I remember now," John Quincy answered.

"Well, the Spaniard's easy to pick up," said Hallet. "I'll have himinside an hour—"

"One moment, please," interposed Chan. "To-morrow morning at nineo'clock the President Tyler return from Orient. No gambler myself butwill wager increditable sum Spaniard waits on dock for Mr. Bowker. Ifyou present no fierce objection, I have a yearning to arrest him at thatvery moment."

"Why, of course," agreed Hallet. He looked keenly at Charlie Chan."Charlie, you old rascal, you've got the scent at last."

"Who—me?" grinned Chan. "With your gracious permission I would alterthe picture. Stone walls are crumbling now like dust. Through manyloopholes light stream in like rosy streaks of dawn."

CHAPTER XXI

THE STONE WALLS CRUMBLE

The stone walls were crumbling and the light streaming through—but onlyfor Chan. John Quincy was still groping in the dark, and his reflectionswere a little bitter as he returned to the house at Waikiki. Chan and hehad worked together, but now that they approached the crisis of theirefforts, the detective evidently preferred to push on alone, leaving hisfellow-worker to follow if he could. Well, so be it—but John Quincy'spride was touched.

He had suddenly a keen desire to show Chan that he could not be leftbehind like that. If only he could, by some inspirational flash ofdeductive reasoning, arrive at the solution of the mysterysimultaneously with the detective. For the honor of Boston and theWinterslips.

Frowning deeply, he considered all the old discarded clues again. Thepeople who had been under suspicion and then dropped—Egan, the Comptonwoman, Brade, Kaohla, Leatherbee, Saladine, Cope. He even consideredseveral the investigation had not touched. Presently he came to Bowker.What did Bowker's reappearance mean?

For the first time in two weeks he thought of the little man with thefierce pompadour and the gold-rimmed eye-glasses. Bowker with hissorrowful talk of vanished bar-rooms and lost friends behind the bar.How was the steward on the President Tyler connected with the murderof Dan Winterslip? He had not done it himself, that was obvious, but insome way he was linked up with the crime. John Quincy spent a long andpainful period seeking to join Bowker up with one or another of thesuspects. It couldn't be done.

All through that Tuesday evening the boy puzzled, so silent and distraitthat Miss Minerva finally gave him up and retired to her room with abook. He awoke on Wednesday morning with the problem no nearer solution.

Barbara was due to arrive at ten o'clock from Kauai, and taking thesmall car, John Quincy went down-town to meet her. Pausing at the bankto cash a check, he encountered his old shipmate on the PresidentTyler, the sprightly Madame Maynard.

"I really shouldn't speak to you," she said. "You never come to see me."

"I know," he answered. "But I've been so very busy."

"So I hear. Running round with policemen and their victims. I have nodoubt you'll go back to Boston and report we're all criminals andcutthroats out here."

"Oh, hardly that."

"Yes, you will. You're getting a very biased view of Honolulu. Why notstoop to associate with a respectable person now and then?"

"I'd enjoy it—if they're all like you."

"Like me? They're much more intelligent and charming than I am. Some ofthem are dropping in at my house to-night for an informal little party.A bit of a chat, and then a moonlight swim. Won't you come too?"

"I want to, of course," John Quincy replied. "But there's Cousin Dan—"

Her eyes flashed. "I'll say it, even if he was your relative. Tenminutes of mourning for Cousin Dan is ample. I'll be looking for you."

John Quincy laughed. "I'll come."

"Do," she answered. "And bring your Aunt Minerva. Tell her I said shemight as well be dead as hogtied by convention."

John Quincy went out to the corner of Fort and King Streets, near whichhe had parked the car. As he was about to climb into it, he paused. Afamiliar figure was jauntily crossing the street. The figure of Bowker,the steward, and with him was Willie Chan, demon back-stopper of thePacific.

"Hello, Bowker," John Quincy called.

Mr. Bowker came blithely to join him. "Well, well, well. My old friendMr. Winterslip. Shake hands with William Chan, the local Ty Cobb."

"Mr. Chan and I have met before," John Quincy told him.

"Know all the celebrities, eh? That's good. Well, we missed you on thePresident Tyler."

Bowker was evidently quite sober. "Just got in, I take it," John Quincyremarked.

"A few minutes ago. How about joining us?" He came closer and loweredhis voice. "This intelligent young man tells me he knows a taxi-standout near the beach where one may obtain a superior brand of fusel oilwith a very pretty label on the bottle."

"Sorry," John Quincy answered. "My cousin's coming in shortly on anInter-island boat, and I'm elected to meet her."

"I'm sorry, too," said the graduate of Dublin University. "If mystrength holds out I'm aiming to stage quite a little party, and I'dlike to have you in on it. Yes, a rather large affair—in memory of Tim,and as a last long lingering farewell to the seven seas."

"What? You're pau?"

"Pau it is. When I sail out of here to-night at nine on the old P. T.I'm through for ever. You don't happen to know a good country newspaperthat can be bought for—well, say ten grand."

"This is rather sudden, isn't it?" John Quincy inquired.

"This is sudden country out here, sir. Well, we must roll along. Sorryyou can't join us. If the going's not too rough and I can find a nicesmooth table top, I intend to turn down an empty glass. For poor oldTim. So long, sir—and happy days."

He nodded to Willie Chan, and they went on down the street. John Quincystood staring after them, a puzzled expression on his face.

Barbara seemed paler and thinner than ever, but she announced that hervisit had been an enjoyable one, and on the ride to the beach appearedto be making a distinct effort to be gay and sprightly. When theyreached the house, John Quincy repeated to his aunt Mrs. Maynard'sinvitation.

"Better come along," he urged.

"Perhaps I will," she answered. "I'll see."

The day passed quietly, and it was not until evening that the monotonywas broken. Leaving the dining-room with his aunt and Barbara, JohnQuincy was handed a cablegram. He hastily opened it. It had been sentfrom Boston; evidently Agatha Parker, overwhelmed by the crudeimpossibility of the West, had fled home again, and John Quincy's brief"San Francisco or nothing" had followed her there. Hence the delay.

The cablegram said simply: "Nothing. Agatha." John Quincy crushed it inhis hand; he tried to suffer a little, but it was no use. He was amighty happy man. The end of a romance—no. There had never been anynonsense of that kind between them—just an affectionate regard tooslight to stand the strain of parting. Agatha was younger than he, shewould marry some nice proper boy who had no desire to roam. And JohnQuincy Winterslip would read of her wedding—in the San Franciscopapers.

He found Miss Minerva alone in the living-room. "It's none of mybusiness," she said, "but I'm wondering what was in your cablegram."

"Nothing," he answered truthfully.

"All the same, you were very pleased to get it."

He nodded. "Yes. I imagine nobody was ever so happy over nothingbefore."

"Good heavens," she cried. "Have you given up grammar, too?"

"I'm thinking of it. How about going down the beach with me?"

She shook her head. "Some one is coming to look at the house—a leadinglawyer, I believe he is. He's thinking of buying, and I feel I should behere to show him about. Barbara appears so listless and disinterested.Tell Sally Maynard I may drop in later."

At a quarter to eight, John Quincy took his bathing suit and wandereddown Kalia Road. It was another of those nights; a bright moon wasriding high; from a bungalow buried under purple alamander came the softcroon of Hawaiian music. Through the hedges of flaming hibiscus hecaught again the exquisite odors of this exotic island.

Mrs. Maynard's big house was a particularly unlovely type of New Englandarchitecture, but a hundred flowering vines did much to conceal thatfact. John Quincy found his hostess enthroned in her great airydrawing-room, surrounded by a handsome laughing group of the bestpeople. Pleasant people, too; as she introduced him he began to wonderif he hadn't been missing a great deal of congenial companionship.

"I dragged him here against his will," the old lady explained. "I felt Iowed it to Hawaii. He's been associating with the riff-raff longenough."

They insisted that he take an enormous chair, pressed cigarettes uponhim, showered him with hospitable attentions. As he sat down and thechatter was resumed, he reflected that here was as civilized a companyas Boston itself could offer. And why not? Most of these families cameoriginally from New England, and had kept in their exile the old idealsof culture and caste.

"It might interest Beacon Street to know," Mrs. Maynard said, "that longbefore the days of 'forty-nine the people of California were sendingtheir children over here to be educated in the missionary schools. Andimporting their wheat from here, too."

"Go on, tell him the other one, Aunt Sally," laughed a pretty girl inblue. "That about the first printing press in San Francisco beingbrought over from Honolulu."

Madame Maynard shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, what's the use? We're so faraway, New England will never get us straight."

John Quincy looked up to see Carlota Egan in the doorway. A moment laterLieutenant Booth, of Richmond, appeared at her side. It occurred to theyoung man from Boston that the fleet was rather overdoing its stop atHonolulu.

Mrs. Maynard rose to greet the girl. "Come in, my dear. You know most ofthese people." She turned to the others. "This is Miss Egan, a neighborof mine on the beach."

It was amusing to note that most of these people knew Carlota too. JohnQuincy smiled—the British Admiralty and the soap business. It must havebeen rather an ordeal for the girl, but she saw it through with a sweetgraciousness that led John Quincy to reflect that she would be at homein England—if she went there.

Carlota sat down on a sofa, and while Lieutenant Booth was busilyarranging a cushion at her back, John Quincy dropped down beside her.The sofa was, fortunately, too small for three.

"I rather expected to see you," he said in a low voice. "I was broughthere to meet the best people of Honolulu, and the way I see it, you'rethe best of all."

She smiled at him, and again the chatter of small talk filled the room.Presently the voice of a tall young man with glasses rose above thegeneral hubbub.

"They got a cable from Joe Clark out at the Country Club thisafternoon," he announced.

The din ceased, and every one listened with interest. "Clark's ourprofessional," explained the young man to John Quincy. "He went over amonth ago to play in the British Open."

"Did he win?" asked the girl in blue.

"He was put out by Hagen in the semi-finals," the young man said. "Buthe had the distinction of driving the longest ball ever seen on the St.Andrews course."

"Why shouldn't he?" asked an older man. "He's got the strongest wrists Iever saw on anybody?"

John Quincy sat up, suddenly interested. "How do you account for that?"he asked.

The older man smiled. "We've all got pretty big wrists out here," heanswered. "Surf-boarding—that's what does it. Joe Clark was a championat one time—body-surfing and board-surfing too. He used to disappearfor hours in the rollers out by the reef. The result was a marvelouswrist development. I've seen him drive a golf ball three hundred andeighty yards. Yes, sir, I'll bet he made those Englishmen sit up andtake notice."

While John Quincy was thinking this over, some one suggested that it wastime for the swim, and confusion reigned. A Chinese servant led the wayto the dressing-rooms, which opened off the lanai, and the young peopletrouped joyously after him.

"I'll be waiting for you on the beach," John Quincy said to CarlotaEgan.

"I came with Johnnie, you know," she reminded him.

"I know all about it," he answered. "But it was the week-end youpromised to the navy. People who try to stretch their week-end throughthe following Wednesday night deserve all they get."

She laughed. "I'll look for you," she agreed.

He donned his bathing suit hastily in a room filled with flying clothesand great waving brown arms. Lieutenant Booth, he noted withsatisfaction, was proceeding at a leisurely pace. Hurrying through adoor that opened directly on the beach, he waited under a near-by hautree. Presently Carlota came, slender and fragile-looking in themoonlight.

"Ah, here you are," John Quincy cried. "The farthest float."

"The farthest float it is," she answered.

They dashed into the warm silvery water and swam gaily off. Five minuteslater they sat on the float together. The light on Diamond Head waswinking; the lanterns of sampans twinkled out beyond the reef; the shoreline of Honolulu was outlined by a procession of blinking starscontrolled by dynamos. In the bright heavens hung a lunar rainbow, onecolorful end in the Pacific and the other tumbling into the foliageashore.

A gorgeous setting in which to be young and in love, and free to speakat last. John Quincy moved closer to the girl's side.

"Great night, isn't it?" he said.

"Wonderful," she answered softly.

"Cary, I want to tell you something, and that's why I brought you outhere away from the others—"

"Somehow," she interrupted, "it doesn't seem quite fair to Johnnie."

"Never mind him. Has it ever occurred to you that my name's Johnnie,too."

She laughed. "Oh, but it couldn't be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I simply couldn't call you that. You're too dignified and—andremote. John Quincy—I believe I could call you John Quincy—"

"Well, make up your mind. You'll have to call me something, because I'mgoing to be hanging round pretty constantly in the future. Yes, my dear,I'll probably turn out to be about the least remote person in the world.That is, if I can make you see the future the way I see it. Carydearest—"

A gurgle sounded behind them, and they turned around. Lieutenant Boothwas climbing on to the raft. "Swam the last fifty yards under water tosurprise you," he sputtered.

"Well, you succeeded," said John Quincy without enthusiasm.

The lieutenant sat down with the manner of one booked to remainindefinitely. "I'll tell the world it's some night," he offered.

"Speaking of the world, when do you fellows leave Honolulu?" asked JohnQuincy.

"I don't know. To-morrow, I guess. Me, I don't care if we never go.Hawaii's not so easy to leave. Is it, Cary?"

She shook her head. "Hardest place I know of, Johnnie. I shall have tobe sailing presently, and I know what a wrench it will be. Perhaps I'llfollow the example of Waioli the swimmer, and leave the boat when itpasses Waikiki."

They lolled for a moment in silence. Suddenly John Quincy sat up. "Whatwas that you said?" he asked.

"About Waioli? Didn't I ever tell you? He was one of our best swimmers,and for years they tried to get him to go to the mainland to take partin athletic meets, like Duke Kahanamoku. But he was a sentimentalist—hecouldn't bring himself to leave Hawaii. Finally they persuaded him, andone sunny morning he sailed on the Matsonia, with a very sad face.When the ship was opposite Waikiki he slipped overboard and swam ashore.And that was that. He never got on a ship again. You see—"

John Quincy was on his feet. "What time was it when we left the beach?"he asked in a low tense voice.

"About eight-thirty," said Booth.

John Quincy talked very fast. "That means I've got just thirty minutesto get ashore, dress, and reach the dock before the President Tylersails. I'm sorry to go, but it's vital—vital. Cary, I'd started to tellyou something. I don't know when I'll get back, but I must see you whenI do, either at Mrs. Maynard's or the hotel. Will you wait up for me?"

She was startled by the seriousness of his tone. "Yes, I'll be waiting,"she told him.

"That's great." He hesitated a moment; it is a risky business to leavethe girl you love on a float in the moonlight with a handsome navalofficer. But it had to be done. "I'm off," he said, and dove.

When he came up he heard the lieutenant's voice. "Say, old man, thatdive was all wrong. You let me show you—"

"Go to the devil," muttered John Quincy wetly, and swam with longpowerful strokes toward the shore. Mad with haste, he plunged into thedressing-room, donned his clothes, then dashed out again. No time forapologies to his hostess. He ran along the beach to the Wintersliphouse. Haku was dozing in the hall.

"Wikiwiki," shouted John Quincy. "Tell the chauffeur to get the roadsterinto the drive and start the engine. Wake up! Travel! Where's MissBarbara?"

"Last seen on beach—" began the startled Haku.

On the bench under the hau tree he found Barbara sitting alone. He stoodpanting before her.

"My dear," he said. "I know at last who killed your father—"

She was on her feet. "You do?"

"Yes—shall I tell you?"

"No," she said. "No—I can't bear to hear. It's too horrible."

"Then you've suspected?"

"Yes—just suspicion—a feeling—intuition. I couldn't believe it—Ididn't want to believe it. I went away to get it out of my mind. It'sall too terrible—"

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Poor Barbara. Don't you worry. Youwon't appear in this in any way. I'll keep you out of it."

"What—what has happened?"

"Can't stop now. Tell you later." He ran toward the drive. Miss Minervaappeared from the house. "Haven't time to talk," he cried, leaping intothe roadster.

"But John Quincy—a curious thing has happened—that lawyer who was hereto look at the house—he said that Dan, just a week before he died,spoke to him about a new will—"

"That's good! That's evidence!" John Quincy cried.

"But why a new will? Surely Barbara was all he had—"

"Listen to me," cut in John Quincy. "You've delayed me already. Get thebig car and go to the station—tell that to Hallet. Tell him too thatI'm on the President Tyler and to send Chan there at once."

He stepped on the gas. By the clock in the automobile he had justseventeen minutes to reach the dock before the President Tyler wouldsail. He shot like a madman through the brilliant Hawaiian night.Kalakaua Avenue, smooth and deserted, proved a glorious speedway. Ittook him just eight minutes to travel the three miles to the dock. A bitof traffic and an angry policeman in the center of the city caused thedelay.

A scattering of people in the dim pier-shed waited for the imminentsailing of the liner. John Quincy dashed through them and up thegangplank. The second officer, Hepworth, stood at the top.

"Hello, Mr. Winterslip," he said. "You sailing?"

"No. But let me aboard!"

"I'm sorry. We're about to draw in the plank."

"No, no—you mustn't. This is life and death. Hold off just a fewminutes. There's a steward named Bowker—I must find him at once. Lifeand death, I tell you."

Hepworth stood aside. "Oh, well, in that case. But please hurry, sir—"

"I will." John Quincy passed him on the run. He was on his way to thecabins presided over by Bowker when a tall figure caught his eye. A manin a long green ulster and a battered green hat—a hat John Quincy hadlast seen on the links of the Oahu Country Club.

The tall figure moved on up a stairway to the topmost deck. John Quincyfollowed. He saw the ulster disappear into one of the de luxe cabins.Still he followed, and pushed open the cabin door. The man in the ulsterwas back to, but he swung round suddenly.

"Ah, Mr. Jennison," John Quincy cried. "Were you thinking of sailing onthis boat?"

For an instant Jennison stared at him. "I was," he said quietly.

"Forget it," John Quincy answered. "You're going ashore with me."

"Really? What is your authority?"

"No authority whatever," said the boy grimly. "I'm taking you, that'sall."

Jennison smiled, but there was a gleam of hate behind it. And in JohnQuincy's heart, usually so gentle and civilized, there was hate too ashe faced this man. He thought of Dan Winterslip, dead on his cot. Hethought of Jennison walking down the gangplank with them that morningthey landed, Jennison putting his arm about poor Barbara when shefaltered under the blow. He thought of the shots fired at him from thebush, of the red-haired man battering him in that red room. Well, hemust fight again. No way out of it. The siren of the President Tylersounded a sharp warning.

"You get out of here," said Jennison through his teeth. "I'll go withyou to the gangplank—"

He stopped, as the disadvantages of that plan came home to him. Hisright hand went swiftly to his pocket. Inspired, John Quincy seized afilled water bottle and hurled it at the man's head. Jennison dodged;the bottle crashed through one of the windows. The clatter of glass rangthrough the night, but no one appeared. John Quincy saw Jennison leaptoward him, something gleaming in his hand. Stepping aside, he threwhimself on the man's back and forced him to his knees. He seized thewrist of Jennison's right hand, which held the automatic, in a firmgrip. They kept that posture for a moment, and then Jennison beganslowly to rise to his feet. The hand that held the pistol began to tearaway. John Quincy shut his teeth and sought to maintain his grip. But hewas up against a more powerful antagonist than the red-haired sailor, hewas outclassed, and the realization of it crept over him with asickening force.

Jennison was on his feet now, the right hand nearly free. Anothermoment—what then, John Quincy wondered? This man had no intention ofletting him go ashore; he had changed that plan the moment he put itinto words. A muffled shot, and later in the night when the ship waswell out on the Pacific—John Quincy thought of Boston, his mother. Hethought of Carlota waiting his return. He summoned his strength for onelast desperate effort to renew his grip.

A serene, ivory-colored face appeared suddenly at the broken window. Anarm with a weapon was extended through the jagged opening.

"Relinquish the firearms, Mr. Jennison," commanded Charlie Chan, "or Iam forced to make fatal insertion in vital organ belonging to you."

Jennison's pistol dropped to the floor, and John Quincy staggered backagainst the berth. At that instant the door opened and Hallet, followedby the detective, Spencer, came in.

"Hello, Winterslip, what are you doing here?" the captain said. Hethrust a paper into one of the pockets of the green ulster. "Come along,Jennison," he said. "We want you."

Limply John Quincy followed them from the stateroom. Outside they werejoined by Chan. At the top of the gangplank Hallet paused. "We'll wait aminute for Hepworth," he said.

John Quincy put his hand on Chan's shoulder. "Charlie, how can I everthank you? You saved my life."

Chan bowed. "My own pleasure is not to be worded. I have saved a lifehere and there, but never before one that had beginning in cultured cityof Boston. Always a happy item on the golden scroll of memory."

Hepworth came up. "It's all right," he said. "The captain has agreed todelay our sailing one hour. I'll go to the station with you."

On the way down the gangplank, Chan turned to John Quincy. "Speakingheartily for myself, I congratulate your bravery. It is clear you leapedupon this Jennison with vigorous and triumphant mood of heart. But hewould have pushed you down. He would have conquered. And why? The answeris, such powerful wrists."

"A great surf-boarder, eh?" John Quincy said.

Chan looked at him keenly. "You are no person's fool. Ten years ago thisHarry Jennison are champion swimmer in all Hawaii. I extract that newsfrom ancient sporting pages of Honolulu journal. But he have not been inthe water much here lately. Pursuing the truth further, not since thenight he killed Dan Winterslip."

CHAPTER XXII

THE LIGHT STREAMS THROUGH

They moved on through the pier-shed to the street, where Hepworth,Jennison and the three policemen got into Hallet's car. The captainturned to John Quincy.

"You coming, Mr. Winterslip?" he inquired.

"I've got my own car," the boy explained. "I'll follow you in that."

The roadster was not performing at its best, and he reached the stationhouse a good five minutes after the policemen. He noted Dan Winterslip'sbig limousine parked in the street outside.

In Hallet's room he found the captain and Chan closeted with a thirdman. It took a second glance at the latter to identify him as Mr.Saladine, for the little man of the lost teeth now appeared a great dealyounger than John Quincy had thought him.

"Ah, Mr. Winterslip," remarked Hallet. He turned to Saladine. "Say,Larry, you've got me into a heap of trouble with this boy. He accused meof trying to shield you. I wish you'd loosen up for him."

Saladine smiled. "Why, I don't mind. My job out here is about finished.Of course, Mr. Winterslip will keep what I tell him under his hat?"

"Naturally," replied John Quincy. He noticed that the man spoke with notrace of a lisp. "I perceive you've found your teeth," he added.

"Oh, yes—I found them in my trunk, where I put them the day I arrivedat Waikiki," answered Saladine. "When my teeth were knocked out twentyyears ago in a football game, I was broken-hearted, but the loss hasbeen a great help to me in my work. A man hunting his bridge work in thewater is a figure of ridicule and mirth. No one ever thinks ofconnecting him with serious affairs. He can prowl about a beach to hisheart's content. Mr. Winterslip, I am a special agent of the TreasuryDepartment sent out here to break up the opium ring. My name, of course,is not Saladine."

"Oh," said John Quincy, "I understand at last."

"I'm glad you do," remarked Hallet. "I don't know whether you'refamiliar with the way our opium smugglers work. The dope is brought infrom the Orient on tramp steamers—the Mary S. Allison, for example.When they arrive off Waikiki they knock together a few small rafts andload 'em with tins of the stuff. A fleet of little boats, supposedly outthere for the fishing, pick up these rafts and bring the dope ashore.It's taken down-town and hidden on ships bound for 'Frisco—usuallythose that ply only between here and the mainland, because they're notso closely watched at the other end. But it just happened that thequartermaster of the President Tyler is one of their go-betweens. Wesearched his cabin this evening and found it packed with the stuff."

"The quartermaster of the President Tyler," repeated John Quincy."That's Dick Kaohla's friend."

"Yeah—I'm coming to Dick. He's been in charge of the pick-up fleethere. He was out on that business the night of the murder. Saladine sawhim and told me all about it in that note, which was my reason forletting the boy go."

"I owe you an apology," John Quincy said.

"Oh, that's all right." Hallet was in great good humor. "Larry here hasgot some of the higher-ups, too. For instance, he's discovered thatJennison is the lawyer for the ring, defending any of them who arecaught and brought before the commissioner. The fact has no bearing onDan Winterslip's murder—unless Winterslip knew about it, and that wasone of the reasons he didn't want Jennison to marry his girl."

Saladine stood up. "I'll turn the quartermaster over to you," he said."In view of this other charge, you can of course have Jennison too.That's all for me. I'll go along."

"See you to-morrow, Larry," Hallet answered. Saladine went out, and thecaptain turned to John Quincy. "Well, my boy, this is our big night. Idon't know what you were doing in Jennison's cabin, but if you'd pickedhim for the murderer, I'll say you're good."

"That's just what I'd done," John Quincy told him. "By the way, have youseen my aunt? She's got hold of a rather interesting bit ofinformation—"

"I've seen her," Hallet said. "She's with the prosecutor now, telling itto him. By the way, Greene's waiting for us. Come along."

They went into the prosecutor's office. Greene was alert and eager, astenographer was at his elbow, and Miss Minerva sat near his desk.

"Hello, Mr. Winterslip," he said. "What do you think of our police forcenow? Pretty good, eh, pretty good. Sit down, won't you?" He glancedthrough some papers on his desk while John Quincy, Hallet and Chanfound chairs. "I don't mind telling you, this thing has knocked me allin a heap. Harry Jennison and I are old friends; I had lunch with him atthe club only yesterday. I'm going to proceed a little differently thanI would with an ordinary criminal."

John Quincy half rose from his chair. "Don't get excited," Greenesmiled. "Jennison will get all that's coming to him, friendship or nofriendship. What I mean is that if I can save the territory the expenseof a long trial by dragging a confession out of him at once, I intend todo it. He's coming in here in a moment, and I propose to reveal my wholehand to him, from start to finish. That may seem foolish, but it isn't.For I hold aces, all aces, and he'll know it as quickly as any one."

The door opened. Spencer ushered Jennison into the room, and thenwithdrew. The accused man stood there, proud, haughty, defiant, a vikingof the tropics, a blond giant at bay but unafraid.

"Hello, Jennison," Greene said. "I'm mighty sorry about this—"

"You ought to be," Jennison replied. "You're making an awful fool ofyourself. What is this damned nonsense, anyhow—"

"Sit down," said the prosecutor sharply. He indicated a chair on theopposite side of the desk. He had already turned the shade on his desklamp so the light would shine full in the face of any one sitting there."That lamp bother you, Harry?" he asked.

"Why should it?" Jennison demanded.

"Good," smiled Greene. "I believe Captain Hallet served you with awarrant on the boat. Have you looked at it, by any chance?"

"I have."

The prosecutor leaned across the desk. "Murder, Jennison!"

Jennison's expression did not change. "Damned nonsense, as I told you.Why should I murder any one?"

"Ah, the motive," Greene replied. "You're quite right, we should beginwith that. Do you wish to be represented here by counsel?"

Jennison shook his head. "I guess I'm lawyer enough to puncture thissilly business," he replied.

"Very well." Greene turned to his stenographer. "Get this." The mannodded, and the prosecutor addressed Miss Minerva. "Miss Winterslip,we'll start with you."

Miss Minerva leaned forward. "Mr. Dan Winterslip's house on the beachhas, as I told you, been offered for sale by his daughter. After dinnerthis evening a gentleman came to look at it—a prominent lawyer namedHailey. As we went over the house, Mr. Hailey mentioned that he had metDan Winterslip on the street a week before his death, and that my cousinhad spoken to him about coming in shortly to draw up a new will. He didnot say what the provisions of the will were to be, nor did he evercarry out his intention."

"Ah yes," said Greene. "But Mr. Jennison here was your cousin's lawyer?"

"He was."

"If he wanted to draw a new will, he wouldn't ordinarily have gone to astranger for that purpose."

"Not ordinarily. Unless he had some good reason."

"Precisely. Unless, for instance, the will had some connection withHarry Jennison."

"I object," Jennison cried. "This is mere conjecture."

"So it is," Greene answered. "But we're not in court. We can conjectureif we like. Suppose, Miss Winterslip, the will was concerned withJennison in some way. What do you imagine the connection to have been?"

"I don't have to imagine," replied Miss Minerva. "I know."

"Ah, that's good. You know. Go on."

"Before I came down here to-night, I had a talk with my niece. Sheadmitted that her father knew she and Jennison were in love, and that hehad bitterly opposed the match. He had even gone so far as to say hewould disinherit her if she went through with it."

"Then the new will Dan Winterslip intended to make would probably havebeen to the effect that in the event his daughter married Jennison, shewas not to inherit a penny of his money?"

"There isn't any doubt of it," said Miss Minerva firmly.

"You asked for a motive, Jennison," Greene said. "That's motive enoughfor me. Everybody knows you're money mad. You wanted to marryWinterslip's daughter, the richest girl in the Islands. He said youcouldn't have her—not with the money too. But you're not the sort tomake a penniless marriage. You were determined to get both BarbaraWinterslip and her father's property. Only one person stood in yourway—Dan Winterslip. And that's how you happened to be on his lanai thatMonday night—"

"Wait a minute," Jennison protested. "I wasn't on his lanai. I was onboard the President Tyler, and everybody knows that ship didn't landits passengers until nine the following morning—"

"I'm coming to that," Greene told him. "Just now—by the way, what timeis it?"

Jennison took from his pocket a watch on the end of a slender chain."It's a quarter past nine."

"Ah, yes. Is that the watch you usually carry?"

"It is."

"Ever wear a wrist watch?"

Jennison hesitated. "Occasionally."

"Only occasionally." The prosecutor rose and came round his desk. "Letme see your left wrist, please."

Jennison held out his arm. It was tanned a deep brown, but on the wristwas etched in white the outline of a watch and its encircling strap.

Greene smiled. "Yes, you have worn a wrist watch—and you've worn itpretty constantly, from the look of things." He took a small object fromhis pocket and held it in front of Jennison. "This watch, perhaps?"Jennison regarded it stonily. "Ever see it before?" Greene asked. "No?Well, suppose we try it on, anyhow." He put the watch in position andfastened it. "I can't help noting, Harry," he continued, "that it fitsrather neatly over that white outline on your wrist. And the prong ofthe buckle falls naturally into the most worn of the holes on thestrap."

"What of that?" asked Jennison.

"Oh, coincidence, probably. You have abnormally large wrists, however.Surf-boarding, swimming, eh? But that's something else I'll speak oflater." He turned to Miss Minerva. "Will you please come over here, MissWinterslip."

She came, and as she reached his side, the prosecutor suddenly bentover and switched off the light on his desk. Save for a faint glimmerthrough a transom, the room was in darkness. Miss Minerva was consciousof dim huddled figures, a circle of white faces, a tense silence. Theprosecutor was lifting something slowly toward her startled eyes. Awatch, worn on a human wrist—a watch with an illuminated dial on whichthe figure two was almost obliterated.

"Look at that and tell me," came the prosecutor's voice. "You have seenit before?"

"I have," she answered firmly.

"Where?"

"In the dark in Dan Winterslip's living-room just after midnight thethirtieth of June."

Greene flashed on the light. "Thank you, Miss Winterslip." He retiredbehind his desk and pressed a button. "You identify it by somedistinguishing mark, I presume?"

"I do. The numeral two, which is pretty well obscured."

Spencer appeared at the door. "Send the Spaniard in," Greene ordered."That is all for the present, Miss Winterslip."

Cabrera entered, and his eyes were frightened as they looked atJennison. At a nod from the prosecutor, Chan removed the wrist watch andhanded it to the Spaniard.

"You know that watch, José?" Greene asked.

"I—I—yes," answered the boy.

"Don't be afraid," Greene urged. "Nobody's going to hurt you. I want youto repeat the story you told me this afternoon. You have no regular job.You're a sort of confidential errand boy for Mr. Jennison here."

"I was."

"Yes—that's all over now. You can speak out. On the morning ofWednesday, July second, you were in Mr. Jennison's office. He gave youthis wrist watch and told you to take it out and get it repaired.Something was the matter with it. It wasn't running. You took it to abig jewelry store. What happened?"

"The man said it is very badly hurt. To fix it would cost more than anew watch. I go back and tell Mr. Jennison. He laugh and say it is mineas a gift."

"Precisely." Greene referred to a paper on his desk. "Late in theafternoon of Thursday, July third, you sold the watch. To whom?"

"To Lau Ho, Chinese jeweler in Maunakea Street. On Saturday eveningmaybe six o'clock Mr. Jennison telephone my home, much excited. Musthave watch again, and will pay any price. I speed to Lau Ho's store.Watch is sold once more, now to unknown Japanese. Late at night I seeMr. Jennison and he curse me with anger. Get the watch, he says. I havebeen hunting, but I could not find it."

Greene turned to Jennison. "You were a little careless with that watch,Harry. But no doubt you figured you were pretty safe—you had youralibi. Then, too, when Hallet detailed the clues to you on Winterslip'slanai the morning after the crime, he forgot to mention that some onehad seen the watch. It was one of those happy accidents that are all wehave to count on in this work. By Saturday night you realized yourdanger—just how you discovered it I don't know—"

"I do," John Quincy interrupted.

"What! What's that?" said Greene.

"On Saturday afternoon," John Quincy told him, "I played golf with Mr.Jennison. On our way back to town, we talked over the clues in thiscase, and I happened to mention the wrist watch. I can see now it wasthe first he had heard of it. He was to dine with us at the beach, buthe asked to be put down at his office to sign a few letters. I waitedbelow. It must have been then that he called up this young man in aneffort to locate the watch."

"Great stuff," said Greene enthusiastically. "That finishes the watch,Jennison. I'm surprised you wore it, but you probably knew that it wouldbe vital to you to keep track of the time, and you figured, rightly,that it would not be immediately affected by the salt water—"

"What the devil are you talking about?" demanded Jennison.

Again Greene pressed a button on his desk. Spencer appeared at once."Take this Spaniard," the prosecutor directed, "and bring in Hepworthand the quartermaster." He turned again to Jennison. "I'll show you whatI'm talking about in just a minute. On the night of June thirtieth youwere a passenger on the President Tyler, which was lying by until dawnout near the channel entrance?"

"I was."

"No passengers were landed from that ship until the following morning?"

"That's a matter of record."

"Very well." The second officer of the President Tyler came in,followed by a big hulking sailorman John Quincy recognized as thequartermaster of that vessel. He was interested to note a ring on theman's right hand, and his mind went back to that encounter in the SanFrancisco attic.

"Mr. Hepworth," the prosecutor began, "on the night of June thirtiethyour ship reached this port too late to dock. You anchored off Waikiki.On such an occasion, who is on deck—say, from midnight on?"

"The second officer," Hepworth told him. "In this case, myself. Also thequartermaster."

"The accommodation ladder is let down the night before?"

"Usually, yes. It was let down that night."

"Who is stationed near it?"

"The quartermaster."

"Ah, yes. You were in charge then on the night of June thirtieth. Didyou notice anything unusual on that occasion?"

Hepworth nodded. "I did. The quartermaster appeared to be under theinfluence of liquor. At three o'clock I found him dozing near theaccommodation ladder. I roused him. When I came back from checking upthe anchor bearings before turning in at dawn—about four-thirty—he wasdead to the world. I put him in his cabin, and the following morning Iof course reported him."

"You noticed nothing else out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing, sir," Hepworth replied.

"Thank you very much. Now, you—" Greene turned to the quartermaster."You were drunk on duty the night of June thirtieth. Where did you getthe booze?" The man hesitated. "Before you say anything, let me give youa bit of advice. The truth, my man. You're in pretty bad already. I'mnot making any promises, but if you talk straight here it may help youin that other matter. If you lie, it will go that much harder withyou."

"I ain't going to lie," promised the quartermaster.

"All right. Where did you get your liquor?"

The man nodded toward Jennison. "He gave it to me."

"He did, eh? Tell me all about it."

"I met him on deck just after midnight—we was still moving. I knew himbefore—him and me—"

"In the opium game, both of you. I understand that. You met him ondeck—"

"I did, and he says, you're on watch to-night, eh, and I says I am. Sohe slips me a little bottle an' says, this will help you pass the time.I ain't a drinking man, so help me I ain't, an' I took just a nip, butthere was something in that whisky, I'll swear to it. My head was allfunny like, an' the next I knew I was waked up in my cabin with the badnews I was wanted above."

"What became of that bottle?"

"I dropped it overboard on my way to see the captain. I didn't wantnobody to find it."

"Did you see anything the night of June thirtieth? Anything peculiar?"

"I seen plenty, sir—but it was that drink. Nothing you would want tohear about."

"All right." The prosecutor turned to Jennison. "Well, Harry—youdrugged him, didn't you? Why? Because you were going ashore, eh? Becauseyou knew he'd be on duty at that ladder when you returned, and youdidn't want him to see you. So you dropped something into thatwhiskey—"

"Guess work," cut in Jennison, still unruffled. "I used to have somerespect for you as a lawyer, but it's all gone now. If this is the bestyou can offer—"

"But it isn't," said Greene pleasantly. Again he pushed the button."I've something much better, Harry, if you'll only wait." He turned toHepworth. "There's a steward on your ship named Bowker," he began, andJohn Quincy thought that Jennison stiffened. "How has he been behavinglately?"

"Well, he got pretty drunk in Hong-kong," Hepworth answered. "But that,of course, was the money."

"What money?"

"It's this way. The last time we sailed out of Honolulu harbor for theOrient, over two weeks ago, I was in the purser's office. It was just aswe were passing Diamond Head. Bowker came in, and he had a big fatenvelope that he wanted to deposit in the purser's safe. He said itcontained a lot of money. The purser wouldn't be responsible for itwithout seeing it, so Bowker slit the envelope—and there were ten onehundred dollar bills. The purser made another package of it and put itin the safe. He told me Bowker took out a couple of the bills when wereached Hong-kong."

"Where would a man like Bowker get all that money?"

"I can't imagine. He said he'd put over a business deal in Honolulubut—well, we knew Bowker."

The door opened. Evidently Spencer guessed who was wanted this time, forhe pushed Bowker into the room. The steward of the President Tyler wasbedraggled and bleary.

"Hello, Bowker," said the prosecutor. "Sober now, aren't you?"

"I'll tell the world I am," replied Bowker. "They've walked me to SanFrancisco and back. Can—can I sit down?"

"Of course," Greene smiled. "This afternoon, while you were stilldrunk, you told a story to Willie Chan, out at Okamoto's auto stand onKalakaua Avenue. Later on, early this evening, you repeated it toCaptain Hallet and me. I'll have to ask you to go over it again."

Bowker glanced toward Jennison, then quickly looked away. "Always readyto oblige," he answered.

"You're a steward on the President Tyler," Greene continued. "On yourlast trip over here from the mainland Mr. Jennison occupied one of yourrooms—number 97. He was alone in it, I believe?"

"All alone. He paid extra for the privilege, I hear. Always traveledthat way."

"Room 97 was on the main deck, not far from the accommodation ladder?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Tell us what happened after you anchored off Waikiki the night of Junethirtieth."

Bowker adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses with the gesture of a man aboutto make an after-dinner speech. "Well, I was up pretty late that night.Mr. Winterslip here had loaned me some books—there was one I wasparticularly interested in. I wanted to finish it so I could give it tohim to take ashore in the morning. It was nearly two o'clock when Ifinally got through it, and I was feeling stuffy, so I went on deck fora breath of air."

"You stopped not far from the accommodation ladder?"

"Yes sir, I did."

"Did you notice the quartermaster?"

"Yes—he was sound asleep in a deck chair. I went over and leaned on therail, the ladder was just beneath me. I'd been standing there a fewminutes when suddenly somebody came up out of the water and put hishands on the lowest rung. I drew back quickly and stood in a shadow.

"Well, pretty soon this man comes creeping up the ladder to the deck. Hewas barefooted, and all in black—black pants and shirt. I watched him.He went over and bent above the quartermaster, then started toward medown the deck. He was walking on tiptoe, but even then I didn't get wiseto the fact anything was wrong.

"I stepped out of the shadow. 'Fine night for a swim, Mr. Jennison,' Isaid. And I saw at once that I'd made a social error. He gave one jumpin my direction and his hands closed on my throat. I thought my time hadcome."

"He was wet, wasn't he?" Greene asked.

"Dripping. He left a trail of water on the deck."

"Did you notice a watch on his wrist?"

"Yes, but you can bet I didn't make any study of it. I had other thingsto think about just then. I managed to sort of ooze out of his grip, andI told him to cut it out or I'd yell. 'Look here,' he says, 'you and Ican talk business, I guess. Come into my cabin.'

"But I wasn't wanting any tête-à-tête with him in any cabin. I said I'dsee him in the morning, and after I'd promised to say nothing toanybody, he let me go. I went to bed, pretty much puzzled.

"The next morning, when I went into his cabin, there he was all freshand rosy and smiling. If I'd had so much as a whiff of booze the nightbefore, I'd have thought I never saw what I did. I went in therethinking I might get a hundred dollars out of the affair, but the minutehe spoke I began to smell important money. He said no one must knowabout his swim the night before. How much did I want? Well, I held mybreath and said ten thousand dollars. And I nearly dropped dead when heanswered I could have it."

Bowker turned to John Quincy. "I don't know what you'll think of me. Idon't know what Tim would think. I'm not a crook by nature. But I wasfed up and choking over that steward job. I wanted a little newspaper ofmy own, and up to that minute I couldn't see myself getting it. And youmust remember that I didn't know then what was in the air—murder.Later, when I did find out, I was scared to breathe. I didn't know whatthey could do to me." He turned to Greene. "That's all fixed," he said.

"I've promised you immunity," the prosecutor answered. "I'll keep myword. Go on—you agreed to accept the ten thousand?"

"I did. I went to his office at twelve. One of the conditions was that Icould stay on the President Tyler until she got back to San Francisco,and after that I was never to show my face out this way again. It suitedme. Mr. Jennison introduced me to this Cabrera, who was to chaperon methe rest of that day. I'll say he did. When I went aboard the ship, hehanded me a thousand dollars in an envelope.

"When I came back this time, I was to spend the day with Cabrera and getthe other nine grand when I sailed. This morning when we tied up I sawthe Spaniard on the dock, but by the time I'd landed he had disappeared.I met this Willie Chan and we had a large day. This fusel oil they sellout here loosened my tongue, but I'm not sorry. Of course, the rosydream has faded, and it's my flat feet on the deck from now to the endof time. But the shore isn't so much any more, with all the bar-roomsunder cover, and this sea life keeps a man out in the open air. As Isay, I'm not sorry I talked. I can look any man in the eye again andtell him to go to—" He glanced at Miss Minerva. "Madam, I will not namethe precise locality."

Greene stood. "Well, Jennison, there's my case. I've tipped it all offto you, but I wanted you to see for yourself how air-tight it is. Thereare two courses open to you—you can let this go to trial with a plea ofnot guilty. A long humiliating ordeal for you. Or you can confess hereand now and throw yourself on the mercy of the court. If you're thesensible man I think you are, that's what you'll do."

Jennison did not answer, did not even look at the prosecutor. "It was avery neat idea," Greene went on. "I'll grant you that. Only one thingpuzzles me—did it come as the inspiration of the moment, or did youplan it all out in advance? You've been over to the mainland ratheroften of late—were you waiting your chance? Anyhow, it came, didn'tit—it came at last. And for a swimmer like you, child's play. Youdidn't need that ladder when you left the vessel—perhaps you wentoverboard while the President Tyler was still moving. A quick silentdive, a little way under water in case any one was watching from thedeck, and then a long but easy swim ashore. And there you were, on thebeach at Waikiki. Not far away Dan Winterslip was asleep on his lanai,with not so much as a locked door between you. Dan Winterslip, who stoodbetween you and what you wanted. A little struggle—a quick thrust ofyour knife. Come on, Jennison, don't be a fool. It's the best way outfor you now. A full confession."

Jennison leaped to his feet, his eyes flashing. "I'll see you in hellfirst!" he cried.

"Very well—if you feel that way about it—" Greene turned his back uponhim and began a low-toned conversation with Hallet. Jennison and CharlieChan were together on one side of the desk. Chan took out a pencil andaccidentally dropped it on the floor. He stooped to pick it up.

John Quincy saw that the butt of a pistol carried in Chan's hip pocketprotruded from under his coat. He saw Jennison spring forward and snatchthe gun. With a cry John Quincy moved nearer, but Greene seized his armand held him. Charlie Chan seemed unaccountably oblivious to what wasgoing on.

Jennison put the muzzle of the pistol to his forehead and pulled thetrigger. A sharp click—and that was all. The pistol fell from his hand.

"That's it!" cried Greene triumphantly. "That's my confession, and not aword spoken. I've witnesses, Jennison—they all saw you—you couldn'tstand the disgrace—a man in your position—you tried to kill yourself.With an empty gun." He went over and patted Chan on the shoulder. "Agreat idea, Charlie," he said. "Chan thought of it," he added toJennison. "The Oriental mind, Harry. Rather subtle, isn't it?"

But Jennison had dropped back into his chair and buried his face in hishands.

"I'm sorry," said Greene gently. "But we've got you. Maybe you'll talknow."

Jennison looked up slowly. The defiance was gone from his face; it waslined and old.

"Maybe I will," he said hoarsely.

CHAPTER XXIII

MOONLIGHT AT THE CROSSROADS

They filed out, leaving Jennison with Greene and the stenographer. Inthe anteroom Chan approached John Quincy.

"You go home decked in the shining garments of success," he said. "Onethought are tantalizing me. At simultaneous moment you arrive at sameconclusion we do. To reach there you must have leaped acrossconsiderable cavity."

John Quincy laughed. "I'll say I did. It came to me to-night. First,some one mentioned a golf professional with big wrists who drove a longball. I had a quick flash of Jennison on the links here, and histerrific drives. Big wrists, they told me, meant that a man wasproficient in the water. Then some one else—a young woman—spoke of achampion swimmer who left a ship off Waikiki. That was the first timethe idea of such a thing had occurred to me. I was pretty warm then, andI felt Bowker was the man who could verify my suspicion. When I rushedaboard the President Tyler to find him, I saw Jennison about to sail,and that confirmed my theory. I went after him."

"A brave performance," commented Chan.

"But as you can see, Charlie, I didn't have an iota of real evidence.Just guesswork. You were the one who furnished the proof."

"Proof are essential in this business," Chan replied.

"I'm tantalized too, Charlie. I remember you in the library. You were onthe track long before I was. How come?"

Chan grinned. "Seated at our ease in All American restaurant that firstnight, you will recall I spoke of Chinese people as sensitives, likecamera film. A look, a laugh, a gesture, something go click. Bowkerenters and hovering above, says with alcoholic accent; 'I'm my ownmashter, ain't I?' In my mind, the click. He is not own master. I followto dock, behold when Spaniard present envelope. But for days I amfogged. I can only learn Cabrera and Jennison are very close. Cluescontinue to burst in our countenance. The occasion remains suspensive.At the library I read of Jennison the fine swimmer. After that, thewatch, and triumph."

Miss Minerva moved on toward the door. "May I have great honor toaccompany you to car?" asked Chan.

Outside, John Quincy directed the chauffeur to return alone to Waikikiwith the limousine. "You're riding out with me," he told his aunt. "Iwant to talk with you."

She turned to Charlie Chan. "I congratulate you. You've got brains, andthey count."

He bowed low. "From you that compliment glows rosy red. At this momentof parting, my heart droops. My final wish—the snowy chilling days ofwinter and the scorching windless days of summer—may they all be thespringtime for you."

"You're very kind," she said softly.

John Quincy took his hand. "It's been great fun knowing you, Charlie,"he remarked.

"You will go again to the mainland," Chan said. "The angry oceanrolling between us. Still I shall carry the memory of your friendshiplike a flower in my heart." John Quincy climbed into the car. "And theparting may not be eternal," Chan added cheerfully. "The joy of travelmay yet be mine. I shall look forward to the day when I may call uponyou in your home and shake a healthy hand."

John Quincy started the car and slipping away, they left Charlie Chanstanding like a great Buddha on the curb.

"Poor Barbara," said Miss Minerva presently. "I dread to face her withthis news. But then, it's not altogether news at that. She told me she'dbeen conscious of something wrong between her and Jennison ever sincethey landed. She didn't think he killed her father, but she believed hewas involved in it somehow. She is planning to settle with Bradeto-morrow and leave the next day, probably for ever. I've persuaded herto come to Boston for a long visit. You'll see her there."

John Quincy shook his head. "No, I shan't. But thanks for reminding me.I must go to the cable office at once."

When he emerged from the office and again entered the car, he wassmiling happily.

"In San Francisco," he explained, "Roger accused me of being a Puritansurvival. He ran over a little list of adventures he said had neverhappened to me. Well, most of them have happened now, and I cabled totell him so. I also said I'd take that job with him."

Miss Minerva frowned. "Think it over carefully," she warned. "SanFrancisco isn't Boston. The cultural standard is, I fancy, much lower.You'll be lonely there—"

"Oh, no, I shan't. Some one will be there with me. At least, I hope shewill."

"Agatha?"

"No, not Agatha. The cultural standard was too low for her. She's brokenour engagement."

"Barbara, then?"

"Not Barbara, either."

"But I have sometimes thought—"

"You thought Barbara sent Jennison packing because of me. Jennisonthought so too—it's all clear now. That was why he tried to frighten meinto leaving Honolulu, and set his opium running friends on me when Iwouldn't go. But Barbara is not in love with me. We understand now whyshe broke her engagement."

"Neither Agatha nor Barbara," repeated Miss Minerva. "Then who—"

"You haven't met her yet, but that happy privilege will be yours beforeyou sleep. The sweetest girl in the Islands—or in the world. Thedaughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as aglorified beach-comber."

Again Miss Minerva frowned. "It's a great risk, John Quincy. She hasn'tour background—"

"No, and that's a pleasant change. She's the niece of your oldfriend—you knew that?"

"I did," answered Miss Minerva softly.

"Your dear friend of the 'eighties. What was it you said to me? If yourchance ever comes—"

"I hope you will be very happy," his aunt said. "When you write it toyour mother, be sure and mention Captain Cope of the British Admiralty.Poor Grace! That will be all she'll have to cling to—after the wreck."

"What wreck?"

"The wreck of all her hopes for you."

"Nonsense. Mother will understand. She knows I'm a roaming Winterslip,and when we roam, we roam."

They found Madame Maynard seated in her living-room with a few of hermore elderly guests. From the beach came the sound of youthful revelry.

"Well, my boy," the old woman cried, "it appears you couldn't stay awayfrom your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give youup."

John Quincy laughed. "I'm pau now. By the way, Carlota Egan—is she—"

"They're all out there somewhere," the hostess said. "They came in for abit of supper—by the way, there are sandwiches in the dining-roomand—"

"Not just now," said John Quincy. "Thank you so much. I'll see youagain, of course—"

He dashed out on the sand. A group of young people under the hau treeinformed him that Carlota Egan was on the farthest float. Alone? Well,no—that naval lieutenant—

He was, he reflected as he hurried on toward the water, a bit fed upwith the navy. That was hardly the attitude he should have taken,considering all the navy had done for him. But it was human. And JohnQuincy was human at last.

For an instant he stood at the water's edge. His bathing suit was in thedressing-room, but he never gave it a thought. He kicked off his shoes,tossed aside his coat, and plunged into the breakers. The blood of thewandering Winterslips was racing through his veins; hot blood thattropical waters had ever been powerless to cool.

Sure enough, Carlota Egan and Lieutenant Booth were together on thefloat. John Quincy climbed up beside them.

"Well, I'm back," he announced.

"I'll tell the world you're back," said the lieutenant. "And all wet,too."

They sat there. Across a thousand miles of warm water the trade windscame to fan their cheeks. Just above the horizon hung the SouthernCross; the Island lights trembled along the shore; the yellow eye onDiamond Head was winking. A gorgeous setting. Only one thing was wrongwith it. It seemed rather crowded.

John Quincy had an inspiration. "Just as I hit the water," he remarked,"I thought I heard you say something about my dive. Didn't you like it?"

"It was rotten," replied the lieutenant amiably.

"You offered to show me what was wrong with it, I believe?"

"Sure. If you want me to."

"By all means," said John Quincy. "Learn one thing every day. That's mymotto."

Lieutenant Booth went to the end of the springboard. "In the firstplace, always keep your ankles close together—like this."

"I've got you," answered John Quincy.

"And hold your arms tight against your ears."

"The tighter the better, as far as I'm concerned."

"Then double up like a jackknife," continued the instructor. He doubledup like a jackknife and rose into the air.

At the same instant John Quincy seized the girl's hands. "Listen to me.I can't wait another second. I want to tell you that I love you—"

"You're mad," she cried.

"Mad about you. Ever since that day on the ferry—"

"But your people?"

"What about my people? It's just you and I—we'll live in SanFrancisco—that is, if you love me—"

"Well, I—"

"In heaven's name, be quick. That human submarine is floating aroundhere under us. You love me, don't you? You'll marry me?"

"Yes."

He took her in his arms and kissed her. Only the wandering Winterslipscould kiss like that. The stay-at-homes had always secretly begrudgedthem the accomplishment.

The girl broke away at last, breathless. "Johnnie!" she cried.

A sputter beside them, and Lieutenant Booth climbed on to the float,moist and panting. "Wha's that?" he gurgled.

"She was speaking to me," cried John Quincy triumphantly.

THE END

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73771 ***