THE TREE OF JEWELS
Two hours later, John Quincy rose from the table where he and his aunt
had 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 forget
the pilikia of the day."
Miss Minerva smiled and rose too. "I expect Amos shortly," she said as
they crossed the hall. "A family conference seemed advisable, so I've
asked him to come over."
"Strange you had to send for him," said John Quincy, lighting a
cigarette.
"Not at all," she answered. She explained about the long feud between
the brothers.
"Didn't think old Amos had that much fire in him," commented John
Quincy, as they found chairs on the lanai. "A rather anemic specimen,
judging by the look I had at him this morning. But then, the Winterslips
always were good haters."
For a moment they sat in silence. Outside the darkness was deepening
rapidly, 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 the
mosquitos."
"They do, eh?" The boy slapped his ankle savagely. "Well, there's no
accounting for tastes."
Amos arrived presently, looking unusually pale in the half-light. "You
asked me to come over, Minerva," he said, as he sat down gingerly on one
of Dan Winterslip's Hong-Kong chairs.
"I did. Smoke if you like." Amos lighted a cigarette, which seemed oddly
out 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 this
ghastly thing."
"Naturally," said Amos.
"The only drawback," she went on, "is that in the course of the
investigation some rather unpleasant facts about Dan's past are likely
to be revealed."
"They're bound to be," remarked Amos coldly.
"For Barbara's sake," Miss Minerva said. "I'm intent on seeing that
nothing is revealed that is not absolutely essential to the discovery of
the murderer. For that reason, I haven't taken the police completely
into 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 your
house when I was there, Dan was somewhat involved with this woman down
the 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 of
marrying her."
"You knew a good deal about Dan, even if you never spoke to him," Miss
Minerva went on. "Just what was his status with this woman at the time
of his murder--only last night, but it seems ages ago."
"I can't quite tell you that," Amos replied. "I do know that for the
past month a malihini named Leatherbee--the black sheep of a good family
in Philadelphia, they tell me--has been hanging around the Compton
woman, and that Dan resented his presence."
"Humph." Miss Minerva handed to Amos an odd old brooch, a tree of jewels
against an onyx background. "Ever see that before, Amos?"
He took it, and nodded. "It's part of a little collection of jewelry Dan
brought back from the South Seas in the 'eighties. There were ear-rings
and a bracelet, too. He acted rather queerly about those trinkets--never
let Barbara's mother or any one else wear them. But he must have got
over 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 at
present 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," he
cried. "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 it
over 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 seems
important. But there is no reason in the world why we should not
investigate a bit ourselves before we do so. The woman may have a
perfectly logical explanation--"
"Rot!" interrupted John Quincy. "The trouble with you is, you think
you're Sherlock Holmes."
"What is your opinion, Amos?" inquired Miss Minerva.
"I'm inclined to agree with John Quincy," Amos said. "You are hardly
fair to Captain Hallet. And as for keeping anything dark on account of
Barbara--or on anybody's account--that won't be possible, I'm afraid. No
getting round it, Minerva, Dan's indiscretions are going to be dragged
into 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 some
member of the family to have a talk with this woman before we consult
the police. If she should have a perfectly sincere and genuine
explanation--"
"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 be
the manner in which she says it. Any intelligent person can see through
deceit and falsehood. The only question is, which of us is the
intelligent 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. But
this 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 of
fact, I welcome the opportunity--"
Amos shook his head. "She'll twist you round her little finger," he
predicted.
Miss Minerva smiled grimly. "I should like to see her do it. Will you
wait 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 that
immediately afterward I shall send for Chan."
"That," his aunt told him, "will be decided at another conference. I'm
not so sure, John Quincy, that you are the proper person to go. After
all, what experience have you had with women of this type?"
John Quincy was offended. He was a man, and he felt that he could meet
and outwit a woman of any type. He said as much.
Amos described the woman's house as a small cottage several hundred
yards down the beach, and directed the boy how to get there. John Quincy
set out.
Night had fallen over the island when he reached Kalia Road, a bright
silvery night, for the Kona weather was over and the moon traveled a
cloudless sky. The scent of plumeria and ginger stole out to him through
hedges of flaming hibiscus; the trade winds, blowing across a thousand
miles of warm water, still managed a cool touch on his cheek. As he
approached 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 completely
hidden under masses of flowering alamander, its blossoms pale yellow in
the moonlight. Before the door, a dark fragrant spot under a heavily
laden trellis, he paused uncertainly. A rather delicate errand, this
was. But he summoned his courage and knocked.
Only the myna birds replied. John Quincy stood there, growing
momentarily more hostile to the Widow of Waikiki. Some huge coarse
creature, 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 outlined
against 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 she
had spoken. For she was, obviously, one of those beauties so prevalent
nowadays, the sort whom speech betrays. Her voice recalled the myna
birds.
"My name is John Quincy Winterslip." He saw her start. "May I speak with
you for a moment?"
"Sure you can. Come in." She led the way along a low narrow passage into
a tiny living-room. A pasty-faced young man with stooped shoulders stood
by a table, fondling a cocktail shaker.
"Steve," said the woman, "this is Mr. Winterslip. Mr. Leatherbee."
Mr. Leatherbee grunted. "Just in time for a little snifter," he
remarked.
"No, thanks," John Quincy said. He saw Mrs. Compton take a smoking
cigarette 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 proffered
a glass.
She shook her head, slightly annoyed. "No."
"No?" Mr. Leatherbee grinned. "The more for little Stevie." He lifted a
glass. "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 meaning
to get over to your place all day. But it was such a shock--it knocked
me flat."
"I understand," John Quincy replied. He glanced at Mr. Leatherbee, who
seemed not to have heard of prohibition. "My business with you, Mrs.
Compton, is private."
Leatherbee stiffened belligerently. But the woman said: "That's all
right. Steve was just going."
Steve hesitated a moment, then went. His hostess accompanied him. John
Quincy heard the low monotone of their voices in the distance. There was
a combined odor of gin and cheap perfume in the air; the boy wondered
what his mother would say if she could see him now. A door slammed, and
the woman returned.
"Well?" she said. John Quincy perceived that her eyes were hard and
knowing, like her voice. He waited for her to sit down, then took a
chair facing her.
"You knew my Cousin Dan rather intimately," he suggested.
"I was engaged to him," she answered. John Quincy glanced at her left
hand. "He hadn't come across--I mean, he hadn't given me a ring, but it
was--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 lone
woman 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 hanging
around. Not that he'd any reason to--Steve's nothing to me--just a weak
kid I used to know when I was trouping. I was on the stage--maybe you
heard that."
"Yes," said John Quincy. "You hadn't seen Mr. Winterslip since last
Friday. You didn't go to his house last evening?"
"I should say not. I got my reputation to think of--you've no idea how
people talk in a place like this--"
John Quincy laid the brooch down upon the table. It sparkled in the
lamplight--a reading lamp, though the atmosphere was not in the least
literary. The baby stare was startled now. "You recognize that, don't
you?" he asked.
"Why--yes--it's--I--"
"Just stick to the truth," said John Quincy, not unkindly. "It's an old
piece 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 got
from 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 from
his 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, if
possible, from the hands of the--er--the cops. If you have any real
explanation of this matter, it may not be necessary to call it to the
attention of the police."
"Oh!" She smiled. "Say, that's decent of you. Now I will tell you the
truth. That about not seeing Dan Winterslip since Friday was bunk. I saw
him last night."
"Ah--you did? Where?"
"Right here. Mr. Winterslip gave me that thing about a month ago. Two
weeks ago he came to me in a sort of excited way and said he must have
it back. It was the only thing he ever give me and I liked it and those
emeralds are valuable--so--well, I stalled a while. I said I was having
a new clasp put on it. He kept asking for it, and last night he showed
up here and said he just had to have it. Said he'd buy me anything in
the stores in place of it. I must say he was pretty het up. So I finally
turned 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 to
a jewelry store this morning and take my pick of the stock." She looked
pleadingly at John Quincy. "That's the last I ever saw of him. It's the
truth, so help me."
"I wonder," mused John Quincy.
She moved nearer. "Say, you're a nice kid," she said. "The kind I used
to meet in Boston when we played there. The kind that's got some
consideration for a woman. You ain't going to drag me into this. Think
what it would mean--to me."
John Quincy did not speak. He saw there were tears in her eyes. "You've
probably heard things about me," she went on, "but they ain't true. You
don't know what I been up against out here. An unprotected woman don't
have much chance anywhere, but on this beach, where men come drifting in
from all over the world--I been friendly, that's my only trouble. I was
homesick--oh, God, wasn't I homesick! I was having a good time back
there, and then I fell for Bill Compton and came out here with him, and
sometimes in the night I'd wake up and remember Broadway was five
thousand miles away, and I'd cry so hard I'd wake him. And that made him
sore--"
She paused. John Quincy was impressed by the note of true nostalgia in
her voice. He was, suddenly, rather sorry for her.
"Then Bill's plane crashed on Diamond Head," she continued, "and I was
all alone. And these black sheep along the beach, they knew I was
alone--and broke. And I was homesick for Forty-second Street, for the
old boarding-house and the old gang and the Automat and the chewing-gum
sign, 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 day
out here is just like any other day, and somehow you don't get round to
picking one out--I been drifting--but honest to God if you keep me out
of this I'll go home on the first boat. I'll get me a job, and--and--If
you'll only keep me out of it. You got a chance now to wreck my
life--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 him
pleadingly through her tears. It was the most uncomfortable moment of
his life. He looked wildly about the little room, so different from any
in 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 in
time to see the woman's slim hand reach out and seize the bit of
jewelry. "I'll take the brooch," he added.
She looked up at him. Suddenly John Quincy knew that she had been
acting, that his emotions had been falsely played upon, and he felt
again that hot rush of blood to the head, that quick surge of anger, he
had experienced in Dan Winterslip's hall. Aunt Minerva had predicted he
couldn't handle a woman of this type. Well, he'd show her--he'd show the
world. "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 militantly
nearer, but there was a trace of caution in his attitude.
John Quincy laughed. "You stay where you are, Steve," he advised. "Or
I'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 evidence
in the murder up the beach, and with the utmost reluctance I am forced
to use strong-arm methods." The brooch dropped to the floor, he stooped
and picked it up. "Well, I guess that's about all," he added. "I'm sorry
if you've been homesick, Mrs. Compton, but speaking as a Bostonian, I
don't believe Broadway is as glamourous as you picture it. Distance has
lent enchantment. Good night."
He let himself out, and found his way to Kalakaua Avenue. He had settled
one thing to his own satisfaction; Chan must know about the brooch, and
at once. Mrs. Compton's story might be true or not, it certainly needed
further investigation by some responsible person.
John Quincy had approached the cottage by way of Kalia Road, he was
planning to return to Dan's house along the better lighted avenue.
Having reached that broad expanse of asphalt, however, he realized that
the Reef and Palm Hotel was near at hand. There was his promise to
Carlota Egan--he had said he would look in on her again to-day. As for
Chan, he could telephone the Chinaman from the hotel. He turned in the
direction of the Reef and Palm.
Stumbling through the dark garden, he saw finally the gaunt old hulk of
the hotel. Lights of low candle power burned at infrequent intervals on
the double-decked veranda. In the huge lobby a few rather shabby-looking
guests took their ease. Behind the desk stood--nobody but the Japanese
clerk.
John Quincy was directed to a telephone booth, and his keen Bostonian
mind required Nipponese aid in mastering the dial system favored by the
Honolulu telephone company. At length he got the police station. Chan
was out, but the answering voice promised that he would be told to get
in 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 his
elbow. 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 we
don'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 on
Diamond Head, and the silvery waters of the Pacific sweeping in to
disappear at last beneath the old Reef and Palm.
"I'm afraid poor dad's having a bad time of it," she said, and her voice
broke slightly. "I haven't been able to see him. They're holding him
down there--as a witness, I believe. There was some talk of bail, but I
didn'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 to
ask your advice. I've been cleaning up dad's office, and just before you
came I ran across that in his desk."
John Quincy stared down at the little pink slip she had given him. By
the light of one of the small lamps he saw that it was a check for five
thousand dollars, made out to "Bearer" and signed by Dan Winterslip. The
date was that of the day before.
"I say, that looks important, doesn't it?" John Quincy said. He handed
it back to her, and thought a moment. "By gad--it is important. It seems
to me it's pretty conclusive evidence of your father's innocence. If he
had that, his business with Cousin Dan must have come to a successful
end, and it isn't likely he would--er--do away with the man who signed
it and complicate the cashing of it."
The girl's eyes shone. "Just the way I reasoned. But I don't know what
to 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 turn
this 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," he
advised. He had a sudden recollection of Egan's face when he refused to
explain his business with Dan Winterslip. "Take this check with you and
ask your father what he wants done with it. Point out to him that it's
vital evidence in his favor."
"Yes, I guess that's the best plan," the girl agreed. "Will--will you
sit 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 big
arithmetical problems come up yet?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. It really isn't so bad, the work. We
haven't many guests, you know. I could be quite happy--if it weren't for
poor dad." She sighed. "Ever since I can remember," she added, "my
happiness has had an if in it."
He led her on to speak about herself, there in the calm night by that
romantic beach. Through her talk flashed little pictures of her
motherless childhood on this exotic shore, of a wearing fight against
poverty and her father's bitter struggle to send her to school on the
mainland, 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, and
John Quincy found pleasure in her talk.
Finally he forced himself to leave. As they walked along the balcony
they encountered one of the guests, a meek little man with stooped
shoulders. 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 at
once. "The poor man."
"What's his trouble?" asked John Quincy.
"He's a tourist--a business man," she said. "Des Moines, or some place
like that. And he's had the most appalling accident. He's lost his
teeth."
"His teeth!" repeated John Quincy.
"Yes. Like so many things in this world, they were false. He got into a
battle with a roller out by the second raft, and they disappeared. Since
then he spends all his time out there, peering down into the water by
day, and diving down and feeling about by night. One of the tragic
figures of history," she added.
John Quincy laughed.
"That's the most tragic part of it," the girl continued. "He's the joke
of the beach. But he goes on hunting, so serious. Of course, it is
serious for him."
They passed through the public room to the front door. Mr. Saladine's
tragedy slipped at once from John Quincy's mind.
"Good night," he said. "Don't forget about the check, when you see your
father 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 has
helped 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 the
garden.
In the living-room of Dan's house he was surprised to find Miss Minerva
and Charlie Chan sitting together, solemnly staring at each other. Chan
rose hurriedly at his entrance.
"Hello," said John Quincy. "I see you have a caller."
"Where in the world have you been?" snapped Miss Minerva. Evidently
entertaining 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 well
known to me. But about your call on Widow of Waikiki I learn soon after
door 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 rival
friend. Enter jealous feelings. Since morning both of these people are
under watchful regard of Honolulu police. Into the scene, you walk. I am
notified and fly to beach."
"Ah--does he also know--" began John Quincy.
"About the brooch?" finished Miss Minerva. "Yes--I've confessed
everything. And he's been kind enough to forgive me."
"But not nice thing to do," added Chan. "Humbly begging pardon to
mention it. All cards should repose on table when police are called
upon."
"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 already
tried to reach you by telephone at the station. When I left the woman's
cottage--"
"Police affairs forbid utmost courtesy," interrupted Chan. "I cut in to
remark from the beginning, if you will please do so."
"Oh, yes," smiled John Quincy. "Well, the woman herself let me in, and
showed me into her little living-room. When I got there this fellow
Leatherbee was mixing cocktails by the table--"
Haku appeared at the door. "Mr. Charlie Chan wanted by telephone," he
announced.
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 been
sitting here looking at me more in sorrow than in anger for the better
part of an hour, and I've made up my mind to one thing. I shall have no
more secrets from the police."
Chan reentered the room. "As I was saying," John Quincy began, "this
fellow Leatherbee was standing by the table, and--"
"Most sorry," said Chan, "but the remainder of that interesting recital
is 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 come
with me to that spot. The man Leatherbee is apprehended aboard boat
_Niagara_ on verge of sailing to Australia. Woman are also apprehended
in 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 of
Leatherbee are the page ruthlessly extracted from guest book. Kindly
procure your hat. Outside I have waiting for me one Ford automobile."