THE LUGGAGE IN ROOM NINETEEN
John Quincy emerged from sleep the next morning with a great effort, and
dragged his watch from under the pillow. Eight-thirty! Good lord, he was
due at the office at nine! A quick bath and shave, a brief pause at the
breakfast table, a run past the Public Gardens and the Common and down
to School Street--
He sat up in bed. Why was he imprisoned under mosquito netting? What was
the 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 by
nine. It was five thousand miles away.
The low murmur of breakers on the beach confirmed him in this discovery
and stepping to his window, he gazed out at the calm sparkling morning.
Yes, he was in Honolulu entangled in a murder mystery, consorting with
Chinese detectives and Waikiki Widows, following clues. The new day held
interesting promise. He must hurry to find what it would bring forth.
Haku informed him that his aunt and Barbara had already breakfasted, and
set before him a reddish sort of cantaloupe which was, he explained in
answer to the boy's question, a papaia. When he had eaten, John Quincy
went out on the lanai. Barbara stood there, staring at the beach. A new
Barbara, with the old vivacity, the old joy of living, submerged; a pale
girl with sorrow in her eyes.
John Quincy put his arm about her
shoulder; she was a Winterslip and the family was the family. Again he
felt in his heart that flare of anger against the "person or persons
unknown" who had brought this grief upon her. The guilty must pay--Egan
or whoever, Brade or Leatherbee or the chorus girl. Pay and pay
dearly--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 the
reef, and I'll teach you to ride a surf-board. I want your visit to be a
happy one."
He shook his head. "It can't be that," he said, "because of you. But
because of you, I'm mighty glad I came."
She pressed his hand. "I'm going out to sit by the water. Will you
come?"
The bamboo curtain parted, and Miss Minerva joined them. "Well, John
Quincy," she said sharply, "this is a pretty hour for you to appear. If
you're going to rescue me from lotus land, you'll have to be immune
yourself."
He smiled. "Just getting acclimated," he explained. "I'll follow you in
a moment, Barbara," he added, and held open the door for her.
"I waited up," Miss Minerva began, when the girl had gone, "until
eleven-thirty. But I'd had very little sleep the night before, and that
was my limit. I make no secret of it--I'm very curious to know what
happened at the police station."
He repeated to her the story told by Mrs. Compton and Leatherbee. "I
wish I'd been present," she said. "A pretty woman can fool all the men
in Christendom. Lies, probably."
"Maybe," admitted John Quincy. "But wait a minute. Later on, Chan and I
followed up your newspaper clue. And it led us to a startling
discovery."
"Of course it did," she beamed. "What was it?"
"Well," he said, "first of all, I met a missionary on the boat." He told
her the Reverend Frank Upton's tale of that morning on Apiang, and added
the 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 at
last. "How charming! Such a pleasant man, too. But then, I learned that
lesson early in life--the brighter the smile, the darker the past. All
this 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 for
a good murder. I once wrote letters to all the editors in Boston urging
them to print no more details about homicides. It hadn't the slightest
effect--though I did get an acknowledgment of my favor from the
_Herald_."
John Quincy glanced at his watch. "Perhaps I should go down to the
station. Anything in the morning paper?"
"A very hazy interview with Captain Hallet. The police have unearthed
important clues, and promise early results. You know--the sort of thing
they always give out just after a murder."
The boy looked at her keenly. "Ah," he said, "then you read newspaper
accounts of the kind you tried to suppress?"
"Certainly I do," snapped his aunt. "There's little enough excitement in
my life. But I gladly gave up my port wine because I felt intoxicants
were bad for the lower classes, and--"
Haku interrupted with the news that John Quincy was wanted on the
telephone. When the boy returned to the lanai, there was a brisk air of
business about him.
"That was Charlie," he announced. "The day's work is about to get under
way. They've located Mr. and Mrs. Brade at the Reef and Palm Hotel, and
I'm to meet Charlie there in fifteen minutes."
"The Reef and Palm," repeated Miss Minerva. "You see, it keeps coming
back to Egan. I'd wager a set of Browning against a modern novel that
he's the man who did it."
"You'd lose your Browning, and then where would you be when the lecture
season started?" laughed John Quincy. "I never knew you to be so stupid
before." His face became serious. "By the way, will you explain to
Barbara that I can't join her, after all?"
Miss Minerva nodded. "Go along," she said. "I envy you all this. First
time in my life I ever wished I were a man."
John Quincy approached the Reef and Palm by way of the beach. The scene
was one of bright serenity. A few languid tourists lolled upon the sand;
others, more ambitious, were making picture post-card history out where
the surf began. A great white steamer puffed blackly into port. Standing
in water up to their necks, a group of Hawaiian women paused in their
search for luncheon delicacies to enjoy a moment's gossip.
John Quincy passed Arlene Compton's cottage and entered the grounds of
the Reef and Palm. On the beach not far from the hotel, an elderly
Englishwoman sat on a camp stool with an easel and canvas before her.
She was seeking to capture something of that exotic scene--vainly
seeking, for John Quincy, glancing over her shoulder, perceived that her
work was terrible. She turned and looked at him, a weary look of protest
against his intrusion, and he was sorry she had caught him in the act of
smiling at her inept canvas.
Chan had not yet arrived at the hotel, and the clerk informed John
Quincy that Miss Carlota had gone to the city. For that interview with
her father, no doubt. He hoped that the evidence of the check would
bring about Egan's release. It seemed to him that the man was being held
on a rather flimsy pretext, anyhow.
He sat down on the lanai at the side, where he could see both the path
that led in from the street and the restless waters of the Pacific. On
the beach near by a man in a purple bathing suit reclined dejectedly,
and John Quincy smiled in recollection. Mr. Saladine, alone with his
tragedy, peering out at the waters that had robbed him--waiting, no
doubt, for the tide to yield up its loot.
Some fifteen or twenty minutes passed, and then John Quincy heard voices
in the garden. He saw that Hallet and Chan were coming up the walk and
went to meet them at the front door.
"Splendid morning," said Chan. "Nice day to set out on new path leading
unevitably to important discovery."
John Quincy accompanied them to the desk. The Japanese clerk regarded
them with sullen unfriendliness; he had not forgotten the events of the
day before. Information had to be dragged from him bit by bit. Yes,
there was a Mr. and Mrs. Brade stopping there. They arrived last
Saturday, on the steamship _Sonoma_. Mr. Brade was not about at the
moment. Mrs. Brade was on the beach painting pretty pictures.
"Good," said Hallet, "I'll have a look around their room before I
question them. Take us there."
The Jap hesitated. "Boy!" he called. It was only a bluff; the Reef and
Palm had no bell-boys. Finally, with an air of injured dignity, he led
the way down a long corridor on the same floor as the office and
unlocked the door of nineteen, the last room on the right. Hallet strode
in and went to the window.
"Here--wait a minute," he called to the clerk. He pointed to the elderly
woman 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 you
to sit here in the window and keep an eye on the lady. If she starts to
come in, let me know." He stared eagerly about the poorly furnished
bedroom. "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't
be called upon to do any searching himself, and if policemen were forced
to do disagreeable things--well, they should have thought of that before
they became policemen. Not that either Hallet or Chan appeared to be
embarrassed by the task before them.
There was a great deal of luggage in the room--English luggage, which is
usually large and impressive. John Quincy noted a trunk, two enormous
bags, and a smaller case. All were plastered with labels of the
_Sonoma_, and beneath were the worn fragments of earlier labels, telling
a broken story of other ships and far hotels.
Hallet and Chan were old hands at this game; they went through Brade's
trunk rapidly and thoroughly, but without finding anything of note. The
captain turned his attention to the small traveling case. With every
evidence of delight he drew forth a packet of letters, and sat down with
them at a table. John Quincy was shocked. Reading other people's mail
was, in his eyes, something that simply wasn't done.
It was done by Hallet, however. In a moment the captain spoke. "Seems to
have been in the British civil service in Calcutta, but he's resigned,"
he announced to Chan. "Here's a letter from his superior in London
referring to Brade's thirty-six years on the job, and saying he's sorry
to lose him." Hallet took up another letter, his face brightened as he
read. "Say--this is more like it!" He handed the typewritten page to
Chan. The Chinaman looked at it, and his eyes sparkled. "Most
interesting," 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. The
letter was several months old, and was addressed to Brade in Calcutta.
"Dear Sir: In reply to your inquiry of the sixth instant, would say
that 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 Quincy
returned the epistle to Hallet, who put it in his pocket. At that
instant Chan, who had been exploring one of the larger bags, emitted a
little grunt of satisfaction.
"What is it, Charlie?" Hallet asked.
The Chinaman set out on the table before his chief a small tin box, and
removed the lid. It was filled with cigarettes. "Corsican brand," he
announced cheerfully.
"Good," said Hallet. "It begins to look as though Mr. Thomas Macan Brade
would have a lot to explain."
They continued their researches, while John Quincy sat silent by the
window. Presently Carlota Egan appeared outside. She walked slowly to a
chair on the lanai, and sat down. For a moment she stared at the
breakers, then she began to weep.
John Quincy turned uncomfortably away. It came to him that here in this
so-called paradise sorrow was altogether too rampant. The only girls he
knew were given to frequent tears, and not without reason.
"If you'll excuse me--" he said. Hallet and Chan, searching avidly, made
no reply, and climbing over the sill, he stepped on to the lanai. The
girl 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 told
me 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? He
snatched it out of my hand and tore it into a hundred pieces. He gave me
the pieces to--to throw away. And he said I was never to mention it to a
soul."
"I don't understand that," frowned John Quincy.
"Neither do I. He was simply furious--not like himself at all. And when
I 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 a
moment's rest--keep after him constantly--trying to make him tell. But
all the policemen in the world couldn't--Oh, poor old dad!"
She was weeping again, and John Quincy felt toward her as he had felt
toward Barbara. He wanted to put his arm about her, just by way of
comfort 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. It
seems to help a little. But"--she dried her eyes--"I really haven't time
for it now. I must go in and see about lunch."
She rose, and John Quincy walked with her along the balcony. "I wouldn't
worry if I were you," he said. "The police are on an entirely new trail
this morning."
"Really?" she answered eagerly.
"Yes. There's a man named Brade stopping at your hotel. You know him, I
suppose?"
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 here
last 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 Chan
are 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 young
Hawaiian boy was coming in through the big door at the front. Something
in his manner caught the attention of John Quincy, and he stopped. At
that instant a purple bathing suit slipped by him, and Mr. Saladine also
approached the desk. Carlota Egan went on down the corridor toward room
nineteen, 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 call
again."
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 staring
after the Hawaiian, who was disappearing through the front door. As he
swung round his eyes encountered those of John Quincy. He looked quickly
away 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 with
a drag-net. First of all, I want a talk with his wife." He turned to
Carlota 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 for
Brade."
"What's that!" Hallet was interested.
"A young Hawaiian, about twenty, I should say. Tall and slim. If you go
to the door, you may catch a glimpse of him."
Hallet hurried over and glanced out into the garden. In a second he
returned. "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't
question Mrs. Brade, after all. For the present, I don't want her to
know we're looking for her husband. I'll trust you to fix that up with
your clerk," he added to the girl. She nodded. "Lucky we left things as
we found them in nineteen," he went on. "Unless she misses that letter
and 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, and
leave the door open. When Mrs. Brade comes in, I want you to question
her about her husband's absence. Get all you can out of her. I'll be
listening."
"I understand," the girl said.
Hallet, Chan and John Quincy went into Jim Egan's sanctum. "You found
nothing else in the room?" the latter inquired of the Chinaman.
Chan shook his head. "Even so, fates are in smiling mood. What we have
now are plentiful."
"Sh!" warned Hallet.
"Mrs. Brade, a young man was just here inquiring, for your husband." It
was 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." The
clerk was again at his post behind the desk. Hallet turned to him. "Look
here," he said. "I understand some one was here a minute ago asking for
Brade. 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 work
cut out for us. Wherever Brade is, we must find him."
John Quincy stepped forward. "Pardon me, Captain," he remarked. "But if
you don't mind--just who is Dick Kaohla?"
Hallet hesitated. "Kaohla's father--he's dead now--was a sort of
confidential 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 place
now. Kamaikui--is that her name?"