THE STONE WALLS CRUMBLE
The stone walls were crumbling and the light streaming through--but only
for Chan. John Quincy was still groping in the dark, and his reflections
were a little bitter as he returned to the house at Waikiki. Chan and he
had worked together, but now that they approached the crisis of their
efforts, the detective evidently preferred to push on alone, leaving his
fellow-worker to follow if he could. Well, so be it--but John Quincy's
pride was touched.
He had suddenly a keen desire to show Chan that he could not be left
behind like that. If only he could, by some inspirational flash of
deductive reasoning, arrive at the solution of the mystery
simultaneously with the detective. For the honor of Boston and the
Winterslips.
Frowning deeply, he considered all the old discarded clues again. The
people who had been under suspicion and then dropped--Egan, the Compton
woman, Brade, Kaohla, Leatherbee, Saladine, Cope. He even considered
several 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 the
fierce pompadour and the gold-rimmed eye-glasses. Bowker with his
sorrowful talk of vanished bar-rooms and lost friends behind the bar.
How was the steward on the _President Tyler_ connected with the murder
of Dan Winterslip? He had not done it himself, that was obvious, but in
some way he was linked up with the crime. John Quincy spent a long and
painful period seeking to join Bowker up with one or another of the
suspects. It couldn't be done.
All through that Tuesday evening the boy puzzled, so silent and distrait
that Miss Minerva finally gave him up and retired to her room with a
book. He awoke on Wednesday morning with the problem no nearer solution.
Barbara was due to arrive at ten o'clock from Kauai, and taking the
small car, John Quincy went down-town to meet her. Pausing at the bank
to cash a check, he encountered his old shipmate on the _President
Tyler_, 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 no
doubt you'll go back to Boston and report we're all criminals and
cutthroats out here."
"Oh, hardly that."
"Yes, you will. You're getting a very biased view of Honolulu. Why not
stoop 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 of
them 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. Ten
minutes 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 she
might as well be dead as hogtied by convention."
John Quincy went out to the corner of Fort and King Streets, near which
he had parked the car. As he was about to climb into it, he paused. A
familiar figure was jauntily crossing the street. The figure of Bowker,
the steward, and with him was Willie Chan, demon back-stopper of the
Pacific.
"Hello, Bowker," John Quincy called.
Mr. Bowker came blithely to join him. "Well, well, well. My old friend
Mr. 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 the
_President Tyler_."
Bowker was evidently quite sober. "Just got in, I take it," John Quincy
remarked.
"A few minutes ago. How about joining us?" He came closer and lowered
his voice. "This intelligent young man tells me he knows a taxi-stand
out near the beach where one may obtain a superior brand of fusel oil
with a very pretty label on the bottle."
"Sorry," John Quincy answered. "My cousin's coming in shortly on an
Inter-island boat, and I'm elected to meet her."
"I'm sorry, too," said the graduate of Dublin University. "If my
strength holds out I'm aiming to stage quite a little party, and I'd
like 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 newspaper
that 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. Sorry
you can't join us. If the going's not too rough and I can find a nice
smooth table top, I intend to turn down an empty glass. For poor old
Tim. So long, sir--and happy days."
He nodded to Willie Chan, and they went on down the street. John Quincy
stood staring after them, a puzzled expression on his face.
Barbara seemed paler and thinner than ever, but she announced that her
visit had been an enjoyable one, and on the ride to the beach appeared
to be making a distinct effort to be gay and sprightly. When they
reached the house, John Quincy repeated to his aunt Mrs. Maynard's
invitation.
"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 monotony
was broken. Leaving the dining-room with his aunt and Barbara, John
Quincy was handed a cablegram. He hastily opened it. It had been sent
from Boston; evidently Agatha Parker, overwhelmed by the crude
impossibility 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 in
his hand; he tried to suffer a little, but it was no use. He was a
mighty happy man. The end of a romance--no. There had never been any
nonsense of that kind between them--just an affectionate regard too
slight to stand the strain of parting. Agatha was younger than he, she
would marry some nice proper boy who had no desire to roam. And John
Quincy Winterslip would read of her wedding--in the San Francisco
papers.
He found Miss Minerva alone in the living-room. "It's none of my
business," 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 nothing
before."
"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 leading
lawyer, I believe he is. He's thinking of buying, and I feel I should be
here 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 wandered
down Kalia Road. It was another of those nights; a bright moon was
riding high; from a bungalow buried under purple alamander came the soft
croon of Hawaiian music. Through the hedges of flaming hibiscus he
caught again the exquisite odors of this exotic island.
Mrs. Maynard's big house was a particularly unlovely type of New England
architecture, but a hundred flowering vines did much to conceal that
fact. John Quincy found his hostess enthroned in her great airy
drawing-room, surrounded by a handsome laughing group of the best
people. Pleasant people, too; as she introduced him he began to wonder
if he hadn't been missing a great deal of congenial companionship.
"I dragged him here against his will," the old lady explained. "I felt I
owed it to Hawaii. He's been associating with the riff-raff long
enough."
They insisted that he take an enormous chair, pressed cigarettes upon
him, showered him with hospitable attentions. As he sat down and the
chatter was resumed, he reflected that here was as civilized a company
as Boston itself could offer. And why not? Most of these families came
originally from New England, and had kept in their exile the old ideals
of culture and caste.
"It might interest Beacon Street to know," Mrs. Maynard said, "that long
before the days of 'forty-nine the people of California were sending
their children over here to be educated in the missionary schools. And
importing their wheat from here, too."
"Go on, tell him the other one, Aunt Sally," laughed a pretty girl in
blue. "That about the first printing press in San Francisco being
brought over from Honolulu."
Madame Maynard shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, what's the use? We're so far
away, New England will never get us straight."
John Quincy looked up to see Carlota Egan in the doorway. A moment later
Lieutenant Booth, of Richmond, appeared at her side. It occurred to the
young man from Boston that the fleet was rather overdoing its stop at
Honolulu.
Mrs. Maynard rose to greet the girl. "Come in, my dear. You know most of
these people." She turned to the others. "This is Miss Egan, a neighbor
of mine on the beach."
It was amusing to note that most of these people knew Carlota too. John
Quincy smiled--the British Admiralty and the soap business. It must have
been rather an ordeal for the girl, but she saw it through with a sweet
graciousness that led John Quincy to reflect that she would be at home
in England--if she went there.
Carlota sat down on a sofa, and while Lieutenant Booth was busily
arranging 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 brought
here to meet the best people of Honolulu, and the way I see it, you're
the 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 the
general hubbub.
"They got a cable from Joe Clark out at the Country Club this
afternoon," he announced.
The din ceased, and every one listened with interest. "Clark's our
professional," explained the young man to John Quincy. "He went over a
month 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. "But
he 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 I
ever 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," he
answered. "Surf-boarding--that's what does it. Joe Clark was a champion
at one time--body-surfing and board-surfing too. He used to disappear
for hours in the rollers out by the reef. The result was a marvelous
wrist development. I've seen him drive a golf ball three hundred and
eighty yards. Yes, sir, I'll bet he made those Englishmen sit up and
take notice."
While John Quincy was thinking this over, some one suggested that it was
time for the swim, and confusion reigned. A Chinese servant led the way
to the dressing-rooms, which opened off the lanai, and the young people
trouped joyously after him.
"I'll be waiting for you on the beach," John Quincy said to Carlota
Egan.
"I came with Johnnie, you know," she reminded him.
"I know all about it," he answered. "But it was the week-end you
promised to the navy. People who try to stretch their week-end through
the 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 clothes
and great waving brown arms. Lieutenant Booth, he noted with
satisfaction, was proceeding at a leisurely pace. Hurrying through a
door that opened directly on the beach, he waited under a near-by hau
tree. Presently Carlota came, slender and fragile-looking in the
moonlight.
"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 minutes
later they sat on the float together. The light on Diamond Head was
winking; the lanterns of sampans twinkled out beyond the reef; the shore
line of Honolulu was outlined by a procession of blinking stars
controlled by dynamos. In the bright heavens hung a lunar rainbow, one
colorful end in the Pacific and the other tumbling into the foliage
ashore.
A gorgeous setting in which to be young and in love, and free to speak
at 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 out
here 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--and
remote. John Quincy--I believe I could call you John Quincy--"
"Well, make up your mind. You'll have to call me something, because I'm
going 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. Cary
dearest--"
A gurgle sounded behind them, and they turned around. Lieutenant Booth
was climbing on to the raft. "Swam the last fifty yards under water to
surprise you," he sputtered.
"Well, you succeeded," said John Quincy without enthusiasm.
The lieutenant sat down with the manner of one booked to remain
indefinitely. "I'll tell the world it's some night," he offered.
"Speaking of the world, when do you fellows leave Honolulu?" asked John
Quincy.
"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 to
be sailing presently, and I know what a wrench it will be. Perhaps I'll
follow the example of Waioli the swimmer, and leave the boat when it
passes Waikiki."
They lolled for a moment in silence. Suddenly John Quincy sat up. "What
was 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 part
in athletic meets, like Duke Kahanamoku. But he was a sentimentalist--he
couldn't bring himself to leave Hawaii. Finally they persuaded him, and
one 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 minutes
to get ashore, dress, and reach the dock before the _President Tyler_
sails. I'm sorry to go, but it's vital--vital. Cary, I'd started to tell
you something. I don't know when I'll get back, but I must see you when
I 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 leave
the girl you love on a float in the moonlight with a handsome naval
officer. 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, that
dive was all wrong. You let me show you--"
"Go to the devil," muttered John Quincy wetly, and swam with long
powerful strokes toward the shore. Mad with haste, he plunged into the
dressing-room, donned his clothes, then dashed out again. No time for
apologies to his hostess. He ran along the beach to the Winterslip
house. Haku was dozing in the hall.
"Wikiwiki," shouted John Quincy. "Tell the chauffeur to get the roadster
into the drive and start the engine. Wake up! Travel! Where's Miss
Barbara?"
"Last seen on beach--" began the startled Haku.
On the bench under the hau tree he found Barbara sitting alone. He stood
panting 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--I
didn't want to believe it. I went away to get it out of my mind. It's
all too terrible--"
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Poor Barbara. Don't you worry. You
won'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 Minerva
appeared from the house. "Haven't time to talk," he cried, leaping into
the roadster.
"But John Quincy--a curious thing has happened--that lawyer who was here
to 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 the
big car and go to the station--tell that to Hallet. Tell him too that
I'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 just
seventeen minutes to reach the dock before the _President Tyler_ would
sail. He shot like a madman through the brilliant Hawaiian night.
Kalakaua Avenue, smooth and deserted, proved a glorious speedway. It
took him just eight minutes to travel the three miles to the dock. A bit
of traffic and an angry policeman in the center of the city caused the
delay.
A scattering of people in the dim pier-shed waited for the imminent
sailing of the liner. John Quincy dashed through them and up the
gangplank. 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 few
minutes. There's a steward named Bowker--I must find him at once. Life
and 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 the
cabins presided over by Bowker when a tall figure caught his eye. A man
in a long green ulster and a battered green hat--a hat John Quincy had
last seen on the links of the Oahu Country Club.
The tall figure moved on up a stairway to the topmost deck. John Quincy
followed. 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 ulster
was back to, but he swung round suddenly.
"Ah, Mr. Jennison," John Quincy cried. "Were you thinking of sailing on
this 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's
all."
Jennison smiled, but there was a gleam of hate behind it. And in John
Quincy's heart, usually so gentle and civilized, there was hate too as
he faced this man. He thought of Dan Winterslip, dead on his cot. He
thought of Jennison walking down the gangplank with them that morning
they landed, Jennison putting his arm about poor Barbara when she
faltered under the blow. He thought of the shots fired at him from the
bush, of the red-haired man battering him in that red room. Well, he
must fight again. No way out of it. The siren of the _President Tyler_
sounded a sharp warning.
"You get out of here," said Jennison through his teeth. "I'll go with
you to the gangplank--"
He stopped, as the disadvantages of that plan came home to him. His
right hand went swiftly to his pocket. Inspired, John Quincy seized a
filled water bottle and hurled it at the man's head. Jennison dodged;
the bottle crashed through one of the windows. The clatter of glass rang
through the night, but no one appeared. John Quincy saw Jennison leap
toward him, something gleaming in his hand. Stepping aside, he threw
himself on the man's back and forced him to his knees. He seized the
wrist of Jennison's right hand, which held the automatic, in a firm
grip. They kept that posture for a moment, and then Jennison began
slowly to rise to his feet. The hand that held the pistol began to tear
away. John Quincy shut his teeth and sought to maintain his grip. But he
was up against a more powerful antagonist than the red-haired sailor, he
was outclassed, and the realization of it crept over him with a
sickening force.
Jennison was on his feet now, the right hand nearly free. Another
moment--what then, John Quincy wondered? This man had no intention of
letting him go ashore; he had changed that plan the moment he put it
into words. A muffled shot, and later in the night when the ship was
well out on the Pacific--John Quincy thought of Boston, his mother. He
thought of Carlota waiting his return. He summoned his strength for one
last desperate effort to renew his grip.
A serene, ivory-colored face appeared suddenly at the broken window. An
arm with a weapon was extended through the jagged opening.
"Relinquish the firearms, Mr. Jennison," commanded Charlie Chan, "or I
am forced to make fatal insertion in vital organ belonging to you."
Jennison's pistol dropped to the floor, and John Quincy staggered back
against the berth. At that instant the door opened and Hallet, followed
by the detective, Spencer, came in.
"Hello, Winterslip, what are you doing here?" the captain said. He
thrust 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 were
joined by Chan. At the top of the gangplank Hallet paused. "We'll wait a
minute for Hepworth," he said.
John Quincy put his hand on Chan's shoulder. "Charlie, how can I ever
thank you? You saved my life."
Chan bowed. "My own pleasure is not to be worded. I have saved a life
here and there, but never before one that had beginning in cultured city
of Boston. Always a happy item on the golden scroll of memory."
Hepworth came up. "It's all right," he said. "The captain has agreed to
delay our sailing one hour. I'll go to the station with you."
On the way down the gangplank, Chan turned to John Quincy. "Speaking
heartily for myself, I congratulate your bravery. It is clear you leaped
upon this Jennison with vigorous and triumphant mood of heart. But he
would have pushed you down. He would have conquered. And why? The answer
is, 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 this
Harry Jennison are champion swimmer in all Hawaii. I extract that news
from ancient sporting pages of Honolulu journal. But he have not been in
the water much here lately. Pursuing the truth further, not since the
night he killed Dan Winterslip."