MOONLIGHT AT THE CROSSROADS
They filed out, leaving Jennison with Greene and the stenographer. In
the anteroom Chan approached John Quincy.
"You go home decked in the shining garments of success," he said. "One
thought are tantalizing me. At simultaneous moment you arrive at same
conclusion we do. To reach there you must have leaped across
considerable 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 long
ball. I had a quick flash of Jennison on the links here, and his
terrific drives. Big wrists, they told me, meant that a man was
proficient in the water. Then some one else--a young woman--spoke of a
champion swimmer who left a ship off Waikiki. That was the first time
the idea of such a thing had occurred to me. I was pretty warm then, and
I felt Bowker was the man who could verify my suspicion. When I rushed
aboard 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 on
the track long before I was. How come?"
Chan grinned. "Seated at our ease in All American restaurant that first
night, you will recall I spoke of Chinese people as sensitives, like
camera film. A look, a laugh, a gesture, something go click. Bowker
enters and hovering above, says with alcoholic accent; 'I'm my own
mashter, ain't I?' In my mind, the click. He is not own master. I follow
to dock, behold when Spaniard present envelope. But for days I am
fogged. I can only learn Cabrera and Jennison are very close. Clues
continue to burst in our countenance. The occasion remains suspensive.
At the library I read of Jennison the fine swimmer. After that, the
watch, and triumph."
Miss Minerva moved on toward the door. "May I have great honor to
accompany you to car?" asked Chan.
Outside, John Quincy directed the chauffeur to return alone to Waikiki
with the limousine. "You're riding out with me," he told his aunt. "I
want to talk with you."
She turned to Charlie Chan. "I congratulate you. You've got brains, and
they count."
He bowed low. "From you that compliment glows rosy red. At this moment
of parting, my heart droops. My final wish--the snowy chilling days of
winter and the scorching windless days of summer--may they all be the
springtime 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 ocean
rolling between us. Still I shall carry the memory of your friendship
like a flower in my heart." John Quincy climbed into the car. "And the
parting may not be eternal," Chan added cheerfully. "The joy of travel
may yet be mine. I shall look forward to the day when I may call upon
you in your home and shake a healthy hand."
John Quincy started the car and slipping away, they left Charlie Chan
standing like a great Buddha on the curb.
"Poor Barbara," said Miss Minerva presently. "I dread to face her with
this news. But then, it's not altogether news at that. She told me she'd
been conscious of something wrong between her and Jennison ever since
they landed. She didn't think he killed her father, but she believed he
was involved in it somehow. She is planning to settle with Brade
to-morrow and leave the next day, probably for ever. I've persuaded her
to 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 was
smiling happily.
"In San Francisco," he explained, "Roger accused me of being a Puritan
survival. He ran over a little list of adventures he said had never
happened to me. Well, most of them have happened now, and I cabled to
tell him so. I also said I'd take that job with him."
Miss Minerva frowned. "Think it over carefully," she warned. "San
Francisco 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 she
will."
"Agatha?"
"No, not Agatha. The cultural standard was too low for her. She's broken
our engagement."
"Barbara, then?"
"Not Barbara, either."
"But I have sometimes thought--"
"You thought Barbara sent Jennison packing because of me. Jennison
thought so too--it's all clear now. That was why he tried to frighten me
into leaving Honolulu, and set his opium running friends on me when I
wouldn't go. But Barbara is not in love with me. We understand now why
she 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 before
you sleep. The sweetest girl in the Islands--or in the world. The
daughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as a
glorified beach-comber."
Again Miss Minerva frowned. "It's a great risk, John Quincy. She hasn't
our background--"
"No, and that's a pleasant change. She's the niece of your old
friend--you knew that?"
"I did," answered Miss Minerva softly.
"Your dear friend of the 'eighties. What was it you said to me? If your
chance ever comes--"
"I hope you will be very happy," his aunt said. "When you write it to
your 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 her
more elderly guests. From the beach came the sound of youthful revelry.
"Well, my boy," the old woman cried, "it appears you couldn't stay away
from your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give you
up."
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 a
bit of supper--by the way, there are sandwiches in the dining-room
and--"
"Not just now," said John Quincy. "Thank you so much. I'll see you
again, of course--"
He dashed out on the sand. A group of young people under the hau tree
informed 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 up
with the navy. That was hardly the attitude he should have taken,
considering all the navy had done for him. But it was human. And John
Quincy was human at last.
For an instant he stood at the water's edge. His bathing suit was in the
dressing-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 the
wandering Winterslips was racing through his veins; hot blood that
tropical waters had ever been powerless to cool.
Sure enough, Carlota Egan and Lieutenant Booth were together on the
float. 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 winds
came to fan their cheeks. Just above the horizon hung the Southern
Cross; the Island lights trembled along the shore; the yellow eye on
Diamond Head was winking. A gorgeous setting. Only one thing was wrong
with 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 my
motto."
Lieutenant Booth went to the end of the springboard. "In the first
place, 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 doubled
up 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 San
Francisco--that is, if you love me--"
"Well, I--"
"In heaven's name, be quick. That human submarine is floating around
here 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 Winterslips
could kiss like that. The stay-at-homes had always secretly begrudged
them 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