Behind That Curtain (26 page)

“And the newspaper,” Charlie added. “The brightest act you have performed to date.”

The door opened, and a man in uniform entered. “That dame's outside, Captain,” he announced. “She's brought her fellow with her. Shall I fetch ‘em in?”

“Sure,” Flannery nodded. “It's Miss Lila Barr,” he explained to Chan. “I got to thinking about her, and she don't sound so good to me. I'm going to have another talk with her. You can stay, if you want to.”

“Overwhelmed by your courtesy,” Chan responded.

Miss Lila Barr came timidly through the door. After her came Kinsey, Kirk's secretary. The girl seemed very much worried.

“You wanted me, Captain Flannery?”

“Yeah. Come in. Sit down.” He looked at Kinsey. “Who's this?”

“Mr. Kinsey—a friend of mine,” the girl explained. “I thought you wouldn't mind—”

“Your fellow, eh?”

“Well,—I suppose—”

“The guy you was crying about that night you came out of the office where you saw Sir Frederic?”

“Yes,”

“Well, I'm glad to meet him. I'm glad you can prove you've got a fellow, anyhow. But even so—that story of yours sounds pretty fishy to me.”

“I can't help how it sounds,” returned the girl with spirit. “It's the truth.”

“All right. Let it go. It's the next night I want to talk about now. The night Sir Frederic was killed. You were working in your office that night?”

“Yes, sir. Though I must have left before—the thing—happened.”

“How do you know you left before it happened?”

“I don't. I was just supposing—”

“Don't suppose with me,” bullied Flannery.

“She has good reason for thinking she left before the murder,” Kinsey put in. “She heard no shot fired.”

Flannery swung on him. “Say—when I want any answers from you, I'll ask for ‘em.” He turned back to the girl. “You didn't hear any shot?”

“No, sir.”

“And you didn't see anybody in the hall when you went home?”

“Well—I—I—”

“Yes? Out with it.”

“I'd like to change my testimony on that point.”

“Oh, you would, would you?”

“Yes. I have talked it over with Mr. Kinsey, and he thinks I was wrong to—to—say what I did—”

“To lie, you mean?”

“But I didn't want to be entangled in it,” pleaded the girl. “I saw myself testifying in court—and I didn't think—it just seemed I couldn't—”

“You couldn't help us, eh? Young woman, this is serious business. I could lock you up—”

“Oh, but if I change my testimony? If I tell you the truth now?”

“Well, we'll see. But make sure of one thing—that it's the truth at last. Then there was somebody in the hall?”

“Yes. I started to leave the office, but just as I opened the door, I remembered my umbrella. So I went back. But in that moment at the door, I saw two men standing near the elevators.”

“You saw two men. What did they look like?”

“One—one was a Chinese.”

Flannery was startled. “A Chinese. Say—it wasn't Mr. Chan here?” Charlie smiled.

“Oh, no,” the girl continued. “It was an older Chinese. He was talking with a tall, thin man. A man whose picture I have seen in the newspapers.”

“Oh, you've seen his picture in the papers? What's his name?”

“His name is Colonel John Beetham, and I believe he is—an explorer.”

“I see.” Flannery got up and paced the floor. “You saw Beetham talking with a Chinese in the hall just before Sir Frederic was killed. Then you went back to get your umbrella?”

“Yes—and when I came out again they were gone.”

“Anything else?”

“No—I guess not.”

“Think hard. You've juggled the truth once.”

“She was not under oath,” protested Kinsey.

“Well, what if she wasn't? She obstructed our work, and that's no joking matter. However, I'll overlook it, now that she's finally come across. You can go. I may want you again.”

The girl and Kinsey went out. Flannery walked the floor in high glee.

“Now I'm getting somewhere,” he cried. “Beetham! I haven't paid much attention to him, but I'll make up for lost time from here on. Beetham was in the hall talking with a Chinaman a few
minutes before the murder. And he was supposed to be upstairs running his magic lantern. A Chinaman—do you get it? Those slippers came from the Chinese Legation. By heaven, it's beginning to tie up at last.”

“If I might presume,” said Chan, “you now propose to—”

“I propose to get after Colonel Beetham. He told Miss Morrow he didn't leave the room upstairs. Another liar—and a distinguished one this time.”

“Humbly asking pardon,” Chan ventured, “Colonel Beetham very clever man. Have a care he does not outwit you.”

“I'm not afraid of him. He can't fool me. I'm too old at this game.”

“Magnificent confidence,” Charlie smiled. “Let us hope it is justified by the finish.”

“It will be, all right. You just leave Colonel Beetham to me.”

“With utmost gladness,” agreed Chan. “If you will allot something else to me.”

“What's that?” Flannery demanded.

“I refer to faint little figures on newspaper margin.”

“Poor arithmetic,” snorted Flannery. “And a poor clue.”

“Time will reveal,” said Chan gently.

Barry Kirk answered the ring of the telephone the next morning at ten, and was greeted by a voice that, even over the wire, seemed to afford him pleasure.

“Good morning,” he said. “I'm glad to hear from you. This is what I call starting the day right.”

“Thanks ever so much,” Miss Morrow replied. “Now that your day has begun auspiciously, would you mind fading away into the background and giving Mr. Chan your place at the telephone?”

“What—you don't want to talk to me?”

“I'm sorry—no. I'm rather busy to-day.”

“Well, I can take a hint as quickly as the next man. I know when I'm not wanted. That's what you meant to convey, isn't it—”

“Please, Mr. Kirk.”

“Here's Charlie now. I'm not angry, but I'm terribly, terribly hurt—” He handed the telephone to Chan.

“Oh, Mr. Chan,” the girl said. “Captain Flannery is going to interview Colonel Beetham at eleven o'clock. He's all Beetham today. He's asked me to be on hand to remind the Colonel about his testimony the night of the murder, and I suggest you come, too.”

“The Captain demands me?” Chan inquired.

“I demand you. Isn't that enough?”

“To me it is delicious plenty,” Charlie replied. “I will be there—at Captain Flannery's office, I presume?”

“Yes. Don't fail me,” Miss Morrow said, and rang off.

“Something doing?” Kirk asked.

Chan shrugged. “Captain Flannery has hot spasm about Colonel Beetham. He interrogates him at eleven, and I am invited.”

“How about me?”

“I am stricken by regret, but you are not mentioned.”

“Then I hardly think I'll go,” Kirk said.

At a little before eleven, Charlie went to the Hall of Justice. In Flannery's dark office he found Miss Morrow, brightening the dreary corner where she was.

“Good morning,” she said. “The Captain is showing Inspector Duff about the building. I'm glad you're here. Somehow I've got the impression Captain Flannery doesn't care much for me this morning.”

“Mainland police have stupid sinking spells,” Chan informed her.

Flannery came in, followed by Inspector Duff. He stood for a minute glaring at Charlie and the girl.

“Well, a fine pair you are,” he roared. “What's the idea, anyhow?”

“What is the idea, Captain?” asked Miss Morrow sweetly.

“The idea seems to be to keep me in the dark,” Flannery went on. “What do you think I am? A mind-reader? I've just been talking with Inspector Duff about Colonel Beetham, and I discover you two know a lot more about the Colonel than you've ever told me.”

“Please understand—I haven't been tale-bearing,” smiled Duff. “I mentioned these things thinking of course the Captain knew them.”

“Of course you thought I knew them,” Flannery exploded. “Why shouldn't I know them? I'm supposed to be in charge of this case,
ain't I? Yet you two have been digging up stuff right along and keeping it to yourselves. I tell you, it makes me sore—”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” cried Miss Morrow.

“That helps a lot. What's all this about a servant of the Colonel's—a Chinaman named Li Gung? Are you willing to talk now, Sergeant Chan, or are you still playing button, button, who's got the—”

“I'm the guilty one,” the girl cut in. “I should have told you myself. Naturally, Mr. Chan must have thought I had.”

“Oh, no,” Chan protested. “Please shift all guilt from those pretty shoulders to my extensive ones. I have made mistake. It is true I have pondered certain facts in silence, but I was hoping some great light would break—”

“All right, all right,” Flannery interrupted. “But will you talk now, that's what I want to know? When did you first hear about Li Gung?”

“At noon of the day Sir Frederic was killed, I have great honor to lunch with him. After lunch he takes me apart and talks of this Li Gung, a stranger visiting relatives in Jackson Street. He suggests I might make cunning inquiries of the man, but I am forced to refuse the task. On morning after murder I am in stateroom of
Maui
boat, foolishly believing I am going to Honolulu, when I hear Colonel Beetham in next cabin saying farewell to one he calls Li Gung. The Colonel directs that Gung lie low in Honolulu, and answer no questions.”

“And all that was so unimportant I never heard of it,” stormed Flannery. “How about the fact that Beetham was one of the guests at the picnic near Peshawar?”

“We did not learn that until Tuesday night,” Miss Morrow informed him.

“Only had about thirty-six hours to tell me, eh? On May fourth, nineteen hundred and thirteen, Colonel Beetham left Peshawar by way of the er—the Khyber Pass to go to—to—to make a trip—”

“To Teheran by way of Afghanistan and the Kevir Desert of northern Persia,” Duff helped him out.

“Yes. You told the Inspector that, Sergeant. But you never told me.”

Charlie shrugged. “Why should I trouble you? The matter appears to mean nothing. True enough, I might make a surmise—a most picturesque surmise. But I see you, Captain, floundering about in difficult murder case. Should I ask such a man to come with me and gaze upon the bright tapestry of romance?”

“Whatever that means,” Flannery returned. “If I hadn't got that Barr girl in, I'd still be in the dark. I was too smart for you—I hit on Beetham's trail myself—but that doesn't excuse you. I'm disappointed in the pair of you.”

“Overwhelmed with painful regret,” Chan bowed.

“Oh, forget it.” A man in uniform ushered Colonel Beetham into the room.

The Colonel knew a good tailor, a tailor who no doubt rejoiced in the trim, lithe figure of his client. He was faultlessly attired, with a flower in his button-hole, a stick in his gloved hand. For a moment he stood, those tired eyes that had looked on so many lonely corners of the world unusually alert and keen.

“Good morning,” he said. He bowed to Miss Morrow and Chan. “Ah—this, I believe, is Captain Flannery—”

“Morning,” replied Flannery. “Meet Inspector Duff of Scotland Yard.”

“Delighted,” Beetham answered. “I am very happy to see a man from the Yard. No doubt the search for Sir Frederic's murderer will get forward now.”

“I guess it will,” growled Flannery, “if you answer a few questions for us—and tell the truth—”

The Colonel raised his eyebrows very slightly. “The truth, of course,” he remarked, with a wan smile. “I shall do my best. May I sit down?”

“Sure,” replied Flannery, indicating a dusty chair. “On the night Sir Frederic was killed, you were giving a magic lantern show on the floor above—”

“I should hardly have called it that. Motion pictures, you know, of Tibet—”

“Yes, yes. You did a lecture with these lantern slides, but toward the end you dropped out and let the performance run itself. Later Miss Morrow here asked you—what was it you asked him, Miss Morrow?”

“I referred to that moment when he left the machine,” the girl said. “He assured me that he had not been absent from the room during the interval.”

The Captain looked at Beetham. “Is that right, Colonel?”

“Yes—I fancy that is what I told her.”

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Why did you tell her that when you knew damn well you had been down on the twentieth floor talking with a Chinaman?”

Beetham laughed softly. “Have you never done anything that you later regretted, Captain? The matter struck me as of no importance—I had seen nothing of note on my brief jaunt below. I had a sort of inborn diffidence about being involved in the scandal. So I very foolishly made a slight—er—misstatement.”

“Then you did go down to the twentieth floor?”

“Only for a second. You see, a motion-picture projector and seven reels of film make a rather heavy load. My old boy, Li Gung, had assisted me in bringing the outfit to Mr. Kirk's apartment. I thought I should be finished by ten, and I told him to be back then. When I left the machine at fifteen minutes past ten, I realized that I still had another reel to show. I ran downstairs, found Gung waiting on the lower floor, and told him to go home. I said I would carry the machine away myself.”

“Ah, yes—and he left?”

“He went at once, in the lift. The lift girl can verify my statement—if—”