West of Guam (41 page)

“This one who calls—he knows so much. And yet he would share much with me. He would lose a great deal of money by doing that. The whole reward would be his if he did not—”

He broke off, and his gray-blue eyes got very small and long. After a short time he inspected his Colt automatic, slipped it into a pocket of his light coat, stuffing a handkerchief over it. When he reached deck he walked slowly towards the bow, conscious, as usual, of the curious glances the passengers directed towards him.

He circled the deck twice; the second time he noted that the woman in black and the child had vacated their chairs. A middle-aged man approached, walking unsteadily as the boat rolled. He looked at Jo, but there was no expression in his blue eyes. He had flabby, pale skin and very thin lips. They were almost opposite each other when the boat rolled more sharply. The Island detective let his small body strike the left side of the thin-lipped one, knocking him off balance.

“Pardon,” Jo said. “I’m very—sorry.”

He stood close to the other man, watched anger show in the blue eyes. More than anger showed, he thought. It was as though the thin-lipped one hated him fiercely, and had hated him for more than seconds.

“It was very careless of me,” Jo said.

The other man’s lips parted. He started to speak, but did not. A faint smile showed in his eyes; slowly his face twisted with it. He jerked his head downward abruptly, in an awkward bow. He shrugged, moved away from the Island detective.

Jo Gar continued his walk around the deck. But he did not meet the thin-lipped one on the starboard side. He did not see him again in the next half hour, and when he did locate the man he was in the smoking room, seated at a small table and with his back turned to the entrance from the port side of the deck.

A steward strolled along and smiled amiably at Jo. He beckoned to him, handed him a dollar bill. He designated the chair occupied by the thin-lipped one.

“That gentleman I seem to know,” he said. “I should like you to go to the far end of the smoking room, then turn and come back. You will be able to see him. I should like to know his name. You are the deck steward?”

The steward nodded. He went into the smoking room and Jo Gar went to the port rail. When the steward returned he was smiling cheerfully.

“I placed his chair for him,” he said. “He is a Mr. Tracy. He came aboard at Honolulu.”

Jo nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “It is not the one with whom I am acquainted.”

He did a few more turns on the deck, his face expressionless. Then he went below and talked to the purser. Mr. Eugene Tracy occupied Cabin C. 82. He had booked passage at the last moment and had been forced to take a cabin on the lower deck, though he had wanted better quarters.

Jo Gar went up above and saw that the thin-lipped one was still in the smoking room. He was reading a magazine, and was slumped low in a comfortable chair. The Island detective moved close to the chair, very quietly. No other person was near the two of them; Jo spoke sharply but low, his voice holding a faint questioning note.

“Mr. Tracy?”

His words were very clear, but the one in the chair did not move. Jo stepped directly in front of the chair and looked down at the magazine that hid the thin-lipped one’s face.

“Mr. Tracy?” he said again.

The man in the chair lowered his magazine. He looked at the Island detective with his blue eyes wide and questioning. Jo stared at him stupidly, shook his head.

“I’m sorry—again,” he stated. “It is another Mr. Tracy I’m looking for—and they pointed you out. Please pardon me.”

The one in the chair smiled almost pleasantly. He nodded his head, raised his magazine. Jo said very quietly:

“Have you the time, by any chance?”

Anger edged into the eyes of the man in the chair. Then the forced smile showed again. He shook his head. Jo bowed and moved away. As he went towards his cabin there was a half smile on his browned face. He was thinking that the thin-lipped one was a very silent person.

After dinner Jo Gar watched the thin-lipped man take the same chair he had occupied hours before, in the smoking room. The Island detective went to his cabin and changed from his dinner clothes to a dark, lightweight suiting. He wore a dark-colored shirt and was knotting a black bow tie when there was a knock at the cabin door. At his call a tall, slender man entered, closing the door carefully behind him.

“The captain said you had something for me to do,” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Porter—I’m an American and traveling to Frisco from Honolulu through courtesy of the line. I do ship news for a San Diego paper, and this is sort of a vacation.”

Jo Gar nodded. “It is very simple,” he said. “In the smoking room at present there is a man named Tracy. I will go up with you and point him out. I would like you to stay as close to him as is possible, for the next few hours, and to remember what he does. That is all. I shall be glad to pay—”

Porter smiled, shaking his head. “Not necessary, Señor Gar,” he interrupted. “I’m glad to help out. And I won’t talk.”

Jo Gar smiled back at the newspaper man. “You would be very foolish if you did,” he said. “There wouldn’t be anything to talk about.”

They went on deck and after walking several times around it, Jo pointed out the thin-lipped man. There was a vacant chair near him; Porter said he would go in and use it. Jo nodded.

“Do not come to me and do not speak to me if we meet later. I will speak first to you.”

The newspaper man went into the smoking room. Jo passed the woman in black and the child, on the way to his cabin. The boat was rolling quite a bit and the woman looked sick and tired. She wore no jewelry and she paid little attention to the child, who trailed along behind her.

When he reached the cabin his phone was making a buzz sound. Jo Gar closed the door behind him, locked it. He lifted the instrument, said slowly:

“This is Señor Gar.”

The voice was flat and low. It said: “Mrs. Jetmars is having the child attract attention to itself. She is letting passengers see that the child has an interest in beads.”

Jo Gar said nothing. The voice continued:

“I point this out to you, because perhaps you do not believe she has the diamonds for which you are searching.”

The Island detective said with his almond-shaped eyes almost closed:

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to enter her cabin, with the ship’s captain, while she is absent. A thorough search—”

“I do not think it would be wise,” the voice cut in. “But that is up to you, of course.”

There was the clicking sound. Jo hung up and went to the ship switchboard room again. When he had asked the question the operator smiled cheerfully.

“The call came from Cabin C. 80,” he stated. “I have been paying attention to the calls since you first asked me—”

He had been looking at a small book as he was speaking. His voice died abruptly; he widened his dark eyes on Jo Gar’s expressionless ones.

“Cabin C. 80 is vacant,” he said stiffly. “It is one of the poorest cabins on the ship.”

The Island detective nodded his head. “The doors of vacant cabins are not always locked, are they?” he asked.

The switchboard boy narrowed his eyes. “No, Señor Gar,” he replied. “They are left half-opened, for ventilation.”

Jo Gar moved towards the main saloon, frowning. Too many persons aboard the boat knew too much about him; even the Chinese boy at the switchboard was now addressing him by his name. He murmured to himself:

“It becomes—always more difficult.”

In the smoking room the thin-lipped one was seated in the chair he had occupied before, still reading his magazine. The newspaper man was sprawled in a chair that faced the port-side entrance to the room. Jo Gar beckoned to him, watched him rise slowly, stroll towards the entrance. The Island detective walked slowly aft, and Porter followed in the same fashion. Behind a ventilator Jo halted and lighted a cigarette. Porter reached his side.

“Well?” The Island detective’s voice was very low.

Peter grinned. “You didn’t expect him to move around much in
that
length of time, did you?” he replied. “He only turned two pages of the magazine.”

Jo said steadily: “He never left the chair?”

Porter grunted. “All he moved was his fingers,” he replied.

Jo sighed heavily. Then he showed white teeth in a slow smile.

“You have been very kind—and I shall not need your help for the present, Señor Porter.”

The newspaper man looked surprised. “He wasn’t the right guy, maybe?”

The Island detective made the tip of his cigarette glow in the semidarkness.

“After I left you I went to my cabin. I received a phone call that I half expected. But I expected, also, that the gentleman you were watching would
make
the call.”

Porter whistled softly. “He didn’t,” he said. “That’s sure enough.

He stuck right in his chair.”

Jo Gar nodded. Porter said slowly: “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the other way—the way you expected, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective smiled with his lips tight against the paper of the cigarette. He stood with his short legs spread, swaying with the roll of the ship. He had picked the thin-lipped passenger as the one who had called him, using the flat, peculiar tone. He had listened to most of the others talk—those who had come aboard at Honolulu.

The others he had heard before; it had been a long trip from Manila. And the thin-lipped one had failed to answer quickly, naturally to the name of Tracy. He had not spoken to Jo—had not answered his question about the time. It was difficult to disguise a voice, and Jo felt that the thin-lipped one had not made the effort. Thus he had not spoken when addressed. And yet, there had been the phone call just received—and the thin-lipped one had not made it.

Jo frowned down at the cigarette glow. Then, suddenly, his small body straightened; he drew a deep breath. Porter was watching him closely.

“You got an idea—that time,” he muttered.

The Island detective narrowed his eyes on Porter’s.

He spoke very slowly and softly, and his eyes held little expression.

“That is so, Señor Porter—but it is so difficult to tell whether it is a
good
idea.”

The newspaper man said grimly: “If it isn’t—you’ll probably find out quick enough.”

Jo Gar smiled narrowly. “That is the trouble,” he said simply.

The door of Cabin C. 82 was tightly closed, locked. Jo Gar took from his pocket the small, adjustable key, worked with it swiftly and expertly. It was after nine o’clock, but the thin-lipped man was still seated in his chair in the smoking room. The cabin steward for this section of the
Cheyo Maru
was on the opposite side of the boat; Jo had come to Cabin C. 82 slowly and carefully. When the lock made a faint clicking sound he returned the master key to his pocket, moved the knob and slowly opened the door. He stepped inside quickly, shut the door without sound but did not lock it from the inside. The cabin was small and held the odor of cigarettes. There was little baggage about, but what there was bore the initials E.T. Jo Gar smiled a little, went towards cool-colored curtains that formed a protection for hung clothes. There was only a coat of gray material hanging behind the curtains.

“Señor Tracy is traveling very lightly,” Jo observed in a half whisper.

He got his small body back of the curtains, arranging them so that he had a slitted view of the room, where they met. For several minutes he remained motionless. Then he stepped from behind the curtains and started the search. He worked very slowly and thoroughly, placing each object that he touched in the same spot from which he had raised it. Twice there was sound in the corridor, but neither time did he lock the cabin door. Instead, he got his diminutive body behind the curtains that faced the door from the opposite end of the cabin, waited.

He finished his search in a little over ten minutes, straightened and sighed. The phone made a buzzing sound, three times. Jo got his right-hand fingers over the grip of his Colt, moved behind the curtains and was motionless. Several minutes passed, and then there were footfalls in the narrow corridor beyond the cabin. A key turned in the lock—there was muttering. The door opened with a small crashing sound, but the thin-lipped one did not immediately enter. He stood in the doorway—his eyes going about the room. Through the very thin slit where the curtains met Jo Gar watched him.

His body relaxed suddenly; he entered the cabin, closed the door behind him, locked it. His eyes kept moving about. He lifted the smaller of the bags, opened it, looked inside. When he placed it on the floor again he was frowning. But the frown became a grin—a slow grin that twisted his thin lips.

“He’s been in here,” he said in a peculiar, flat voice. “A lot of good
that
did him!”

Jo Gar half closed his almond-shaped eyes. This was the one who had called him; he knew that now. He moved the muzzle of the Colt slightly, so that it was pointed towards the body of the thin-lipped one.

After he had drawn a small curtain across the port, the thin-lipped man placed a towel over the knob of the door, draping it so that it covered the keyhole. Then he seated himself at a small table beneath the center light, and faced the port. His left side was turned towards Jo. From a vest pocket he took a red-colored, large-sized fountain pen. His face was grim as he unscrewed an end of it. The table at which he sat had a green surface; the thin-lipped one spilled the diamonds across it very carefully. He chuckled, staring at them and poking them with a long, white finger.

Jo Gar straightened his cramped body a little. He drew the Colt from his pocket, extended it through the slit in the curtains. His eyes could count five diamonds—he thought there was another on the table surface but he could not see it.

“A hundred—thousand!” The thin-lipped one’s voice was not so flat now. “And with Gar chasing the Jetmars woman—”

He chuckled again, huskily. Jo Gar said in a cold, hard voice:

“—you might easily have got the stones through the customs—”

The man at the table jerked his body straight. His right-hand palm flattened over the diamonds; his white face turned towards the curtains. Jo parted them with his left hand, stepped away from them. His face was expressionless. He held the Colt very firmly.