"No, you're not," replied his chief. "I'll be at the dock when you sail."

Clasping Duff's precious briefcase under his arm, Chan hurried to the street. With that sudden change of mood characteristic of Honolulu weather, the rain had ceased, and here and there amid the clouds the stars were shining. Charlie went to the lobby of the Young, and accosted the first man he met in the uniform of a ship's officer. Luck was with him, for the man proved to be one Harry Lynch, purser of the President Arthur.

Chan introduced himself, and persuaded Mr. Lynch to get into the flivver with him. While he drove to Queen's Hospital, he hastily explained what had happened. The purser was deeply interested.

"The old man told me a Scotland Yard detective was coming aboard here," he remarked. "We knew all about Welby, of course. It was quite a shock when we lost him so abruptly. The word from Yokohama was simply that the man had been killed. And now Inspector Duff has been wounded, eh? Well, we'll be glad to have a police officer aboard. There seems to be plenty of work waiting for you, Mr. Chan."

Charlie shrugged. "My talents are of the slightest," he protested.

"Yeah?" said Mr. Lynch. "I heard different."

He said no more, but Chan's heart had warmed toward him. After his long period of inaction, it was good to know that he was remembered.

"I'll fix up the matter of your ticket," Lynch went on. "We're running light this crossing, and I can give you a good cabin to yourself."

They were at the hospital now, and Charlie went inside, a feeling of deep anxiety weighing him down. Doctor Lang was pointed out to him - a ghostly figure all in white, his face lost somewhere in the shadow of an eye shade.

"I've located the bullet," the surgeon announced, "and I'm operating at once. Fortunately it was deflected from its course by a rib. It's a ticklish business, but the man looks to be in remarkably good condition, and he ought to pull through."

"He must," Charlie said firmly. He told the doctor who Duff was, and why he had come to Honolulu. "If I could see him for one final moment -" he suggested, timid in this unfamiliar place.

"Come up to the operating-room," the surgeon invited. "The patient has talked a little, but it's delirious talk. However, maybe you can make something of it."

In the rather terrifying, odoriferous room upstairs, Charlie bent over the sheeted form of his friend. Had Duff caught a glimpse of the man who fired that shot? If he had, and spoke the name now, the case was finished.

"Inspector," said the Chinese gently. "This is Charlie Chan. Haie, what an awful thing has happened! I am so sorry. Tell me - did you behold face of a.s.sailant?"

Duff stirred slightly, and spoke in a thick voice. "Lofton," he muttered. "Lofton - the man with a beard -"

Charlie held his breath. Was it Lofton who had appeared at the window?

"There's Tait, too," Duff muttered. "And Fenwick. Where's Fenwick now? Vivian - Keane -"

Charlie turned sadly away. Poor Duff was only running over once again the list of his suspects.

"Better leave him now, Mr. Chan," the surgeon said.

"I will go," Charlie replied. "But I must say this last thing. Tomorrow or whenever he awakes, you will have most restless patient on your hands. He will warmly desire to rise from bed and follow trail again. When that happens, soothe him with this word from me. Tell him Charlie Chan has sailed for San Francisco on President Arthur, and will have guilty man before boat reaches sh.o.r.e of mainland. Make it in form of promise, and say it comes from one who has never yet smashed promise to a friend."

The surgeon nodded gravely. "I'll tell him, Mr. Chan. Thanks for the suggestion. And now - we're going to do our best for him. That's my promise to you."

It was nine-forty-five when Charlie and the purser drove on to the dock beside the President Arthur. Not far away, as he alighted, Chan saw his son Henry and with him a dumpy little figure in black silk - Mrs. Chan, still in her party finery. He went over, and led them up the gangplank in the purser's company. An officer who stood at a little desk at the bottom of the plank eyed them curiously as they pa.s.sed.

On the deck, Mrs. Chan stood looking up at her inexplicable husband with timid eyes. "Wheh you go now, please?" she asked.

He gave her a kindly pat on the back. "Events break suddenly like fire-crackers in the face of innocent pa.s.serby," he said. He told her what had happened in his office, and of the need for his immediate departure in order to save his face and regain his lost prestige.

The gentle little woman understood. "Plenty clean closes in bag," she told him. She considered for a moment. "I think mebbe dangah winch you go," she added.

Charlie smiled rea.s.suringly. "What the G.o.ds have decreed, man can not alter," he reminded her. "Can he dodge down by-path and avoid his fate? Do not fret. All will no doubt be well. And before many days I expect to see our Rose."

In the dim light he saw sudden tears shining on her chubby cheeks. "Much love," she said. "I send much love. She goes so fah away." A quick pathetic little wringing of her hands. "I do not unnahstand why she go so fah away."

"You will understand in the proud days to come," Charlie promised.

Little groups of pa.s.sengers straggled up the gangplank, lingered a moment on the deck, and then drifted off to their cabins. There was to be no excitement attending this sailing evidently. Chan's chief appeared.

"Ah, here you are, Charlie," he said. "I was able to dig up another sixty dollars for you." He handed over a roll of bills.

"You overwhelm me with kindness," Charlie answered.

"I'll cable you more to bring you home - after you've got your man," the chief went on. "You'll get him. I'm sure."

"Now that I have time to think it over, I am not so certain myself," Chan responded. "Seems this is pretty hard task I have selected. I know from talk with Inspector Duff only one thing will make him happy. I must discover ident.i.ty of man who committed murder more than three months ago in Broome's Hotel, London. All time I have remained eight thousand miles away from scene of crime, and I must solve same when clues are cold, trail is covered, and no doubt the one vital point that might have brought about arrest is forgotten by all involved. It appears to me now that tonight I hotly elected myself to superman's job without possessing necessary equipment. Maybe I come crawling home before long, defeated and expunged of all honor."

"Yes, and maybe not," returned the chief. "It does look like a difficult task, that's true, but -"

He was interrupted by a small panting figure that appeared out of the night and faced Charlie. It was Kashimo.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlie," the j.a.panese cried.

"Ah - this is kind of you to say good-by -" Chan began.

"Never mind good-by," Kashimo broke in. "I got important information, Charlie."

"Have you indeed?" Chan answered politely. "Of what nature, Kashimo?"

"I am going by end of alley soon after shot is fired injuring your honorable friend," went on the j.a.panese breathlessly. "I behold man coming out of alley into lighted street. He is tall man wrapped in big coat, hat over eyes."

"Then you didn't see his face?" Chan suggested.

"What's the matter," Kashimo replied. "Face not necessary. Saw something better. The man is very lame, like this -" With great histrionic vigor he gave an imitation of a lame man there on the deck. "He carries walking stick, light-colored, maybe Malacca kind."

"I am very grateful," nodded Charlie, speaking in a voice such as he might have used to his youngest child. "You are observant, Kashimo. You are learning fast."

"Maybe some day I am good detective too," suggested the j.a.panese hopefully.

"Who can say?" Chan replied. A deep voice suggested that all who were going ash.o.r.e had better do so. Charlie turned to his wife, and at that instant Kashimo burst into a torrent of words directed at the chief. The burden of it appeared to be that he should be sent to San Francisco as Chan's a.s.sistant.

"I am very fine searcher," the j.a.panese insisted. "Charlie says so himself."

"How about it, Charlie?" grinned the chief. "Could you use him?"

Chan hesitated for a second, then he went over and patted the little man on the shoulder.

"Consider, Kashimo," he remarked. "You do not weigh situation properly. Should you and I both be absent from Honolulu at identical moment, what an opportunity for the evil-doers! Crime wave might sweep over island, almost obliterating it. Run along now, and be good boy while I am gone. Always remember, we learn by our mistakes. First you know, you will be ablest man among us."

Kashimo nodded, shook hands and disappeared down the deck. Charlie turned to his son. "Please arrange that my car is taken up to garage on Punchbowl Hill at once," he said. "In my absence you will show your mother every deference, and guard whole family well."

"Sure," Henry agreed. "And say, Dad - can I use your bus until you come back? There's something wrong with that old flivver I inherited from you."

Chan nodded. "I foresaw that request. Yes, you may use my car, but please treat it with unusual kindness. Do not continually demand more than it has to give, like speed-mad young people you imitate. Good-by, Henry." He said a few low words to his wife, kissed her in Occidental fashion, and led her to the top of the gangplank.

"Good luck, Charlie," remarked his chief, and shook hands.

A chain clanked in the quiet night, and the plank was lowered, cutting Chan irrevocably off from the group on the dock. He saw them standing there looking up at him, and the sight touched him. There was, in their very att.i.tudes, an expression of confidence in him and in his ultimate success. It was a confidence he did not share with them. What was this wild task he had set himself? He clutched Duff's briefcase tightly in his arms.

Slowly the big liner backed away, out into midstream. No orchestra playing Aloha tonight, no gaily colored streamers floating between ship and sh.o.r.e, none of the picturesque gestures that usually attended island sailings. Just the grim business of getting on with it, the old story of a ship putting out to sea.

The little group on the shadowy pier faded finally from his sight; still he did not move from his post by the rail. The throb of the engines became more p.r.o.nounced; the ship was settling down to it. Presently Chan saw the circle of lights that marked Waikiki Beach. How many nights he had sat on his lanai staring across the town toward that beach, vaguely wishing for action, for something to happen. Well, it had happened at last - yes, something had certainly happened when he saw the lights of Waikiki from a ship at sea.

He turned and regarded the huge bulk of the liner, dark and mysterious behind him. He was in a new world now, a small world, and in it with him was a man who had killed in London through error, had killed again in Nice and San Remo through grim intention, and then again on the Yokohama dock, no doubt through necessity. A ruthless man who had only tonight sought to remove the relentless Duff from his trail. Not a squeamish person, this Jim Everhard. Now for six days Chan and he would be together in a limited s.p.a.ce, prisoners on this brave contraption of steel and wood, each seeking to outwit the other. Which would win?

Charlie started. Some one had come up noiselessly behind him, and he had heard a sudden hissing in his ear. He turned.

"Kashimo," he gasped.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlie," grinned the j.a.panese.

"Kashimo - what does this mean?"

"I am hide-away," Kashimo explained. "I go with you to a.s.sist on big case."

Chan cast a speculative eye at the breakers between the boat and Waikiki Beach. "Can you swim, Kashimo?" he inquired.

"Not a single stroke," replied the little man gleefully.

Chan sighed. "Ah, well. He who accepts with a smile whatever the G.o.ds may send, has mastered most important lesson in life's hard school. Pardon me one moment, Kashimo. I am seeking to achieve the smile."

Chapter XVI.

THE MALACCA STICK.

In another moment Chan's inherent good-nature triumphed, and the smile was accomplished.

"You will pardon, Kashimo, if for one instant I was slightly appalled. Can you blame me? I remember our last adventure together - the affair of the dice. But enterprise such as yours is not to be met with a sneeze. I welcome you into present case - which was a most difficult one, even before you arrived."

"Hearty thanks," replied the j.a.panese.

The purser emerged from a near-by doorway, and came rapidly along the deck.

"Oh, Mr. Chan," he said, "I've been looking for you. Just had a chat with the captain and he told me to give you the best I've got. There's a cabin with bath - at the minimum rate, of course. I'm having one of the beds made up. If you'll bring your bag and follow me -" He stared at Kashimo. "And who is this?"

Chan hesitated. "Er - Mr. Lynch, condescend to meet Officer Kashimo, of Honolulu force. One of" - he choked a little - "our most able men. At last moment it was decided to bring him along in role of a.s.sistant. If you can find a place to lay him away for the night -"

Lynch considered. "He's going as a pa.s.senger, too, I suppose?"

A brilliant idea struck Charlie. "Kashimo is specialist, like everybody nowadays. He is grand searcher. If you could find him place in crew which would not consume too much brain power, he might accomplish brilliant results. In that way he could maintain anonymous standing, which I, alas, can not do."

"One of our boys was pinched in Honolulu tonight for bootlegging," Lynch replied. "What's getting into those Federal men, anyhow? It means a few changes in our a.s.signments. We might make Mr. Kashimo a biscuit boy - one of the lads who sit in the alleyways and answer the cabin bells. Of course, it's not a very dignified job -"

"But a splendid opportunity," Chan a.s.sured him. "Kashimo will not mind. His duty is first with him, always. Kashimo, tell the gentleman how you feel about it."

"Biscuit boys get tips?" inquired the j.a.panese eagerly.

Charlie waved a hand. "Behold - he pants to begin."

"Well, you'd better take him in with you tonight," Lynch said. "n.o.body will know about it but your steward, and I'll tell him not to say anything." He turned to Kashimo. "Report to the chief steward at eight tomorrow. I don't mind your searching, but you mustn't get caught, you understand. We can't have innocent people annoyed."

"Naturally not," agreed Chan heartily. But he wasn't so sure. Annoying innocent people, he reflected, was another of Kashimo's specialties.

"The captain would like to see you in the morning, Mr. Chan," the purser remarked at the doorway of the cabin to which he led them. He departed.

Charlie and Kashimo entered the stateroom. The steward was still there, and Chan directed him to make up the other bed. While they waited, the detective looked about him. A large airy room, a pleasant place to think. And he would have to do much thinking during the next six days - and nights.

"I will return presently," he said to his a.s.sistant.

He went to the top deck and dispatched a radiogram. It was addressed to his chief, and in it he wrote: "If you notice Kashimo has mislaid himself, I am one to do worrying. He is with me on ship."

Going back to his cabin, he found the j.a.panese there alone. "I have just broken news to chief about your departure," he explained. "This biscuit boy business is brilliant stroke. Otherwise question might have come up who pays your pa.s.sage, and I have deep fear everybody would have declined the honor."

"Better go to bed now," Kashimo suggested.

Charlie gave him a pair of his own pajamas, and was moved to silent mirth at the resulting spectacle. "You have aspect of deflated balloon going nowhere," he said.

Kashimo grinned. "Can sleep in anything," he announced, and climbed into bed prepared to prove it.

Presently Charlie turned on the light above his pillow, put out all the others, and got into his own bed with Duff's briefcase in his hand. He undid the straps, and took out a huge sheaf of papers. Duff's notes were on numbered pages, and Chan was relieved to discover that none was missing. Honywood's letter to his wife, together with all other messages and doc.u.ments pertinent to the case, remained intact. Either Jim Everhard had been afraid to enter the office after his shooting of Duff, or he had felt that there was nothing in these papers he need bother about.

"I trust I shall not disturb you, Kashimo," Chan remarked. "But stowaways must not be too particular. It is my duty now to read the story of our case, until I know it perfectly by heart."

"Won't disturb me none," yawned the j.a.panese.

"Ah, all the fun and no responsibility," sighed Charlie. "You have happy life. While I read, I shall pay especial attention to lame man in the party. What was he doing at mouth of alley when poor Mr. Duff lay shot in my office? You gave me point of attack on case with that news, and I am grateful."

He began to read and, in imagination, he traveled far. London, all his life a name and nothing more, became a familiar city. He saw the little green car set out from Scotland Yard, he stepped inside the sacred portals of Broome's Hotel, he bent above the lifeless form of Hugh Morris Drake as it lay on the bed in room 28. Descending to the musty parlor of the hotel, he witnessed Tait's heart attack on the threshold, noted Honywood's haunted look. Then on to Paris, and Nice. Honywood dead in the garden. San Remo, and that terrible moment in the lift. Carefully he read Honywood's epistle to his wife, which explained so much but left the vital question unanswered. Every detail in the long case burned itself into his mind now.

True, he had been all over it with Duff, but then the affair had seemed so remote, so little to concern him. It concerned him tonight. He was in Duff's shoes, the case was his; nothing must escape him; nothing could be safely overlooked. Last of all he perused the report of Duff's talk with Pamela Potter in Honolulu that very afternoon, in which she had told of Welby's discovery of the key. It was a matter of pride with Duff that he kept his notes up to the minute.

Chan finished reading. "Kashimo," he remarked thoughtfully, "that man Ross has intriguing sound. What about Ross? Always in the background, limping along, never a hint against him - until now. Yes, Kashimo, the matter of Mr. Ross must be our first concern."