Mr. Moto Is So Sorry (23 page)

“You're not fool,” said Miss Dillaway. There was a catch in her voice like laughter, but she was not laughing. “And I wouldn't have you different. The only trouble is that you need someone to look out for you. You're just not a type that can walk around alone. And for once in your life you're too late. You'd better tell him, Gilbreth.” Dr. Gilbreth hesitated.

“Go ahead,” said Miss Dillaway, “tell him, Gilbreth.”

“I was reached by cable a week ago,” Dr. Gilbreth said. “I didn't know you were coming out here, and I'm glad I didn't know. I wired the facts in self-protection.” Dr. Gilbreth shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I'm not a gentleman. Maybe it's better not to be. And I got an answer back before the wires were cut. I've got it in my pocket. You can read it if you like.”

He handed Calvin Gates a piece of paper on which a few words were scrawled in pencil.

Your communication explains situation here stop have taken measures stop rely on your discretion stop to save scandal have stated I signed check and bookkeeper lost record stop authorities accept this explanation stop communicate this my nephew worried about him stop should have consulted me first tell idiot return at once funds forwarded him at Shanghai Roger Gates.

As Calvin stared at the sheet of paper the whole affair assumed an artificial quality—as though it had all been done by someone else.

“I'm sorry,” he said slowly, still staring at the paper. “It would have been better if he hadn't known.”

“Would it?” said Dr. Gilbreth. “How do you know it would? At any rate, it's over now, and there's nothing you can do.”

“Think of that,” said Miss Dillaway. “Nothing you can do.” He thought that she was laughing at him, but again she was not laughing.

Now that it was finished he could see his whole course of action objectively, as though someone else had taken it, and it seemed quixotic and absurd, like something he might have done when he was much younger. He could not even remember what there had been about it that had once stirred him so deeply. His impulse no longer had validity; instead he discovered something close to egotism in his ideas of family and of honor.

“Dillaway,” he said, “I think I'm getting tired of chivalry.”

“Well,” said Miss Dillaway, “it's time you were.”

CHAPTER XIX

“Anyway,” he said, “I met you, Dillaway, and I'm going to get you out of this.”

“There you go,” said Miss Dillaway, “starting out again.”

Calvin Gates stared about the bare, dimly lighted shed. He had half forgotten where they were, until she made that last remark.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I'm through with that, and I'm through with being what I was.”

Dr. Gilbreth had begun to pace up and down the shed.

“Haven't we talked enough about you?” he inquired. “What's going on but there? What are they trying to do?”

Calvin looked at his wrist watch without answering.

“What's the matter?” Miss Dillaway asked. “Have you got an appointment, Gates?”

“I may have,” said Calvin Gates, “in about five minutes.” He did not wish to enlarge upon the subject, and he did not wish to be asked questions. “So you gave Hamby the cigarette case? I wish we had it now.”

“Well, you can have it if you like,” she answered.

“Not here,” he answered. “Don't say that. It isn't even funny—If I could get my hands on that case—”

“I mean it,” she said. “I've got it if you want it. It's right here in my purse.”

She opened her purse and handed him the cigarette case. There it was in silver and black with the same birds that he remembered.

“But why didn't he take it from you?” Calvin cried. He knew Captain Hamby well enough to know that he would not have hesitated.

“I thought it might be useful, that's why I kept it,” she answered. “Captain Hamby isn't so clever.”

“But how did you keep it?” Calvin said. “I don't understand.”

“It isn't being very bright if you don't,” Miss Dillaway retorted. “Don't you remember that I had a cigarette case of my own, which I bought in Tokyo, with the same type of inlay—that's the one I gave him. Why are you looking at it that way? It won't burn your fingers.”

As he stood there staring at the piece of silver his hands began to tremble. It was so completely unexpected that he could not think consecutively. She stood looking at him with a grim sort of triumph and with her old air of superiority.

“I'm not such an idiot, you know, Gates,” she said.

“I never said you were,” he answered, “but I never thought of this.”

“Well, try to think back,” said Miss Dillaway. “It's simple enough. When Boris offered me that cigarette case on the train you heard me tell him I had a case of my own.”

“Yes,” said Calvin, “I remember.”

He could remember quite clearly now that he mentioned it, but the very simplicity of what had happened made it the more surprising. He stared at the cigarette case and back at Miss Dillaway again.

“Don't you believe me?” she said impatiently. “There it is.”

“But why didn't you give him this one,” he asked, “when Hamby asked you?”

She gave her head a quick, impatient shake.

“Because I didn't like the way he asked for it, if you want to know,” she answered. “He was so sure he was going to get it that he didn't even bother to be polite. He didn't even bother to be impolite, either. I suppose you think that women aren't much use, Gates. That's what most of you romanticists think. You needn't act as though you wished you had thought of' it yourself. If you want it, there it is—a present. Aren't you going to thank me?”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I haven't got time. I'm sorry, I'm trying to think. I want to remember every detail on this case.”

The whole thing was completely in keeping with her character. She had always said that she could look out for herself, and she had come very close to doing it. It was as though he had drawn a card to fill a poker hand when the last of his money lay upon the table, and she had given him the card. She had given him a key to let them out of prison. It was better than the bargain he had made with Hamby. If that failed, the cigarette case was still in his hands.

“What do you think I'd better do with it?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said, “that's up to you. I can't do everything, can I, Gates?”

“Well, what's so queer about it?” Dr. Gilbreth said. “It's only a cigarette case, isn't it?” Dr. Gilbreth did not understand, and there was no necessity to explain. Calvin held the cigarette case, and looked at it, until each detail of the design was clear in his memory. Then he opened it and with a sudden wrench he tore the inlaid cover from its hinges.

“What are you doing?” he heard Miss Dillaway ask, but instead of answering he bent the silver cover between his hands. It was a delicate but unstable piece of silverwork. The brittle iron of the inlay snapped as he bent it and bits of it fell to the earth floor at his feet.

“Pick those pieces up,” he said to Miss Dillaway. “Hide them somewhere, each one in a different place. Break them first. Bend them out of shape.”

He bent the silver in his hands until it broke and then he bent the pieces and broke them again; finally he ground each piece beneath his heel into a shapeless mass. There was nothing left when he had finished.

“They can't put that together,” Calvin said, “not if they work a week.”

“But what are you doing it for?” Miss Dillaway asked.

“Because I want to get you out of this,” Calvin answered. “And no matter what happens—we've got them now, I think.”

“But I don't see—” she began, and Calvin Gates stopped her. He was listening to a sound outside.

“Wait,” he whispered. “Don't speak, don't say anything.”

There was a stir outside the door. It was Captain Hamby. Calvin could hear him humming.

“What's the use of worrying, it never was worth while.”

The heavy door creaked open and he stepped inside the shed.

“Hello,” said Captain Hamby. “Everybody comfortable? Now don't start complaining. You're all lucky so far.”

“Look here, Hamby—” Dr. Gilbreth began.

“Now, now,” said Captain Hamby, “that's enough from you, Doctor. You're a secondary problem. You're wanted at the house, Gates. Come along now, come along. My word, this is quite a night.”

“So you're back, are you?” Calvin asked. “I suggest you let us all out, Hamby.”

Captain Hamby laughed—the laugh of a man in excellent spirits. Whatever the Captain had done since Calvin had seen him last must have been both agreeable and successful.

“Let everyone out!” Captain Hamby made an exaggerated gesture of surprise. “Now, now, that don't come into the bargain, Gates. I'm surprised that you should suggest it, an accurate man like you. Maybe my mind's failing, but I don't recall of talking of letting Miss Dillaway out. I promised to put her under the care of Dr. Gilbreth. Well, she is under his care, isn't she? It isn't my fault if his care don't amount to much. It isn't my fault if he's in trouble with the Prince. Keep your shirt on, Gates.”

“You're an Australian, aren't you?” Calvin said. “I forgot your family came out on a convict ship.”

Captain Hamby bit his lip and then he smiled again.

“And who are you to talk?” he said. “I don't bite the hand that feeds me, Gates, and you turned up Moto good and proper. I'm not yellow dog taking Japanese pay. Stow it, Gates, don't move.”

“That's a lie,” Miss Dillaway called out. “He never did that and you know it.”

“Never mind it, Dillaway,” Calvin said. “There's nothing I'm ashamed of.”

“Isn't there?” said Captain Hamby. “Well, that's fine. And there's nothing I'm ashamed of either, when I deal with a new chum like you. I don't know what your lay was, Gates, but it don't make much difference now. You stow it. I'm keeping all of my bargain that I can. I'd promised you you'd talk with Gilbreth, didn't I? You've got a sight more than you deserve, my boy.”

Calvin measured the distance between himself and Captain Hamby and leaned forward. Captain Hamby put his hand in his coat pocket and took a quick step back.

“Get some sense in your head, old chum,” Captain Hamby said, “and no more of your bloody insults either. If I finished you off right here, nobody would mind. Instead I'm doing what I can for you. Are you coming with me, or do you want me to call some of my boys to drag you?”

“Don't bother,” said Calvin, “I'm coming.”

Captain Hamby's irritation vanished.

“That's fine,” he said. “I've got nothing against you personally, Gates, upon my word. I'll do all I can for you. Just smile, smile, smile. Step ahead of me, smartly now.”

Captain Hamby hummed beneath his breath about the lucifer and the old kit bag, as he walked beside Calvin Gates across the compound with two attendants close behind him.

“Just take things as they come, Gates,” said Captain Hamby soothingly. “My word, this is none of my doing, it's only your own tight corner, but I promised you'd see the fun. Yes, it's quite a night. It isn't always things work out this neatly. While you've a lucifer to light your fag—”

“Who wants to see me?” Calvin asked.

“Just smile, smile, smile,” Captain Hamby said. “A Russian gentleman wants to see you. My word, I'm sorry, Gates. He thinks you murdered a pal of his in that hotel in Mukden. The Prince is allowing him to dispose of you, but I'll do what I can. My word, Gates.”

“Never mind your word,” Calvin said.

“That's fine,” said Captain Hamby, “that's the sporting way to take it. I'll see that Miss Dillaway and the Doctor get back to Ghuru Nor. Maybe they'll get home sometime if they're lucky. We can't suit everybody these days. You're seeing the beginning of a war. Just between friends, the Prince is near to selling out to Russia, Gates. Just keep smiling. Here we are.”

Mr. Holtz opened the door of his bungalow.

“So,” he said to Captain Hamby, “here you are.”

Everything in Mr. Holtz's room was much as Calvin had left it. The Prince was back in his chair at one end of the room, beside the table with the lamp upon it. Only when Calvin was in the center of the room was he aware of a strained, hushed sort of expectancy, and then he saw the reason. Seated in a stiff-backed wooden chair near the Prince was Mr. Moto.

CHAPTER XX

There was a gash on the side of Mr. Moto's head and his coat was torn, but his eyes were bright and steady. His eyes turned toward Calvin Gates and then back across the room where he had been gazing before, straight at Major Ahara.

“Well, well,” said Captain Hamby, “there's your old friend, Mr. Moto, Gates. Anything you want to say to Mr. Moto?”

“No,” Calvin answered, “except that I told him to look out for you.”

“It is all right,” said Mr. Moto gently. “Please believe I do not blame you, Mr. Gates. I am so afraid that there is so much trouble.”

“Yes,” said Captain Hamby, “so much trouble. Gates, here's the gentleman who wants a word with you—over by the table. His name is General Shirov.”

A man at the table close to where the Prince was seated turned around in his chair. He was a pale, youngish man with a sharp, studious face. He was holding some papers in his hand, and in that moment as Calvin watched him he wondered if he had not seen the face before; then he realized what had given him the notion, for the man called General Shirov was like the Russian whom he had first seen on the train. He had the same cut to his clothes and the same high forehead and the same blue, slightly protuberant eyes. He laid his papers carefully on his knee, but he did not speak for a moment.