Chan smiled. “Your company was a real pleasure. I hope we meet again.”
“I hope it, too,” answered Willie Li warmly. “Good night.”
Chan walked slowly back to the Kirk Building. He was thinking of Colonel Beetham. A hard man, a man who did not hesitate to kill those who opposed their will to his. Here was food for thought.
On Sunday Barry Kirk called up Miss Morrow and suggested a ride into the country and dinner at a distant inn. “Just to clear the cobwebs from your brain,” he put it.
“Thanks for the ad,” she answered. “So that’s how my brain strikes you? Cobwebby.”
“You know what I mean,” he protested. “I want you to keep keen and alert. Nothing must happen to that pie.”
They spent a happy, carefree day on roads far from the rush of city traffic. When Kirk helped the girl out of the car before her door that night, he said: “Well, tomorrow morning Charlie springs his hunch.”
“What do you imagine he has up his sleeve?”
“I haven’t an idea. The more I see of him, the less I know him. But let’s hope it’s something good.”
“And illuminating,” added Miss Morrow. “I feel the need of a little light.” She held out her hand. “You’ve been lovely to me today.”
“Give me another chance,” he said. “Give me lots of ’em. I’ll get lovelier and lovelier as time goes on.”
“Is that a threat?” she laughed.
“A promise. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why should I? Good night.” She entered the lobby of her apartment-house.
On Monday morning Chan was brisk and businesslike. He called Gloria Garland and was much relieved to hear her answering voice. She agreed to come to the bungalow at ten o’clock, and Charlie at once got in touch with Miss Morrow and asked her to come at the same hour, bringing Captain Flannery. Then he turned to Kirk.
“Making humble suggestion,” he said, “would you be so kind as to dispatch Paradise on lengthy errand just as ten o’clock hour approaches. I do not fancy him in bungalow this morning.”
“Surely,” agreed Kirk. “I’ll send him out for some fishing tackle. I never get time to fish, but a man can’t have too much tackle.”
At fifteen minutes of ten Chan rose and got his hat. He would, he said, himself escort Miss Garland to the bungalow. Going below, he took up his stand in the doorway of the Kirk Building.
He saw Miss Morrow and Flannery enter, but gave them only a cool nod as they passed. Mystified, they went on upstairs. Kirk met them at the door.
“Here we are,” growled Flannery. “I wonder what the Sergeant’s up to. If he’s got me here on a wild goose chase, I’ll deport him to Hawaii. I’m too busy today to feel playful.”
“Oh, Chan will make good,” Kirk assured him. “By the way, I suppose you’ve got that elevator girl—Jennie Jerome, or Grace Lane, or whatever her name is—under your eagle eye?”
“Yes. The boys have been shadowing her.”
“Find out anything?”
“Not a thing. She’s got a room on Powell Street. Stays in nights and minds her own business, as far as I can learn.”
Down at the door, Chan was greeting Gloria Garland. “You are promptly on the minute,” he approved. “A delectable virtue.”
“I’m here, but I don’t know what you want,” she replied. “I told you everything the other day—”
“Yes, of course. Will you be kind enough to walk after me? We rise aloft.”
He took her up in a car run by a black-haired Irish girl, and they entered the living-room of the bungalow.
“Ah, Captain—Miss Morrow—we are all here. That is correct,” Charlie said. “Miss Garland, will you kindly recline on chair.”
The woman sat down, obviously puzzled. Her eyes sought Flannery’s. “What do you want with me now?” she asked.
The Captain shrugged his broad shoulders. “Me—I don’t want you. It’s Sergeant Chan here. He’s had a mysterious hunch.”
Chan smiled. “Yes, I am guilty party, Miss Garland. I hope I have not rudely unconvenienced you?”
“Not a bit,” she answered.
“One day you told us of the girl Marie Lantelme, who disappeared so oddly out of Nice,” Chan continued. “Will you kindly state—you have still not encountered her?”
“No, of course not,” the woman replied.
“You are quite sure you would recognize her if you met her?”
“Of course. I knew her well.”
Chan’s eyes narrowed. “There would be no reason why you would conceal act of recognition from us? I might humbly remind you, this is serious affair.”
“No—why should I do that? I’ll tell you if I see her—but I’m sure I haven’t—”
“Very good. Will you remain in present posture until my return?” Chan went rapidly out to the stairway leading to the floor below.
They looked at one another in wonder, but no one spoke. In a moment, Chan returned. With him came Grace Lane, the elevator girl whom Mrs. Enderby had identified as Jennie Jerome.
She came serenely into the room, and stood there. The sunlight fell full upon her, outlining clearly her delicately modeled face. Gloria Garland started, and half rose from her chair.
“Marie!” she cried. “Marie Lantelme! What are you doing here?”
They gasped. A look of triumph shone in Chan’s narrow eyes.
The girl’s poise did not desert her. “Hello, Gloria,” she said softly. “We meet again.”
“But where have you been, my dear?” Miss Garland wanted to know. “Where did you go—and why—”
The girl stopped her. “Some other time—” she said.
In a daze, Flannery rose to his feet. “Look here,” he began. “Let me get this straight.” He moved forward accusingly, “You are Marie Lantelme?”
“I was—once,” she nodded.
“You were singing in the same troupe as Miss Garland here—eleven years ago, at Nice? You disappeared?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I was tired of it. I found I didn’t like the stage. If I had stayed, they would have forced me to go on. So I ran away.”
“Yeah. And seven years ago you were in New York—a model for a dressmaker. Your name then was Jennie Jerome. You disappeared again?”
“For the same reason.
