“What happy luck,” Charlie said.
“Ain’t it?” agreed Flannery. “A soldier from out at the Presidio brought them in less than an hour ago. It seems he was crossing to Oakland to visit his girl last Wednesday noon, and he picked this package up from one of the benches on the ferryboat. There was nobody about to claim it, so he took it along. Of course, he should have turned it over to the ferry people—but he didn’t. I told him that was all right with me.”
“On ferryboat to Oakland,” Chan repeated.
“Yes. This guy’d been wondering what to do with his find, and he was mighty pleased when I slipped him a five spot.”
Charlie turned the slippers slowly about in his hands. Again he was interested by the Chinese character which promised long life and happiness. A lying promise, that. The slippers had not brought long life and happiness to Hilary Galt. Nor to Sir Frederic Bruce.
“Just where,” Chan mused, “do we arrive at now?”
“Well, I’ll have to admit that we’re still a long ways from home,” Flannery replied. “But we’re getting on. Last Wednesday, the day after the murder, somebody left these slippers on an Oakland ferryboat. Left them intentionally, I’ll bet—glad enough to be rid of ’em.”
“In same identical paper,” Charlie inquired, “they were always wrapped?”
“Yes—that’s the paper this fellow found them in. An evening paper dated last Wednesday night. A first edition, issued about ten in the morning.”
Chan spread out the newspaper and studied it. “You have been carefully over this journal, I suspect?”
“Why—er—I haven’t had time,” Flannery told him.
“Nothing of note catches the eye,” Chan remarked. “Except—ah, yes—here on margin of first page. A few figures, carelessly inscribed in pencil. Paper is torn in that locality, and they are almost obliterated.”
Flannery came closer, and Charlie pointed. A small sum in addition had evidently been worked out.
| $79. |
| 23. |
| 103. |
“A hundred three,” Flannery read. “That’s wrong. Seventy-nine and twenty-three don’t add up to a hundred three.”
“Then we must seek one who is poor scholar of arithmetic,” Chan replied. “If you have no inclination for objecting, I will jot figures down.”
“Go ahead. Put your big brain on it. But don’t forget—I produced the slippers.”
“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
