The girl and Kinsey went out. Flannery walked the floor in high glee.
“Now I’m getting somewhere,” he cried. “Beetham! I haven’t paid much attention to him, but I’ll make up for lost time from here on. Beetham was in the hall talking with a Chinaman a few minutes before the murder. And he was supposed to be upstairs running his magic lantern. A Chinaman—do you get it? Those slippers came from the Chinese Legation. By heaven, it’s beginning to tie up at last.”
“If I might presume,” said Chan, “you now propose to—”
“I propose to get after Colonel Beetham. He told Miss Morrow he didn’t leave the room upstairs. Another liar—and a distinguished one this time.”
“Humbly asking pardon,” Chan ventured, “Colonel Beetham very clever man. Have a care he does not outwit you.”
“I’m not afraid of him. He can’t fool me. I’m too old at this game.”
“Magnificent confidence,” Charlie smiled. “Let us hope it is justified by the finish.”
“It will be, all right. You just leave Colonel Beetham to me.”
“With utmost gladness,” agreed Chan. “If you will allot something else to me.”
“What’s that?” Flannery demanded.
“I refer to faint little figures on newspaper margin.”
“Poor arithmetic,” snorted Flannery. “And a poor clue.”
“Time will reveal,” said Chan gently.
XVII
The Woman from Peshawar
Barry Kirk answered the ring of the telephone the next morning at ten, and was greeted by a voice that, even over the wire, seemed to afford him pleasure.
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m glad to hear from you. This is what I call starting the day right.”
“Thanks ever so much,” Miss Morrow replied. “Now that your day has begun auspiciously, would you mind fading away into the background and giving Mr. Chan your place at the telephone?”
“What—you don’t want to talk to me?”
“I’m sorry—no. I’m rather busy today.”
“Well, I can take a hint as quickly as the next man. I know when I’m not wanted. That’s what you meant to convey, isn’t it—”
“Please, Mr. Kirk.”
“Here’s Charlie now. I’m not angry, but I’m terribly, terribly hurt—” He handed the telephone to Chan.
“Oh, Mr. Chan,” the girl said. “Captain Flannery is going to interview Colonel Beetham at eleven o’clock. He’s all Beetham today. He’s asked me to be on hand to remind the Colonel about his testimony the night of the murder, and I suggest you come too.”
“The Captain demands me?” Chan inquired.
“I demand you. Isn’t that enough?”
“To me it is delicious plenty,” Charlie replied. “I will be there—at Captain Flannery’s office, I presume?”
“Yes. Don’t fail me,” Miss Morrow said, and rang off.
“Something doing?” Kirk asked.
Chan shrugged. “Captain Flannery has hot spasm about Colonel Beetham. He interrogates him at eleven, and I am invited.”
“How about me?”
“I am stricken by regret, but you are not mentioned.”
“Then I hardly think I’ll go,” Kirk said.
At a little before eleven, Charlie went to the Hall of Justice. In Flannery’s dark office he found Miss Morrow, brightening the dreary corner where she was.
“Good morning,” she said. “The Captain is showing Inspector Duff about the building. I’m glad you’re here. Somehow I’ve got the impression Captain Flannery doesn’t care much for me this morning.”
“Mainland police have stupid sinking spells,” Chan informed her.
Flannery came in, followed by Inspector Duff. He stood for a minute glaring at Charlie and the girl.
“Well, a fine pair you are,” he roared. “What’s the idea, anyhow?”
“What is the idea, Captain?” asked Miss Morrow sweetly.
“The idea seems to be to keep me in the dark,” Flannery went on. “What do you think I am? A mind-reader? I’ve just been talking with Inspector Duff about Colonel Beetham, and I discover you two know a lot more about the Colonel than you’ve ever told me.”
“Please understand—I haven’t been talebearing,” smiled Duff. “I mentioned these things thinking of course the Captain knew them.”
“Of course you thought I knew them,” Flannery exploded. “Why shouldn’t I know them? I’m supposed to be in charge of this case, ain’t I? Yet you two have been digging up stuff right along and keeping it to yourselves. I tell you, it makes me sore—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” cried Miss Morrow.
“That helps a lot. What’s all this about a servant of the Colonel’s—a Chinaman named Li Gung? Are you willing to talk now, Sergeant Chan, or are you still playing button, button, who’s got the—”
“I’m the guilty one,” the girl cut in. “I should have told you myself. Naturally, Mr. Chan must have thought I had.”
“Oh, no,” Chan protested. “Please shift all guilt from those pretty shoulders to my extensive ones. I have made mistake. It is true I have pondered certain facts in silence, but I was hoping some great light would break—”
“All right, all right,” Flannery interrupted. “But will you talk now, that’s what I want to know? When did you first hear about Li Gung?”
“At noon of the day Sir Frederic was killed, I have great honor to lunch with him. After lunch he takes me apart and talks of this Li Gung, a stranger visiting relatives in Jackson Street. He suggests I might make cunning inquiries of the man, but I am forced to refuse the task. On morning after murder I am in stateroom of Maui boat, foolishly believing I am going to Honolulu, when I hear Colonel Beetham in next cabin saying farewell to one he calls Li Gung. The Colonel directs that Gung lie low in Honolulu, and answer no questions.”
“And all that was so unimportant I never heard of it,” stormed Flannery. “How about the fact that Beetham was one of the guests at the picnic near Peshawar?”
“We did not learn that until Tuesday night,” Miss Morrow informed him.
“Only had about thirty-six hours to tell me, eh. On May fourth, nineteen hundred and thirteen, Colonel Beetham left Peshawar by way of the—er—the Khyber Pass to go to—to—to make a trip—”
“To Tehran by way of Afghanistan and the Kavir Desert of northern Persia,” Duff helped him out.
“Yes. You told
