“Sure,” agreed the boy readily.
“Your cousin, Li Gung,” Flannery began, “has been a servant of Colonel Beetham’s for a long time. He’s been all over the world with the Colonel?”
Willie nodded. “Gobi Desert. Kavir Desert. Tibet, India, Afghanistan.”
“You’ve heard Li Gung tell about his adventures with the Colonel?”
“Yes.”
“Remember ’em?”
“Never going to forget,” replied Willie, his little black eyes shining.
“You told your friend Mr. Chan here that the Colonel once shot a man for some reason or other?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Because it was necessary. There was no crime there.”
“Of course—of course it was necessary,” rejoined Flannery heartily. “We wouldn’t do anything to the Colonel because of that. We have no authority over things that happen outside of San Francisco. We’re just curious, that’s all. Do you remember what trip it was during which the Colonel shot this man?”
“Sure. It was the journey from Peshawar through Khyber Pass over Afghanistan.”
“It happened in Afghanistan?”
“Yes. A very bad man. Muhamed Ashref Khan, keeper of the camels. He was trying to steal—”
“To steal what?”
“A pearl necklace. Colonel Beetham saw him go into the tent—the tent which no man must enter at cost of his life—”
“What tent was that?”
“The woman’s tent.”
There was a moment’s tense silence. “The woman’s tent?” Flannery repeated. “What woman?”
“The woman who was traveling with them to Tehran. The woman from Peshawar.”
“Did your cousin describe her?”
“She was beautiful, with golden hair, and eyes like the blue sky. Very beautiful, my cousin said.”
“And she was traveling with them from Peshawar to Tehran?”
“Yes. Only Li Gung and the Colonel knew it when they went through the pass, for she was hidden in a cart. Then she came out, and she had her own tent, which Colonel Beetham said no man must enter or he would kill him.”
“But this camel man—he disobeyed? And he was shot?”
“Justly so,” observed Willie Li.
“Of course,” agreed Flannery. “Well, son—that’s all. I’m very much obliged to you. Now run along. If I had anything to say in the scouts, you’d get a merit badge for this.”
“I have twenty-two already,” grinned Willie Li. “I am Eagle Scout.” He and Manley went out.
Flannery got up and paced the floor. “Well, what do you know?” he cried. “This is too good to be true. Eve Durand disappears in the night—her poor husband is frantic with grief—the whole of India is turned upside down in the search for her. And all the time she’s moving on through Afghanistan in the caravan of Colonel John Beetham—the great explorer everyone is crazy about, the brave, fine man no one would dream of suspecting.” Flannery turned to Chan. “I see now what you meant. Romance, you called it. Well, I’ve got a different name for it. I call it running away with another man’s wife. A pretty scandal in the Colonel’s past—a lovely blot on his record—by heaven—wonderful! Do you see what it means?”
Chan shrugged. “I see you are flying high tonight.”
“I certainly am—high, wide, and handsome. I’ve got my man, and I’ve got the motive, too. Sir Frederic comes to San Francisco hunting Eve Durand. And here is Colonel John Beetham, honored and respected by all—riding the top of the wave. Beetham learns why Sir Frederic has come—and he wonders. He hears the detective has been in India—has he found out how Eve Durand left that country? If he has, and springs it, the career of John Beetham is smashed. He’ll be done for—finished—he won’t collect any more money for his big expeditions. Is he the sort to stand by and watch that happen? He is not. What does he do?”
“The question is for mere effect,” suggested Chan.
“First of all, he wants to learn how much Sir Frederic really knows. At dinner he hears that about the safe being open. He’s crazy to get down there and look around. At the first opportunity he creeps downstairs, enters Mr. Kirk’s office—”
“Through a locked door?” inquired Chan.
“The elevator girl could get him a key. She’s Eve Durand—don’t forget that. Or else there’s Li Gung—he’s on the scene—maybe that’s just by accident. But he could be used—the fire-escape—Anyhow, Beetham gets into the office. He hunts like mad, gets hold of the records, sees at a glance that Sir Frederic has discovered everything. At that moment Sir Frederic comes in. The one man in the world who knows how Eve Durand got out of India—and will tell. The man who can wreck Beetham forever. Beetham sees red. He pulls a gun. It’s a simple matter for him—he’s done it before. Sir Frederic lies dead on the floor, Beetham escapes with the records—the secret of that old scandal is safe. By the Lord Harry—who’d want a better motive than that!”
“Not to mention,” said Chan gently, “the velvet slippers. The slippers of Hilary Galt.”
“Oh, hell,” cried Flannery. “Be reasonable, man! One thing at a time.”
XVIII
Flannery’s Big Scene
Greatly pleased with himself, Captain Flannery sat down behind his desk. His summing up of the case against Beetham seemed, to his way of thinking, without a flaw. He beamed at the assembled company.
“Everything is going to work out fine,” he continued. “Tomorrow evening in this room I stage my big scene, and if we don’t get something out of it, then I’m no judge of human nature. First, I bring in Major Durand. I tell him Eve Durand has been found and is on her way here, and while we’re waiting I go back to the question of how she got out of India. I plant in his mind a suspicion of Beetham. Then I bring the woman into the room—after fifteen years’ suffering and anxiety, he sees his wife at last. What’s he going to think? What’ll he ask himself—and her? Where’s she been? Why did she leave? How did she escape from India? At that moment I produce Colonel Beetham, confront him with the husband he wronged, the woman he carried off in his caravan. I tell Durand I have certain knowledge that
