Colonel Beetham was ushered into the room. His manner was nonchalant, and, as always, rather condescending.
“Ah, Captain,” he remarked, “I’m here again. According to instructions—”
“I’m very glad to see you,” Flannery broke in.
“And just what can I do for you today?” inquired Beetham, dropping into a chair.
“I’m anxious to have you meet—a certain lady.”
The Colonel opened a cigarette case, took out a cigarette, and tapped it on the silver side of the case. “Ah, yes. I’m not precisely a lady’s man, but—”
“I think you’ll be interested to meet this one,” Flannery told him.
“Really?” He lighted a match.
“You see,” Flannery went on, “it happens to be a lady who once took a very long journey in your company.”
Beetham’s brown, lean hand paused with the lighted match. The flame held steady. “I do not understand you,” he said.
“An eight months’ journey, I believe,” the Captain persisted. “Through Khyber Pass and across Afghanistan and eastern Persia to the neighborhood of Tehran.”
Beetham lighted his cigarette and tossed away the match. “My dear fellow—what are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Eve Durand—the lady you helped out of India fifteen years ago. No one suspected you, did they, Colonel? Too big a man—above suspicion—all those medals on your chest. However, I know you did it—I know you ran away with Durand’s wife—and I’ll prove it, too. But perhaps I needn’t prove it—perhaps you’ll admit it—” He stopped.
Beetham unconcernedly blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling, and for a moment watched it dissolve. “All that,” he remarked, “is so absolutely silly I refuse to answer.”
“Suit yourself,” replied Flannery. “At any rate, Eve Durand will be here in a few minutes, and I want you to see her again. The sight may refresh your memory. I want you to see her—standing at her husband’s side.”
Beetham nodded. “I shall be most happy. I knew them both, long ago. Yes, I shall be a very pleased witness of the touching reunion you picture.”
A policeman appeared at the door. “Major Durand is outside,” he announced.
“Good,” said Flannery. “Pat—this is Colonel Beetham. I want you to take him into the back room—the second one—and stay with him until I send for the both of you.”
Beetham rose. “I say, am I under arrest?” he inquired.
“You’re not under arrest,” returned Flannery. “But you’re going with Pat. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely. Pat—I am at your service.” The two disappeared. Flannery rose and going to the door leading into the anteroom, admitted Major Durand.
The Major entered and stood there, somewhat at a loss. Flannery proffered a chair. “Sit down, sir. You know everybody here. I’ve great news for you. We’ve located the woman we think is your wife, and she’ll be along in a few minutes.”
Durand stared at him. “You’ve found—Eve? Can that possibly be true?”
“We’ll know in a minute,” Flannery said. “I may tell you I’m certain of it—but we’ll let you see for yourself. Before she comes—one or two things I want to ask you about. Among the members of that picnic party was Colonel John Beetham, the explorer?”
“Yes, of course.”
“He left the next morning on a long journey through the Khyber Pass?”
“Yes. I didn’t see him go, but they told me he had gone.”
“Has anyone ever suggested that he may have taken your wife with him when he left?”
The question struck Durand with the force of a bullet. He paled. “No one had ever made that suggestion,” he replied, almost inaudibly.
“All the same, I’m here to tell you that is exactly what happened.”
Durand got up and began to pace the floor. “Beetham,” he muttered. “Beetham. No, no—he wouldn’t have done it. A fine chap, Beetham—one of the best. A gentleman. He wouldn’t have done that to me.”
“He was just in here, and I accused him of it.”
“But he denied it, of course?”
“Yes—he did. But my evidence—”
“Damn your evidence,” cried Durand. “He’s not that kind of man, I tell you. Not Beetham. And my wife—Eve—why, what you are saying is an insult to her. She loved me. I’m sure of it—she loved me. I won’t believe—I can’t—”
“Ask her when she comes,” suggested Flannery. Durand sank back into the chair and buried his face in his hands.
For a long moment they waited in silence. Miss Morrow’s cheeks were flushed with excitement; Duff was puffing quietly on his inevitable pipe; Charlie Chan sat immobile as an idol of stone. Kirk nervously took out a cigarette, and then put it back in the case.
The man named Petersen appeared in the door. He was dusty and travel-stained.
“Hello, Jim,” Flannery cried. “Have you got her?”
“I’ve got her this time,” Petersen answered, and stood aside. The woman of so many names entered the room and halted, her eyes anxious and tired. Another long silence.
“Major Durand,” said Flannery. “Unless I am much mistaken—”
Durand got slowly to his feet, and took a step forward. He studied the woman intently for a moment, and then he made a little gesture of despair.
“It’s the old story,” he said brokenly. “The old story over again. Captain Flannery, you are mistaken. This woman is not my wife.”
XIX
A Vigil in the Dark
For a moment no one spoke. Captain Flannery was gradually deflating like a bright red balloon that had received a fatal puncture. Suddenly his eyes blazed with anger. He turned hotly on Charlie Chan.
“You!” he shouted. “You got me into this! You and your small-time hunch. The lady is Jennie Jerome. She is also Marie Lantelme. What does that mean? It means she is Eve Durand. A guess—a fatheaded guess—and I listened to you. I believed you. Good lord, what a fool I’ve been!”
Profound contrition shone in Charlie’s eyes. “I am so sorry. I have made stupid error. Captain—is it possible you will ever forgive me?”
Flannery snorted. “Will I ever forgive myself? Listening to a Chinaman—me, Tom Flannery. With my experience—my record—bah! I’ve been crazy—plumb crazy—but that’s all over now.” He rose. “Major Durand, a thousand apologies. I wouldn’t have
