Behind That Curtain · Chapter 10 (2/2)

“You frighten me,” Miss Morrow said.

“If your testimony has been the truth, so help you,” he answered, “what is there to be frightened about?”

At that moment Chan and Flannery appeared in the doorway. The Captain seemed very pleased with himself.

“What luck?” Kirk inquired.

“The best,” beamed Flannery. He carried a piece of paper in his hand. “Ah⁠—shall I help myself?”

“By all means,” Kirk told him. “A congratulatory potion. Mr. Chan⁠—what’s yours?”

“Tea, if Miss Morrow will be so kind. Three lumps of sugar and the breath of the lemon in passing.”

The girl prepared his cup. Flannery dropped into a chair.

“I see you’ve found something,” Kirk suggested.

“I certainly have,” the Captain replied. “I’ve found the letter from Scotland Yard that Paradise nabbed from the mail.”

“Good enough,” cried Kirk.

“A slick bird, this Paradise,” Flannery went on. “Where do you think he had it? All folded up in a little wad and tucked into the toe of a shoe.”

“How clever of you to look there,” Miss Morrow approved.

Flannery hesitated. “Well⁠—er⁠—come to think of it, I didn’t. It was Sergeant Chan here dug it up. Yes, sir⁠—the Sergeant’s getting to be a real sleuth.”

“Under your brilliant instruction,” smiled Chan.

“Well, we can all learn from each other,” conceded the Captain. “Anyhow, he found it, and turned it right over to me. The letter that came in the Scotland Yard envelope⁠—no question about it. See⁠—at the top⁠—the Metropolitan Police⁠—”

“If it’s not asking too much,” said Kirk, “what’s in the letter?”

Flannery’s face fell. “Not a whole lot. We’ll have to admit that. But little by little⁠—”

“With brief steps we advance,” put in Chan. “Humbly suggest you read the epistle.”

“Well, it’s addressed to Sir Frederic, care of Cook’s, San Francisco,” said Flannery. He read:

“Dear Sir Frederic: I was very glad to get your letter from Shanghai and to know that you are near the end of a long trail. It is indeed surprising news to me that the murder of Hilary Galt and the disappearance of Eve Durand from Peshawar are, in your final analysis, linked together. I know you always contended they were, but much as I admire your talents, I felt sure you were mistaken. I can only apologize most humbly. It is a matter of regret to me that you did not tell me more; what you wrote roused my interest to a high pitch. Believe me, I shall be eager to hear the end of this strange case.

“By the way, Inspector Rupert Duff will be in the States on another matter at about the time you reach San Francisco. You know Duff, of course. A good man. If you should require his help, you have only to wire him at the Hotel Waldorf, New York.

“With all good wishes for a happy outcome to your investigation,

Flannery stopped reading and looked at the others. “Well, there you are,” he said. “The Galt affair and Eve Durand are mixed up together. Of course that ain’t exactly news⁠—I’ve known it right along. What I want to find out now is, why did Paradise try to keep this information from us? What’s his stake in the affair? I could arrest him at once, but I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll shut up like a clam and that will end it. He doesn’t know we’re wise to him, so I’m going to put this letter back where we found it and give him a little more rope. The Sergeant here has agreed to keep an eye on him, and I rely on you, too, Mr. Kirk, to see that he doesn’t get away.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kirk. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Flannery rose. “Sir Frederic’s mail isn’t coming here any more?” he inquired of Miss Morrow.

“No, of course not. I arranged to have it sent to my office. There’s been nothing of interest⁠—purely personal matters.”

“I must put this letter back, and then I’ll have to run along,” the Captain said. He went into the passageway.

“Well,” remarked Kirk, “Paradise hangs on a little longer. I see your handiwork there, Sergeant, and you have my warmest thanks.”

“For a brief time, at least,” Chan said. “You will perceive I am no person’s fool. I do not arrange arrest of butler in house where I am guest. I protect him, and I would do same for the cook.”

Flannery returned. “I got to get back to the station,” he announced. “Mr. Kirk, thanks for your⁠—er⁠—hospitality.”

Miss Morrow looked up at him. “You are going to wire to New York for Inspector Duff?” she asked.

“I am not,” the Captain said.

“But he might be of great help⁠—”

“Nix,” cut in Flannery stubbornly. “I got about all the help I can stand on this case now. Get him here and have him under foot? No, sir⁠—I’m going to find out first who killed Sir Frederic. After that, they can all come. Don’t you say so, Sergeant?”

Chan nodded. “You are wise man. The ship with too many steersmen never reaches port.”