The House Without a Key · Chapter 9 (2/2)

“I wasn’t sure we would.” She glanced at the shabby old hotel. “You see, I’m not exactly a social favorite out here.” John Quincy could think of no reply, and they mounted the crumbling steps. The public room was quite deserted. “And why have we met?” the girl continued. “I’m fearfully puzzled. What was dad’s business with those men? One of them was Captain Hallet⁠—a policeman⁠—”

John Quincy frowned. “I’m not so sure your father wants you to know.”

“But I’ve got to know, that’s obvious. Please tell me.”

John Quincy relinquished the suitcase, and brought forward a chair. The girl sat down.

“It’s this way,” he began. “My Cousin Dan was murdered in the night.”

Her eyes were tragic. “Oh⁠—poor Barbara!” she cried. That’s right, he mustn’t forget Barbara. “But dad⁠—oh, go on please⁠—”

“Your father visited Cousin Dan last night at eleven, and he refuses to say why. There are other things he refuses to tell.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sudden tears. “I was so happy on the boat,” she said. “I knew it couldn’t last.”

He sat down. “Nonsense. Everything will come out all right. Your father is probably shielding someone⁠—”

She nodded. “Of course. But if he’s made up his mind not to talk, he just simply won’t talk. He’s odd that way. They may keep him down there, and I shall be all alone⁠—”

“Not quite alone,” John Quincy told her.

“No, no,” she said. “I’ve warned you. We’re not the sort the best people care to know⁠—”

“The more fools they,” cut in the boy. “I’m John Quincy Winterslip, of Boston. And you⁠—”

“Carlota Maria Egan,” she answered. “You see, my mother was half Portuguese. The other half was Scotch-Irish⁠—my father’s English. This is the melting pot out here, you know.” She was silent for a moment. “My mother was very beautiful,” she added wistfully. “So they tell me⁠—I never knew.”

John Quincy was touched. “I thought how beautiful she must have been,” he said gently. “That day I met you on the ferry.”

The girl dabbed at her eyes with an absurd little handkerchief, and stood up. “Well,” she remarked, “this is just another thing that has to be faced. Another call for courage⁠—I must meet it.” She smiled. “The lady manager of the Reef and Palm. Can I show you a room?”

“I say, it’ll be a rather stiff job, won’t it?” John Quincy rose too.

“Oh, I shan’t mind. I’ve helped dad before. Only one thing troubles me⁠—bills and all that. I’ve no head for arithmetic.”

“That’s all right⁠—I have,” replied John Quincy. He stopped. Wasn’t he getting in a little deep?

“How wonderful,” the girl said.

“Why, not at all,” John Quincy protested. “It’s my line, at home.” Home! Yes, he had a home, he recalled. “Bonds and interest and all that sort of thing. I’ll drop in later in the day to see how you’re getting on.” He moved away in a mild panic. “I’d better be going now,” he added.

“Of course.” She followed him to the door. “You’re altogether too kind. Shall you be in Honolulu long?”

“That depends,” John Quincy said. “I’ve made up my mind to one thing. I shan’t stir from here until this mystery about Cousin Dan is solved. And I’m going to do everything in my power to help in solving it.”

“I’m sure you’re very clever, too,” she told him.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. But I intend to make the effort of my life. I’ve got a lot of incentives for seeing this affair through.” Something else trembled on his tongue. Better not say it. Oh, lord, he was saying it. “You’re one of them,” he added, and clattered down the stairs.

“Do be careful,” called the girl. “Those steps are even worse than they were when I left. Just another thing to be repaired⁠—some day⁠—when our ship comes in.”

He left her smiling wistfully in the doorway and hurrying through the garden, stepped out on Kalakaua Avenue. The blazing sun beat down on his defenseless head. Gorgeous trees flaunted scarlet banners along his path, tall coconut palms swayed above him at the touch of the friendly trades, not far away rainbow-tinted waters lapped a snowy beach. A sweet land⁠—all of that.

Did he wish that Agatha Parker were there to see it with him? Pursuing the truth further, as Charlie Chan would put it, he did not.