LITMIR.BIZ

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essential clue! They had it at last. John Quincy's heart beat fast there in the rear of the car where, only a few nights before, he had been bound and gagged.

      Captain Hallet's grim face relaxed into happy lines when he met them at the door of his room. "You got him, eh? Good work." He glanced at the prisoner's wrist. "Rip that watch off him, Charlie."

      Charlie obeyed. He examined the watch for a moment, then handed it to his chief.

      "Inexpensive time-piece of noted brand," he announced. "Numeral two faint and far away. One other fact emerge into light. This Jap here have small wrist. Yet worn place on strap convey impression of being worn by man with wrist of vastly larger circumference."

      Hallet nodded. "Yes, that's right. Some other man has owned this watch. He had a big wrist—but most men in Honolulu have, you know. Sit down, Okuda. I want to hear from you. You understand what it means to lie to me?"

      "I do not lie, sir."

      "No, you bet your sweet life you don't. First, tell me who engaged your car last Saturday night."

      "Saturday night?"

      "That's what I said!"

      "Ah, yes. Two sailors from ship. Engage for evening paying large cash at once. I drive to shop on River Street, wait long time. Then off we go to dock with extra passenger in back."

      "Know the names of those sailors?"

      "Could not say."

      "What ship were they from?"

      "How can I know? Not told."

      "All right. I'm coming to the important thing. Understand? The truth—that's what I want! Where did you get this watch?"

      Chan and John Quincy leaned forward eagerly. "I buy him," said the Jap.

      "You bought him? Where?"

      "At jewel store of Chinese Lau Ho on Maunakea Street."

      Hallet turned to Chan. "Know the place, Charlie?"

      Chan nodded. "Yes, indeed."

      "Open now?"

      "Open until hour of ten, maybe more."

      "Good," said Hallet. "Come along, Okuda. You can drive us there."

      Lau Ho, a little wizened Chinaman, sat back of his work bench with a microscope screwed into one dim old eye. The four men who entered his tiny store filled it to overflowing, but he gave them barely a glance.

      "Come on, Ho—wake up," Hallet cried. "I want to talk to you."

      With the utmost deliberation the Chinaman descended from his stool and approached the counter. He regarded Hallet with a hostile eye. The captain laid the wrist watch on top of a showcase in which reposed many trays of jade.

      "Ever see that before?" he inquired.

      Lau Ho regarded it casually. Slowly he raised his eyes. "Maybe so. Can not say," he replied in a high squeaky voice.

      Hallet reddened. "Nonsense. You had it here in the store, and you sold it to this Jap. Now, didn't you?"

      Lau Ho dreamily regarded the taxi driver. "Maybe so. Can not say."

      "Damn it!" cried Hallet. "You know who I am?"

      "Policeman, maybe."

      "Policeman maybe yes! And I want you to tell me about this watch. Now wake up and come across or by the Lord Harry—"

      Chan laid a deferential hand on his chief's arm. "Humbly suggest I attempt this," he said.

      Hallet nodded. "All right, he's your meat, Charlie." He drew back.

      Chan bowed with a great show of politeness. He launched into a long story in Chinese. Lau Ho looked at him with slight interest. Presently he squeaked a brief reply. Chan resumed his flow of talk. Occasionally he paused, and Lau Ho spoke. In a few moments Chan turned beaming.

      "Story are now completely extracted like aching tooth," he said. "Wrist watch was brought to Lau Ho on Thursday, same week as murder. Offered him on sale by young man darkly colored with small knife scar marring cheek. Lau Ho buy and repair watch, interior works being in injured state. Saturday morning he sell at seemly profit to Japanese, presumably this Okuda here but Lau Ho will not swear. Saturday night dark young man appear much overwhelmed with excitement and demand watch again, please. Lau Ho say it is sold to Japanese. Which Japanese? Lau Ho is not aware of name, and can not describe, all Japanese faces being uninteresting outlook for him. Dark young man curse and fly. Appear frequently demanding any news, but Lau Ho is unable to oblige. Such are story of this jewel merchant here."

      They went out on the street. Hallet scowled at the Jap. "All right—run along. I'll keep the watch."

      "Very thankful," said the taxi driver, and leaped into his car.

      Hallet turned to Chan. "A dark young man with a scar?" he queried.

      "Clear enough to me," Chan answered. "Same are the Spaniard José Cabrera, careless man about town with reputation not so savory. Mr. Winterslip, is it that you have forgotten him?"

      John Quincy started. "Me? Did I ever see him?"

      "Recall," said Chan. "It are the night following murder. You and I linger in All American Restaurant engaged in debate regarding hygiene of pie. Door open, admitting Bowker, steward on President Tyler, joyously full of okolehau. With him are dark young man—this José Cabrera himself."

      "Oh, I remember now," John Quincy answered.

      "Well, the Spaniard's easy to pick up," said Hallet. "I'll have him inside an hour—"

      "One moment, please," interposed Chan. "To-morrow morning at nine o'clock the President Tyler return from Orient. No gambler myself but will wager increditable sum Spaniard waits on dock for Mr. Bowker. If you present no fierce objection, I have a yearning to arrest him at that very moment."

      "Why, of course," agreed Hallet. He looked keenly at Charlie Chan. "Charlie, you old rascal, you've got the scent at last."

      "Who—me?" grinned Chan. "With your gracious permission I would alter the picture. Stone walls are crumbling now like dust. Through many loopholes light stream in like rosy streaks of dawn."

      Chapter XXI. The Stone Walls Crumble

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      The stone walls were crumbling and the light streaming through—but only for Chan. John Quincy was still groping in the dark, and his reflections were a little bitter as he returned to the house at Waikiki. Chan and he had worked together, but now that they approached the crisis of their efforts, the detective evidently preferred to push on alone, leaving his fellow-worker to follow if he could. Well, so be it—but John Quincy's pride was touched.

      He had suddenly a keen desire to show Chan that he could not be left behind like that. If only he could, by some inspirational flash of deductive reasoning, arrive at the solution of the mystery simultaneously with the detective. For the honor of Boston and the Winterslips.

      Frowning deeply, he considered all the old discarded clues again. The people who had been under suspicion and then dropped—Egan, the Compton woman, Brade, Kaohla, Leatherbee, Saladine, Cope. He even considered several the investigation had not touched. Presently he came to Bowker. What did Bowker's reappearance mean?

      For the first time in two weeks he thought of the little man with the fierce pompadour and the gold-rimmed eye-glasses. Bowker with his sorrowful talk of vanished bar-rooms and lost friends behind the bar. How was the steward on the President Tyler connected with the murder of Dan Winterslip? He had not done it himself, that was obvious, but in some way he was linked up with the crime. John Quincy spent a long and painful period seeking to join Bowker up with one or another of the suspects. It couldn't be done.

      All through that Tuesday

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