The Complete Charlie Chan Series – All 6 Mystery Novels in One Edition - Earl Derr Biggers

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"Well," he continued, "one thing more and we'll go along. We've been making a thorough search of the premises by daylight—without much success, I'm sorry to say. However, by the cement walk just outside that door"—he pointed to the screen door leading from the living-room into the garden—"Charlie made a discovery."

      Chan stepped forward, holding a small white object in the palm of his hand.

      "One-half cigarette, incompletely consumed," he announced. "Very recent, not weather stained. It are of the brand denominated Corsican, assembled in London and smoked habitually by Englishmen."

      Hallet again addressed Miss Minerva. "Did Dan Winterslip smoke cigarettes?"

      "He did not," she replied. "Cigars and a pipe, but never cigarettes."

      "You were the only other person living here."

      "I haven't acquired the cigarette habit," snapped Miss Minerva. "Though undoubtedly it's not too late yet."

      "The servants, perhaps?" went on Hallet.

      "Some of the servants may smoke cigarettes, but hardly of this quality. I take it these are not on sale in Honolulu?"

      "They're not," said the captain. "But Charlie tells me they're put up in air-tight tins and shipped to Englishmen the world over. Well, stow that away, Charlie." The Chinaman tenderly placed the half cigarette, incompletely consumed, in his pocketbook. "I'm going on down the beach now to have a little talk with Mr. Jim Egan," the captain added.

      "I'll go with you," Jennison offered. "I may be able to supply a link or two there."

      "Sure, come along," Hallet replied cordially.

      "Captain Hallet," put in Miss Minerva, "it is my wish that some member of the family keep in touch with what you are doing, in order that we may give you all the aid we can. My nephew would like to accompany you—"

      "Pardon me," said John Quincy coldly, "you're quite wrong. I have no intention of joining the police force."

      "Well, just as you say," remarked Hallet. He turned to Miss Minerva. "I'm relying on you, at any rate. You've got a good mind. Anybody can see that."

      "Thank you," she said.

      "As good as a man's," he added.

      "Oh, now you've spoiled it. Good morning."

      The three men went through the screen door into the bright sunshine of the garden. John Quincy was aware that he was not in high favor with his aunt.

      "I'll go up and change," he said uncomfortably "We'll talk things over later—"

      He went into the hall. At the foot of the stairs he paused.

      From above came a low, heart-breaking moan of anguish. Barbara. Poor Barbara, who had been so happy less than an hour ago.

      John Quincy felt his head go hot, the blood pound in his temples. How dare any one strike down a Winterslip! How dare any one inflict this grief on his Cousin Barbara! He clenched his fists and stood for a moment, feeling that he, too, could kill.

      Action—he must have action! He rushed through the living-room, past the astonished Miss Minerva. In the drive stood a car, the three men were already in it.

      "Wait a minute," called John Quincy. "I'm going with you."

      "Hop in," said Captain Hallet.

      The car rolled down the drive and out on to the hot asphalt of Kalia Road. John Quincy sat erect, his eyes flashing, by the side of a huge grinning Chinaman.

      Chapter IX. At the Reef and Palm

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      They reached Kalakaua Avenue and swerving sharply to the right, Captain Hallet stepped on the gas. Since the car was without a top, John Quincy was getting an unrestricted view of this land that lay at his journey's end. As a small boy squirming about on the hard pew in the First Unitarian Church, he had heard much of Heaven, and his youthful imagination had pictured it as something like this. A warm, rather languid country, freshly painted in the gaudiest colors available.

      Creamy white clouds wrapped the tops of the distant mountains, and their slopes were bright with tropical foliage. John Quincy heard near at hand the low monotone of breakers lapping the shore. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of apple-green water and a dazzling white stretch of sand. "Oh, Waikiki! Oh, scene of peace—" What was the rest of that poem his Aunt Minerva had quoted in her last letter—the one in which she had announced that she was staying on indefinitely. "And looking down from tum-tum skies, the angels smile on Waikiki." Sentimental, but sentiment was one of Hawaii's chief exports. One had only to look at the place to understand and forgive.

      John Quincy had not delayed for a hat, and the sun was beating down fiercely on his brown head. Charlie Chan glanced at him.

      "Humbly begging pardon," remarked the Chinaman, "would say it is unadvisable to venture forth without headgear. Especially since you are a malihini."

      "A what?"

      "The term carries no offense. Malihini—stranger, newcomer."

      "Oh." John Quincy looked at him curiously. "Are you a malihini?"

      "Not in the least," grinned Chan. "I am kamaaina—old-timer. Pursuing the truth further, I have been twenty-five years in the Islands."

      They passed a huge hotel, and presently John Quincy saw Diamond Head standing an impressive guardian at the far end of that lovely curving beach. A little farther along the captain drew up to the curb and the four men alighted. On the other side of a dilapidated fence was a garden that might have been Eden at its best.

      Entering past a gate that hung sorrowfully on one hinge they walked up a dirt path and in a moment a ramshackle old building came into view. They were approaching it on an angle, and John Quincy saw that the greater part of it extended out over the water. The tottering structure was of two stories, with double-decked balconies on both sides and the rear. It had rather an air about it; once, no doubt, it had been worthy to stand in this setting. Flowering vines clambered over it in a friendly endeavor to hide its imperfections from the world.

      "Some day," announced Charlie Chan solemnly, "those rafters underneath will disintegrate and the Reef and Palm Hotel will descend into the sea with a most horrid gurgle."

      As they drew nearer, it seemed to John Quincy that the Chinaman's prophecy might come true at any moment. They paused at the foot of a crumbling stair that led to the front door, and as they did so a man emerged hurriedly from the Reef and Palm. His once white clothes were yellowed, his face lined, his eyes tired and disillusioned. But about him, as about the hotel, hung the suggestion of a distinguished past.

      "Mr. Egan," said Captain Hallet promptly.

      "Oh—how are you?" the man replied, with an accent that recalled to John Quincy's mind his meeting with Captain Arthur Temple Cope.

      "We want to talk to you," announced Hallet bruskly.

      A shadow crossed Egan's face. "I'm frightfully sorry," he said, "but I have a most important engagement, and I'm late as it is. Some other time—"

      "Now!" cut in Hallet. The word shot through the morning like a rocket. He started up the steps.

      "Impossible," said Egan. He did not raise his voice. "Nothing on earth could keep me from the dock this morning—"

      The captain of detectives seized his arm. "Come inside!" he ordered.

      Egan's face flushed. "Take your hand off me, damn you! By what right—"

      "You watch your step, Egan," advised Hallet angrily. "You know why I'm here."

      "I do not."

      Hallet stared into the man's face. "Dan Winterslip was murdered last night," he said.

      Jim Egan removed his hat, and looked helplessly out toward Kalakaua

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