Fifty Candles (8 page)

A door at the rear of the room opened suddenly and Hung Chin-chung came in. Noiselessly, on his padded slippers, he crossed the polished floor to the long table on which Mrs. MacShane had put the coffee. His yellow face might have been hidden behind the curtain of a tule-fog for all the expression one could read there. He gathered up the stray coffee cups and piled them on the tray.

No one moved or spoke. Deliberately Hung lifted the tray to his shoulder, swung on his heel, and strode to the door through which he had entered.

“Hung!” said Barnes sharply.

Hung paused, turned so we could see his face, and waited.

“This was your birthday, eh, Hung?” said Barnes.

“Yes.”

“The fifty candles—the cake—all for you?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Drew was very fond of you. Why?”

“Why not?”

“Answer my question!” The detective reddened with anger.

“I have served Mr. Drew with honor for many years,” said Hung.

“And you were about to leave his service. Where are you going? What are your plans?”

“I return to China.”

“On what boat?”

“I have not yet decided. That is all? Thank you—”

“Wait a minute! Tell me—you were very fond of Mr. Drew?”

“Why not?” Hung's hand was pushing open the door.

“I want an answer!” shouted Barnes.

“For one word,” said Hung, “a man may be adjudged wise. And for one word he may be adjudged foolish. I have spoken enough.”

“Hold on there!” Barnes cried, for Hung was going out.

“Let him go,” said Mark Drew quickly, and the Chinaman disappeared.

Barnes threw up his hands.

“All right—if you're handling the case,” he said angrily.

“I should like to, for a few moments,” said Drew, smiling. “Where the mind of an Oriental is concerned, one man's efforts are as good as another's.”

“I was on the Chinatown squad ten years,” Barnes retorted. “But if you know more than I do—”

“I know more about Hung, perhaps. Mrs. MacShane—go to the kitchen. If Hung starts to come upstairs by the back way, let Sergeant Barnes know at once. He will pass the word on to me. Now, Sergeant, if you will lend me that flashlight you had in the garden—”

With surprising meekness Barnes handed it over.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Explore,” smiled Drew. “We all have our pet theories. Yours inclines to this young man.” He nodded toward me. “Mine, up to the time I understood the matter of the candles, favored our friend, Doctor Parker. I'm sorry to say I believe I was mistaken. I'm going up to find out.”

“Hold on,” said Barnes. “During those twenty years Hung served your father, do you know of anything that occurred ... anything that might account for what happened here tonight?”

“A fair question,” Drew said. “I'll answer it when I've had a look about Hung's room.”

He went quickly up the stairs, and again silence fell in that cold and musty room. Mary Will moved closer to me on the sofa. Doctor Parker rose and lighted a cigarette, then with an air of assumed carelessness drifted to the side of Carlotta Drew, who sat near the stairs. They talked eagerly in low tones; evidently they had much that was important to say to each other. Ignoring us all, Barnes sat staring gloomily into space. He seemed for the moment a discouraged man.

The telephone, which was in a closet under the stairs, rang sharply. Barnes jumped up and entered the closet, shutting the door behind him. We could hear his voice, faint, far away.

“Hello, Riley! ... Yes. What is it? ... Yes.... That's good.... Fine work, Riley.... Better take her to the station. Wait a minute—bring her up here first. Yes. Good-bye.”

When Barnes emerged from the closet, his face was beaming. He said nothing, but ran up the stairs two at a time.

Mary Will put her hand on my arm. “What now?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I wonder—”

“I'm so worried. That horrid detective still suspects you.”

“Nonsense! He can't entangle an innocent man.”

“Yes, he can,” said Mary Will seriously. “And he will, too, unless he finds the guilty one at once.”

“Then let's hope he does. But who
is
the guilty man? My choice is Doctor Parker.”

Mary Will's forehead wrinkled in deep thought.

“No,” she said. “I don't believe it was Parker.”

“Then why did he try so hard to put the thing on me?”

“For the same reason Carlotta Drew tried to put it on you. They both honestly believe you did it.”

“Mary Will—you talk like an oracle. How do you know all this?”

“Oh—I just know it. When Mrs. Drew and I were upstairs and we heard the scream, I'm sure she suspected Doctor Parker. But the minute he reached the house, with you and the policeman, he took her aside and assured her he was innocent. I was watching them and I saw the look of relief on her face.”

“Well,” I said helplessly, “I'm all at sea. If Parker didn't do it—”

“Then Hung did,” said Mary Will firmly. “Can't you see that?”

“Hung? Nonsense! Why, there's not a shred of evidence against him. He was in his room. Much more reason to suspect me. Oh, I certainly got tangled in a pretty mess when I came up here tonight.”

“I meant to speak about that. You disobeyed me. I told you on the boat—”

“Tut, tut! Maidenly reserve, and all that sort of thing. I'm mighty glad I didn't pay any attention to it. Because, however it ends, this evening has taught me one wonderful thing. You love me.”

“I haven't said so.”

“You don't need to. Your actions have proved it.”

“Don't be too sure. Maybe I pitied you. Have you thought of that? And pity—pity isn't love.”

I have said that Mary Will could be annoying at times. Loving her, I perceived, would never grow monotonous.

“If I hear any more about pity,” I said fiercely, “I'll kiss you.”

“Then you won't hear any more about it,” she answered quickly ... and added, very softly, “Not just now.”

At that instant we heard Mark Drew and the detective coming down the stairs.

Doctor Parker rose and walked to the table; when they came into view he was lighting another cigarette. Sergeant Barnes carried a little bundle of something or other, which he placed beneath the cushion of a chair. Then he walked solemnly up to where I sat.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “I'm going to arrest you for the murder of Henry Drew!”

Mary Will gave a little cry, and her hot hand grasped mine. I was stunned.

“This—this is ridiculous,” I stammered.

Mark Drew came up and stood by the side of Barnes.

“The sergeant is a bit crude in his methods,” he remarked. “What he should have said was that, with your permission, he is about to place you under arrest as an experiment. You'll understand later. Do you mind?”

“I—can't say I fancy it...”

“It was my suggestion,” said Mark Drew.

“Oh, well—in that case,” I agreed, somewhat less alarmed.

“Call Mrs. MacShane and Hung from the kitchen,” said Barnes. “Get Murphy in from the back and Myers from the front.” Mark Drew began to carry out these orders. “Now, my boy, if you'll let me put these on you—”

He held out a pair of handcuffs which glittered wickedly in the dim light. I saw that Mary Will was very pale and frightened, and I wasn't feeling any too cheery myself. But I held out my hands. The lock clicked shut on my wrists just as Hung came in from the kitchen, and I thought that he stared at me with unusual interest.

“My investigation is at an end,” said Barnes loudly. “You are free to go, you people. You'll all be wanted as witnesses, of course.”

Mrs. MacShane went slowly up the stairs. Doctor Parker had found his overcoat and was putting it on. Hung stepped forward to assist him when Mark Drew spoke.

“All right, Hung,” he said. “Go to your room. I'll wait here to look after things. You've passed your fiftieth birthday—I've not forgotten—you are your own master now. Good night, and good luck!”

For a long moment Hung looked at him. Then he bowed.

“Thank you,” he said. “Good night.”

He went silently up the broad stairs. Mark Drew waited about two minutes, then followed just as silently. I could see him stop in the shadows at the top and stand there as though on guard. Barnes turned to the two patrolmen.

“Come on,” he whispered hoarsely. “Quick! Don't make a sound. Come with me.” He led them into the dining room while we waited, completely at sea. In a moment he returned to the hall, where he stamped noisily about for a few moments. He opened and shut the outer door several times.

“Now follow me,” he directed, still in a whisper. “We'll all go back to the drawing-room and wait.”

He led the way. Mrs. Drew, Mary Will, Parker and I followed. As we entered, Barnes turned down the lights.

Thus I came back to the room I had not seen since I left it to answer Henry Drew's pitiful cry. The fire had burned low, but the dying logs still sent forth a warm red glow. Again they were staring down on me, those stern Drews on the wall. I was acutely conscious of the handcuffs on my wrists.

We waited. From where I sat I could see that the yellow fog from the tule-fields no longer pressed against the window panes. By straining my eyes, I fancied I could make out the dim outlines of an apartment house across the street. Was the tule-fog lifting?

The glint of firelight on my pretty bracelets must have caught the eye of Barnes, for he came over and, grinning, set me free.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

“Temporarily, at any rate,” he spoiled it all by adding.

He returned to his seat. Mark Drew came down the stairs and entered the room on tiptoe. He, too, found a chair. Our wait seemed endless.

“I don't think much of your scheme, Drew,” growled the detective at last. “Silly play-acting, if you ask me.”

He was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the dining room. In another moment, in the big door of the drawing-room, Myers and Murphy appeared. Between them stood Hung Chin-chung.

“You win, Drew!” Barnes cried. He leaped to his feet and turned up the lights, brisk, alive, delighted. “Hello, Hung—glad to see you,” he chortled.

“He was makin’ his getaway by a rope from his window,” Myers explained. “We grabbed him the minute he landed.”

“Sure, sure,” said Barnes. “Well, Hung—that's the second time tonight the old fire-escape proved a handy invention, eh?”

Hung did not speak. He faced the detective with a dignity that was somehow pathetic and hopeless.

“Don't try that stony-stare stuff on me,” Barnes warned. “I know you came down that way before. I—that is, we—I mean Mr. Drew here and I—found a few strands of the rope caught in the rough ledge of the window sill.” He passed round Hung into the hall, and returned with the bundle he had hidden beneath the cushion of a chair. As he now unrolled it I perceived that it was a pair of Hung's trousers, wrapped about a pair of cheap American-made shoes. “You're getting awful careless where you put your clothes, ain't you, Hung?”

The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders. “You are searching the lake for the moon,” he said scornfully.

“Maybe we are,” answered Barnes. “And maybe we'll find it too. Maybe the moon's dropped down from heaven—by way of a rope fire-escape.” He went close to the impassive face of the Chinaman. “I've got you tagged, son, from the minute you left here to go to your room just before dinner. Wanted to charge your clothes, eh? To bring honor to your master and your master's house? Was that the reason? I don't think so. Now listen to me—and correct me if I'm wrong: You went to your room. You put on these white man's shoes in place of those velvet slippers. You took the knife you'd snitched from Mr. Winthrop's luggage when you were in the stateroom packing Henry Drew's bags. You let out the rope of the fire-escape and dropped down into the fog. It wasn't two minutes to Doctor Su's place by the back way.

“He was alone there. Did you fix that? You put the knife in him. When you came back you saw Henry Drew in the dining room. You slipped through the window and did him in, too. Before you could get back up by the rope route, Mr. Winthrop was with you in the fog—”

“I remember,” I cried. “Something struck me in the face when I was close to the wall of the house. It must have been the rope.”

“Sure,” said Barnes. “It was. Well, Hung, you and Mr. Winthrop played hide-and-seek in the fog. When he went out into the alley, you locked the gate after him. Then you climbed to your room. You drew up the rope and put it back on the hook. You took off these shoes, all wet and muddy, and the trousers, wet and stained round the bottom from walking in the tall grass. From your window you could step out on the roof; you hid these things in a dark corner out there. But you overlooked the mud on your window-sill, the mud on the floor. You put on fresh clothes and waited for the time when you were due to meet somebody—a friend. Where were you going, you and your friend? I'll gamble there's a boat waiting for you down at the dock; faked passports, maybe none at all; a bribe here and there—money will do a lot, eh? Well, Hung, I'm sorry. I can't let you go to meet your friend. But don't worry—it's all right. Your friend will be here in a minute to meet you.”

Even at that startling bit of information, Hung allowed himself no look of surprise or of distress. Again he shrugged his shoulders.

“It's all up, Hung,” the detective was saying. “You haven't got a chance in the world. It's as clear as day. Your first free evening in twenty years, and you spend it killing your master and your master's best friend. Is that your idea of a pleasant night off? Now that's all from me. What have you got to say?”

“Nothing,” answered Hung Chin-chung.

Mark Drew came over and stood before the Chinaman. For a long moment the beady little eyes looked straight into those of the dead man's son. Then, amazingly, they faltered, and Hung's chin fell upon his breast.

“Hung,” said Drew, “I'm sorry—you must know that. But after all, Henry Drew was my father, and I was bound to find out who killed him if I could. Then, too, you had tried to involve an innocent man. I'm all at sea. I thought you were loyal to my father—I spoke of your loyalty here tonight. There can be no question of your guilt, but that does not solve the mystery for me. It only increases it. What in heaven's name was the motive behind all this?”