earshot?"
"Quite. You want the telephone—"
But John Quincy was already in the booth. Charlie Chan's voice came back over the wire.
"Most warm congratulations. You are number one detective yourself. Should my self-starter not indulge in stubborn spasm, I will make immediate connection with you."
John Quincy returned to the desk, smiling. "Charlie's flying to us in his Ford. Begins to look as though we were getting somewhere now. But about this bill. Mrs. Brade's board and room I make sixteen dollars. The charge against Mr. Brade—one week's board and room minus four days' board—totals nine dollars and sixty-two cents."
"How can I ever thank you?" said the girl.
"By telling me again about your childhood on this beach." A shadow crossed her face. "Oh, I'm sorry I've made you unhappy."
"Oh, no—you couldn't." She shook her head. "I've never been—so very happy. Always an 'if' in it, as I told you before. That morning on the ferry I think I was nearest to real happiness. I seemed to have escaped from life for a moment."
"I remember how you laughed at my hat."
"Oh—I hope you've forgiven me."
"Nonsense. I'm mighty glad I was able to make you laugh like that." Her great eyes stared into the future, and John Quincy pitied her. He had known others like her, others who loved their fathers, built high hopes for them, then saw them drift into a baffled old age. One of the girl's slender, tanned hands lay on the desk, John Quincy put his own upon it. "Don't be unhappy," he urged. "It's such a wonderful night. The moon—you're a what-you-may-call-it—a kamaaina, I know, but I'll bet you never saw the moon looking so well before. It's like a thousand-dollar gold piece, pale but negotiable. Shall we go out and spend it?"
Gently she drew her hand away. "There were seven bottles of charged water sent to the room. Thirty-five cents each—"
"What? Oh, the Brades' bill. Yes, that means two forty-five more. I'd like to mention the stars too. Isn't it odd how close the stars seem in the tropics—"
She smiled. "We mustn't forget the trunks and bags. Three dollars for bringing them up from the dock."
"Say—that's rather steep. Well, it goes down on the record. Have I ever told you that all this natural beauty out here has left its imprint on your face? In the midst of so much loveliness, one couldn't be anything but—"
"Mrs. Brade had three trays to the room. That's seventy-five cents more."
"Extravagant lady! Brade will be sorry he came back, for more reasons than one. Well, I've got that. Anything else?"
"Just the laundry. Ninety-seven cents."
"Fair enough. Adding it all up, I get thirty-two dollars and sixty-nine cents. Let's call it an even thirty-three."
She laughed. "Oh, no. We can't do that."
Mrs. Brade came slowly into the lobby from the lanai. She paused at the desk. "Has there been a message?" she inquired.
"No, Mrs. Brade," the girl answered. She handed over the slip of paper. "Your bill."
"Ah, yes. Mr. Brade will attend to this the moment he returns."
"You expect him soon?"
"I really can't say." The Englishwoman moved on into the corridor leading to nineteen.
"Full of information, as usual," smiled John Quincy. "Why, here's Charlie now."
Chan came briskly to the desk, followed by another policeman, also in plain clothes.
"Automobile act noble," he announced, "having fondly feeling for night air." He nodded toward his companion. "Introducing Mr. Spencer. Now, what are the situation? Humbly hinting you speak fast."
John Quincy told him Kaohla was waiting on the lanai, and mentioned the unwieldy package carried by the boy. Chan nodded.
"Events are turning over rapidly," he said. He addressed the girl. "Please kindly relate to this Kaohla that Brade has arrived and would wish to encounter him here." She hesitated. "No, no," added Chan hastily, "I forget nice heathen delicacy. It is not pretty I should ask a lady to scatter false lies from ruby lips. I humbly demand forgiveness. Content yourself with a veiled pretext bringing him here."
The girl smiled and went out. "Mr. Spencer," said Chan, "I make bold to suggest you interrogate this Hawaiian. My reckless wanderings among words of unlimitable English language often fail to penetrate sort of skulls plentiful round here."
Spencer nodded and went to the side door, standing where he would not be seen by any one entering there. In a moment Kaohla appeared, followed by the girl. The Hawaiian came in quickly but seeing Chan, stopped, and a frightened look crossed his face. Spencer startled him further by seizing his arm.
"Come over here," said the detective. "We want to talk to you." He led the boy to a far corner of the room, Chan and John Quincy followed. "Sit down—here, I'll take that." He removed the heavy package from under the boy's arm. For a moment the Hawaiian seemed about to protest, but evidently he thought better of it. Spencer placed the package on a table and stood over Kaohla.
"Want to see Brade, eh?" he began in a threatening tone.
"Yes."
"What for?"
"Business is private."
"Well, I'm telling you to come across. You're in bad. Better change your mind and talk."
"No."
"All right. We'll see about that. What have you got in that package?" The boy's eyes went to the table, but he made no answer.
Chan took out a pocket knife. "Simple matter to discover," he said. He cut the rough twine, unwound several layers of newspapers. John Quincy pressed close, he felt that something important was about to be divulged.
The last layer of paper came off. "Hot dog!" cried Chan. He turned quickly to John Quincy. "Oh, I am so sorry—I pick up atrocious phrase like that from my cousin Mr. Willie Chan, Captain of All Chinese baseball team—"
But John Quincy did not hear, his eyes were glued to the object that lay on the table. An ohia wood box, bound with copper—the initials T. M. B.
"We will unlatch it," said Chan. He made an examination. "No, locked most strongly. We will crash into it at police station, where you and I and this silent Hawaiian will now hasten. Mr. Spencer, you will remain on spot here. Should Brade appear, you know your duty."
"I do," said Spencer.
"Mr. Kaohla, do me the honor to accompany," continued Chan. "At police headquarters much talk will be extracted out of you."
They turned toward the door. As they did so, Carlota Egan came up. "May I speak to you a moment?" she said to John Quincy.
"Surely." He walked with her to the desk.
"I went to the lanai just now," she whispered breathlessly. "Some one was crouching outside the window near where you were talking. I went closer and it was—Mr. Saladine!"
"Aha," said John Quincy. "Mr. Saladine had better drop that sort of thing, or he'll get himself in trouble."
"Should we tell Chan?"
"Not yet. You and I will do a little investigating ourselves first. Chan has other things to think about. And we don't want any of our guests to leave unless it's absolutely necessary."
"We certainly don't," she smiled. "I'm glad you've got the interests of the house at heart."
"That's just where I've got them—" John Quincy began, but Chan cut in.
"Humbly begging pardon," he said, "we must speed. Captain Hallet will have high delight to encounter this Kaohla, to say nothing of ohia wood box."
In the doorway, Kaohla crowded close to John Quincy, and the latter was startled by the look of hate he saw in the boy's stormy eyes. "You did this," muttered