He drank more coffee. "What this means, Virgil, is that the Chinese in the old country feel that they have a permanent hold on us and that we owe them our loyalty simply because our eyes slant-if they do. Understand that a lot of us do feel a close attachment to the real China- not the communist one-just as a lot of your young people go around sporting Afro hairdos." He buttered a breakfast roU.
"You are suggesting, then," Tibbs said, "that some people in China were applying pressure to Mr. Wang on the basis that he was Chinese-in their eyes. Was he a U.S. citizen, by the way?"
"Yes, he was. And your surmise is accurate, based on my own guesswork. I've had a little of that kind of thing and I expect that I'll get more. Most of it comes through Hong Kong; one letter I got I turned over to the FBI."
"That gives me an idea," Tibbs said. "I'll check to see if Mr. Wang ever took a similar step. Unless you know offhand."
Johnny shook his head. "I don't know, I can only guess."
"When can I see your jade collection?" Virgil asked.
"You really want to?"
"Yes, very much."
Johnny thought. "Why don't we just stay here and have some lunch. Then after that we can go over to my place — it isn't very far from here-and you can inspect my jades all you'd like."
"Could we skip the lunch?" Virgil asked. "I'm honestly not hungry. Unless you are."
Johnny took some more coffee. "Not really. I just thought that you might like the scenery around here. A lot more of it comes on duty at twelve. Unless a policeman can't admire pretty girls the way we do."
"If that were true, I wouldn't be a policeman," Tibbs said. "Invite me back some time; I'll buy the drinks."
"A deal. If you come down here much, why not become a member? I'll be glad to sponsor you."
"Many thanks, but I don't think I could handle the tab."
"It isn't that bad."
"All right, maybe later. When this matter is cleared away."
Johnny glanced up. "Am I under suspicion?" he asked.
"Let me put it this way: when I find the guilty man, I'll let you know."
Wu accepted that. "Let's go; I'm quite close by."
The jade collection of Johnny Wu was much more modest than the one in Wang Fu-sen's home, but its high quality was immediately evident. Furthermore, each choice piece had been carefully placed to display it to the best advantage. The lighting inside the three cabinets was artfuclass="underline" bright enough to illuminate, but subtle enough to flatter the stone objects at the same time. They needed no flattery; they were exquisite and Tibbs knew it. gd
*The longer I look at these things," he said, "the more I have to admire the men who created them. Perhaps for the first time, I wish that I had some prospect of being rich."
"Jade isn't cheap," Johnny admitted. "But consider what goes into it. The stone comes for the most part from a small, very secluded section of Burma. It costs a great deal. After they get it and have it transported all the way to Peking, then the craftsmen are faced with one of the toughest and most intractable materials known to man. It takes weeks, and months, to turn out a good piece and the master carvers are dying out-they don't encourage them too much under the present regime. Do you know that they are actually making pieces now that show communist soldiers in battle and other propaganda subjects? It's a desecration; I've seen some in the commie department stores in Hong Kong."
When he had learned all that he could for the time being, Tibbs turned away from the cabinets. "Your collection is magnificent," he said.
*Thank you." Wu hesitated for a moment, then went on. "After a decent interval, I'm going to approach Miss Nagashima and see if she will sell me some of the pieces that Fu-sen had. You'll never find better in this country and there are a few things that I would like very much to own if I can get them."
Virgil looked at him. "Why Miss Nagashima?" he asked.
"I assumed that you knew. If you don't, you should. Fu-sen made a new will recently; in it he left almost everything he owned, including the jades, to her."
"Did he tell you that?"
"No, but word gets around. Chinese have always been good at that. Do you want to leave that Ya-Chang with me for further study?"
"I think not," Virgil answered him. "It's evidence, so for the time being it should remain in police custody."
As Tibbs drove back to Pasadena certain ideas were forming in his mind, but they were too uncertain to be more than conjectures. There were elements missing and until they could be supplied, or accounted for, further development would be at the best slow and difficult.
He stopped at a coffee shop south of Colorado and had his usual lunch of a sandwich and a milk shake. He seldom varied this menu very much; the milk soothed his stomach and seemed to ease the tensions that went with his job. He could eat anywhere he chose now in the city, but there were still a very few establishments where he felt that his welcome was less than complete. He avoided them for the sake of the peace of his soul and allowed himself the luxury of eating where he knew that the color of his skin would have no bearing on his reception or how he was served.
After his meal he returned to his office for more paper work. There was no evading it and he had to keep up no matter what the cost in time and effort. Bob Nakamura was out on a bank holdup and this time there were no notes waiting on the desk. An hour later he made a phone call. Don Washburn was in his office and would be glad to see him if he cared to come to the plant.
As he drove north through streets Tibbs noticed how the mountains stood out in rare sharp relief; the air was remarkably clear and California looked as it probably had in the old Spanish days long before the internal combustion engine had been invented or oil refineries and power plants had been built to pollute the atmosphere.
At the gate that protected the research facility the formalities were at a minimum this time; he was expected. Once inside he was greeted by the receptionist and ushered almost at once to the large comer office where Washburn awaited him.
He had hardly seated himself before the trim executive
secretary who had served him last time came in with two cups of coffee. This time she had not had to ask how he liked it; she supplied it, smiled, and withdrew.
"Mr. Washburn," Virgil began. "I'd like to ask you some very pointed questions if you don't mind. My purpose is to find the person who killed Wang Fu-sen. I know that you understand that"
"I do." Washburn looked as though he meant it.
"You told me that you had had some direct experience with narcotics in the case of your son Robin."
His host nodded. "Yes, that's true."
"How is he coming along, by the way?"
Washburn smiled. "Very well-he's returning home shortly.'*
'That's good news, certainly. Mr. Washburn, have you ever, at any time, known or suspected any connection between illicit narcotics and Mr. Wang? You mentioned that he was your close and good friend, and I'm making allowances for that."
Washburn was firm and decisive. "Absolutely not; I don't believe that he used them and I'm positive that he never trafiicked in them. Let me give you a reason for that statement. I knew him for many years; for him to have dealt in dope of any kind would have been as out of character as a Salvation Army girl working in a bottomless bar."
Tibbs studied him before he put his next question. "Despite that endorsement, was there a possibility-and please note that word-that Robin might have been getting his supply of drugs from Mr. Wang? Please consider that carefully."