“Well, Leith asked me to look up all the people who were there. I found out that Grier knows a lot about China. I found out that Charles Sansone is a well-known amateur magician. I found out that Thoms, the big game hunter, is going to Alaska—”
“Is he?” Sergeant Ackley asked.
“He is,” Beaver said.
“Well,” Sergeant Ackley said, “as I see the situation, we have three suspects. Grier could very well have substituted necklaces when he handed the necklace to Sansone. Grier had already seen the necklace, knew exactly what it looked like, and could have had an imitation prepared.
“Sansone could have done it. He’d seen the necklace a couple of days before and he could have had an imitation ready. He’s pretty good at sleight of hand. We can’t leave Silman Shore out — he was the one to discover that it was an imitation.”
“And don’t overlook the fact that this Shogiro may be pulling a fast one,” Beaver said.
“I don’t think so,” Sergeant Ackley observed. “He had nothing to gain.”
“Well,” Beaver said, “Leith was very much interested in finding out where Shogiro was going.”
“And you found out?”
“Yes. Shogiro’s canceling the trip he planned to Europe and is returning to Japan.”
Sergeant Ackley’s brows furrowed. “By way of Honolulu?” he asked.
“What do you think?” the undercover man replied.
The giant liner Monterey sent the long blast of a booming whistle echoing over the Los Angeles harbor. On the pier below, thousands of hysterical, waving people shouted farewells to the passengers who lined the decks. Streamers of colored paper, stretching from ship to shore, fluttered in the vagrant night breeze. The air was filled with shouts and laughter.
Then a dark strip of water appeared between the pier and the white sides of the big ship. A surge of white water churned up from the stern. The big liner, graceful as a yacht, throbbed into motion, and the sleek white sides began to glide along the pier.
Lester Leith said to Ora Sanders, “Well, here we are, on our way — the start of adventure.”
She looked up at him with bright eyes. “To think that I would ever have an experience like this,” she breathed. “Oh, it’s wonderful, simply wonderful!”
Leith moved over to rest his elbows on the teakwood rail. He glanced at Mah Foy standing motionless, the breeze swirling her skirts into gentle motion, her face utterly without expression.
Leith caught sight of the huge figure of Beaver towering above the other passengers. He motioned to him, and the valet joined him.
“You’ve looked over the passenger list, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who’s aboard of those at the dinner party when the necklace disappeared?”
“Shogiro,” the undercover man said, “Mah Foy, Charles Sansone, and Silman Shore.”
“Sansone?” Lester Leith exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s he doing aboard?”
“Apparently just taking a trip to the Islands.”
Leith frowned. “Seen anyone else you know, Scuttle?”
“No, sir.”
“Who’s your cabin mate?”
The undercover man frowned.
“An old gentleman inclined to seasickness, I understand, and something of an invalid, sir. He’ll probably be a nuisance. He asked me particularly to entertain my friends outside the cabin. He expects to spend most of the time in bed.”
“Most annoying,” Leith said. “Too bad you didn’t get a more agreeable companion.”
“Yes, sir,” the valet said, “but I’m quite certain the trip will be very enjoyable. Is there anything you wish, sir? I’ve laid your clothes out and—”
“No, Scuttle. That will be all for tonight. Take life easy and enjoy yourself. I’m dog tired and am going to turn in.”
Leith waved to Ora Sanders. Her face showed disappointment. She moved swiftly to his side and said, “Aren’t you going to watch the Mainland out of sight? Have you no romance?”
He whispered, “I’m setting a trap. Meet me on the boat deck in fifteen minutes.”
Leith said good night to Mah Foy and started in the direction of his cabin, but detoured to the boat deck where Ora Sanders found him a quarter of an hour later.
Leith said, “I want to be where I can see without being seen. Would you consider the duties of your employment too onerous if you sat over here in the shadow of the lifeboat and went into what is technically known as a huddle?”
She laughed. “I’d have been disappointed to think that I was starting on a trip to the Hawaiian Islands unhuddled,” she said.
They sat close together in the shadow, talking in low tones. The couples who promenaded past them grew fewer in number as the ship swung out into the Pacific and the bow began to sway gently to the surge of the incoming swell.
Suddenly Leith exerted pressure on her arm. Ora Sanders followed the direction of his glance.
Beaver, accompanied by a stocky, bull-necked, broad-shouldered man, was promenading past. They heard him say, “It’s okay now, Sarge, I told him you were an old invalid and to keep out of our cabin.”
They walked past.
“Who was that?” Ora Sanders asked.
Leith smiled. “That,” he said, “was Sergeant Arthur Ackley of the Metropolitan Police Force. I don’t wish him any bad luck, but I hope he is highly susceptible to seasickness.”
On the second day out, Mah Foy said to Lester Leith, “I haven’t any definite idea of what you had in mind when you employed me. Certainly it wasn’t to work.”
Leith, sprawled in a deck chair and watching the intense blue waters of a semitropic ocean, smiled and said, “I am a man of extremes. When I work, I work long hours. When I loaf, I loaf long hours.”
“So it would seem. Did you know that Mr. Sansone was going to be on this boat?”
“Frankly,” Leith said, “I did not. I’m sorry if his presence causes you any embarrassment.”
“It doesn’t,” she said, “only he was surprised at seeing me here.”
“I can understand that.”
“Did you know that Katiska Shogiro was going to be a passenger?”
“I suspected that he might go as far as Honolulu.”
“On this ship?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that Mr. Shore was going to be a passenger?”
“Yes,” Leith said. “I knew that in advance.”
She remained silent for several minutes, then she said, “If you have any work for me, please call.”
“Wait a minute,” Leith said as she arose from the deck chair. “I have one thing to ask of you.”
“What is that, Mr. Leith?”
“Don’t do anything rash. Promise me that you won’t — at least until we are in Honolulu.”
“Why?” she asked. “What made you think I contemplated doing anything you might describe as rash?”
“I have my reasons,” Leith said.
She laughed. “My race has a proverb. ‘Stirring the water does not help it to boil.’ ”
“A very good proverb,” Leith said, “although I don’t subscribe to it.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” he said. “Stirring the water may not help it to boil, but it has other advantages.”
“What are they?”
“Oh, for one thing,” Leith said, “it scrambles the contents of the pot, and makes it difficult for an observer to know that the primary purpose of putting the pot on the stove was to get the water to boil.”