I heard a couple of faint sounds, the sort someone might make by pounding on a wall.
The girl got up, dashed over to her trunk, jerked out a tray and banged the lid shut.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
She stood there for a moment, then threw the lid back, started rummaging around among the contents, dumping quantities of books, shoes and clothing out on the floor.
“What’s the idea?” I asked.
“I’m looking for something.”
“What?”
“Something to show you, to prove I’m the person you think — and something that will enable me to identify you.”
I heard another thud. She impatiently slammed a book to the floor.
I said, “I think it came from the closet.”
“What did?”
“The noise you’re trying to keep me from hearing. You slam things around in the trunk every time it happens. Shall we look?”
Her hand had been down in the trunk. It came up carrying a businesslike revolver. “Suppose you take a look at this instead.”
I sat very still. “I’m looking at it, Hazel,” I said.
“Betty.”
“All right, Betty. I’m looking at it.”
She said, “Raise your hands above your head, walk over against that wall and turn your back.”
I sat perfectly still.
“Go on.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll shoot!”
“That would be very, very messy — not a nice, clean job like you made on the train.”
Watching her eyes, I put my hand on the arm of the chair, made as if to rise. It was well past the time for Ngat T’oy to show up. I didn’t want her to run into this.
The gun snapped to a rigid steadiness.
I settled back in the chair.
“Called your bluff, didn’t I?”
I kept looking at her.
“Get your hands up.”
I shook my head.
“I will shoot. I really will!”
She started circling the room away from the window. Abruptly she jerked open the door of the room and left.
I got up out of the chair, walked across the room, locked the door and opened the closet door.
There was nothing in there except a few clothes.
I heard the peculiar thudding noise again. As I stopped to listen, the knob of the corridor door turned slowly. I stood perfectly still, making no sound no slightest motion.
The thudding sounds were more rapid now.
Knuckles were tapping gently on the outer door.
“Hoh shai kai mäh?” I said in a low voice — the greeting of certain types of Chinese, meaning literally, “Is the whole world good?”
Instantly, Ngat T’oy’s voice answered. “Hoh shai kai” — “the whole world is good.”
I unlocked the door and let her in.
“What is it Ed?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. You’re late.”
“I was just opening my door to come over here when I saw you entering this room. I thought something was the matter, so I waited. Then I saw her go out, pushing a gun down in her purse as she walked toward the elevator, so I came. Is anything wrong?”
“Plenty. I...”
More poundings interrupted me.
“Let’s take a look in the bathroom Ngat T’oy,” I said.
She moved to my side. “You want me with you?”
“I... yes. Come along.”
She was a step or two behind me as I opened the bathroom door.
A man, a Negro, was lying in the bathtub. His shoes had been removed. A gag had been tied in his mouth, and his hands and feet were tied. He was making noise by pounding his bare heels down on the porcelain of the tub. He rolled his eyes up at us as I opened the door.
For a moment the gag which virtually covered the lower part of his face made it impossible for me to recognize him, but there was something familiar in the livid fear, as well as in the rolling whites of the panic-stricken eyes that tugged at my memory. Then I knew who he was — the porter of the Pullman car — the one who had found the body in lower six.
I bent over him and untied the gag — a woman’s nylon stocking holding in his mouth a wad of lingerie.
He was too frightened to talk.
I sat down on the edge of the bathtub, said reassuringly, “How about a cigarette?” and took out my cigarette case. I didn’t make any move to untie his hands or feet.
He rolled his head from side to side in a gesture of refusal, moved his tongue around in his mouth, glanced apprehensively over my shoulder at Ngat T’oy, took a deep breath, and said, “Hones’ to Gawd, boss, if’n yo’ let me loose and doan’ kill me, ah won’t ever tell nobody you killed dat girl in the Pullman.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said abruptly. “I didn’t kill her.”
I saw that my words simply didn’t register with him. He was looking at me with pleading and panic in his eyes.
I said, “Who tied you up, George?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. Who did it?”
“Ah’m promis’n, you square, boss. If’n yo’ let me out of here, ah won’t tell nobody.”
I said, with a trace of irritation, “I’m trying to help you, you fool.”
“Untie me then and lemme out o’ here,” he answered.
I said, “Don’t be silly. If I untie you now, you’d dash out of that door screaming bloody murder, and I can’t afford to have that. I only have a few minutes leeway and can’t wait. Now, when did you get here?”
He took one look at me, opened his mouth and sucked in a prodigious breath. I knew he was going to yell. As he threw his head back, I clapped the gag back into his mouth, whipped the stocking into place and tied it in a swift knot.
The porter in the bathtub was so frightened he all but passed out. Once he realized I had slapped the gag back into his mouth, he twisted and squirmed around in the tub like a trout that has wiggled free of the hook to fall on the stream’s edge.
I stepped back out of the bathroom, said to Ngat T’oy, “Come on. Let’s take a look. We can’t tell when she’ll be back.”
“Can’t we turn him loose?”
“Definitely not. He’d tear the door off its hinges getting out of here and have the place around our ears before we could get out. Tell you what you can do. Turn on the water in the bathtub. He can keep his head above the water, and by the time it overflows and starts trickling through the ceiling of the room below, the hotel will send someone up to find him. By that time, we’ll be out.”
Ngat T’oy went into the bathroom. As I heard the water start running in the tub, I dropped down on my knees in front of the open trunk in the middle of the floor.
It was Betty Crofath’s trunk. There were books dealing with the Orient — books that an ordinary person wouldn’t have; books on Chinese temperament, customs and language published by Kelly & Walsh of Hong Kong and Shanghai; maps and guides of Japan, “The Symbology of the Shinto Religion,” “The Essence of Buddhist Philosophy,” a little pamphlet dealing with a dramatized story of the forty-seven Ronin.
I turned to the front of these books. Those dealing with Japan were all inscribed: “To Betty, so that she may learn more of the dignity of my country and the significance of its customs. With love, from Numatsu.”
Ngat T’oy came to stand behind me, peering down over my shoulder.
“He can keep his head up all right?” I asked without looking up from the books.
“Yes. If he doesn’t faint from fright. I was most considerate. I regulated the temperature of the water so it’s just right to be comfortable. He can push his foot against the overflow outlet. As long as he holds it there the water will run over the tub — as soon as it reaches the top. If anything happens, and he faints or anything, he’ll automatically remove his foot and water won’t overflow. Are you finding anything interesting, Ed?”