“Who’s this man?” Mason asked.
Karr said, “A Judas — a dirty traitor — sold us out for his pieces of silver — almost brought about my death.” He looked up at Doris Wickford and said, “He was responsible for the death of your father. I shan’t forget him — ever.”
There was something in the way he said that last that was as whisperingly ominous as the sound of a carving knife being sharpened on a steel.
Mason compared the photograph in the book with that produced by Doris Wickford. Slowly he nodded his head, then asked, “Got any more pictures of Tucker?”
Karr jerked his head to Johns Blaine, and Blaine, turning the leaves of the photograph album, paused four times more to show Mason photographs. Always there were the photographs of the same four men: Karr; his partner, Tucker; Gow Loong; and this heavy-set, sullen-faced man who had apparently betrayed them.
Abruptly Karr said to Miss Wickford, “I want to check up on you. Where you lived, what you did, whom you knew.”
“Of course. You realize I was rather a child when Dad left, but I have rather distinct memories. I can tell you the houses we lived in — some of them, at any rate. Would you mind telling me whether my father left any considerable amount of property?”
“We had a partnership venture,” Karr said. “I didn’t know your father had any heirs. There was a partnership. We made some profit. He was killed. I didn’t make any formal accounting of his share. It wasn’t the sort of business you could offer for probate. We’d have been beheaded or hung if we’d been caught at it. Most dangerous, most risky business in the world, and the most fascinating. Betrayed by a damned Judas. But I got out of there with the money. I invested that money. The investments turned out well. Recently, Gow Loong mentioned that one night when Dow Tucker had been standing by the rail of the junk looking down at some little girls dancing on the landing in a Chinese village, he’d pointed out one little Chinese girl about seven or eight years old, and said that he had a daughter at home just about her age. He never spoke to me about it — very reticent about his private and family affairs. Gow Loong never realized the significance of it until later, when I was talking with him about the night Tucker was captured and killed. I’m tired. I’ll think it over. I’ll follow Gow Loong’s advice and rest. Give Mr. Blaine all the data you can think of, where you live, for whom you’ve worked, where you went to school, all the rest of it. Answer all questions Mr. Mason may ask.”
She nodded.
“One more thing,” Karr said abruptly. “You lived with an aunt?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps there are more letters from your father in your aunt’s things.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Know where they are?”
“No.”
“Try and find them. He might have written to her. See me again. No, don’t see me again. Keep in touch with Mr. Mason. He’s my lawyer. Don’t let Rodney Wenston’s hostility impress you much. He has nothing whatever to say about it. I told him to be skeptical in dealing with claimants. If you’re my partner’s daughter, I want to be friendly with you. If you’re an impostor, I want to send you to jail. I don’t want to waste too much time finding out which it’s going to be.”
Mason heard a quick intake of breath as though Gow Loong had been about to say something. Then the number one boy changed his mind. By the time Mason had raised his eyes, Gow Loong was standing absolutely motionless. Apparently he hadn’t even been listening to the conversation.
“Something you wanted to say, Gow Loong?” Karr asked.
“Maskee,” the Chinese number one boy said.
The girl looked questioningly at Karr. “Is that Chinese?” she asked innocently enough.
Karr’s frosty eyes twinkled into a half smile. “Near enough to Chinese,” he said. “The pigeon English of the treaty port. The greatest word of all, ‘maskee.’ It means never mind, no matter. And now run along, my dear. I think I’ll have some very important news for you soon, but let Mr. Mason check up on you and...”
The harsh sound of the door buzzer interrupted him. He looked quickly at Gow Loong. “See who it is,” he said. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
But as it turned out, Gow Loong had nothing to say on that score. They heard him descend the stairs, heard the door open, and then the crisp tones of an authoritative voice, and the feet of the two men on the stairs.
Lieutenant Tragg preceded the Chinese houseboy up the stairs. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he said. “Good afternoon. Ah, Mason again. And a young woman. Hope I’m not intruding. Your houseboy said you were busy, Karr, but just as I put my duties ahead of my own personal convenience, I have to adopt that attitude elsewhere. I trust you’ll understand.” Tragg ceased speaking and looked inquiringly at Doris Wickford.
“Miss Wickford,” Mason introduced. “Lieutenant Tragg of the Homicide Squad.”
“Homicide!” Miss Wickford said with a little startled exclamation.
“That’s right,” Tragg explained. “You probably aren’t interested in murder cases, Miss Wickford, but if you’d been reading the papers, you’d know that a man and his housekeeper were...”
“But are you working on that?” she asked.
Tragg eyed her narrowly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice suddenly noncommittal. “They lived in the flat below here.”
“Lived below here?” she asked, her eyes widening, and seeming suddenly to take on a darker hue.
“In the flat right below here,” Tragg repeated. “Didn’t you know it?”
There was no flicker in her glance, no waver in her eyes. “No,” she said.
“Sorry,” Tragg said, “but I’ve got to ask a few questions. Let’s go back to the night of the murder, gentle-men. Now, Gow Loong where were you?”
“Down China city. I visit my cousin.”
“How many cousins?” Tragg asked.
There was just the bare suggestion of a flicker of triumph in Gow Loong’s eyes. “Twenty-one.”
It was Miss Wickford who broke the silence with a little laugh. “Twenty-one cousins!” she exclaimed.
Karr said to Lieutenant Tragg, “Chinese cousins are different from ours. In China they properly have only one hundred names. Everyone who has the same surname is supposed to be related. It’s a vague relationship. There’s nothing to compare with it in this country. That’s why a Chinaboy will say of another Chinese, ‘He allee same my cousin.’ ”
“I see,” Tragg said. “Most interesting. And your name is Loong?”
“That’s not really his family name,” Karr interposed again. “Gow Loong he calls himself. Literally translated, it means ‘nine dragons’ — Cantonese. So don’t try looking it up in the official Mandarin dictionaries. Cantonese is a different language. Sort of a Chinese nickname. Means he has the strength, wisdom, daring, and courage of nine dragons. Each one of them furnishes some attribute: Loyalty, courage, perspicacity, endurance, shrewdness in money matters, ability to study — let’s see. How many’s that? Seven. I’ve forgotten the other two. Virtue and filial respect, probably. No matter. It illustrates the point. Anyway, he’s got twenty-one witnesses. He wasn’t here. I know he wasn’t here. If you want to check up on him, that’s easy. Who else do you want?”
Tragg turned to Blaine.
Blaine said, “I believe I’ve explained that at the same time the murder was committed I was flying down from San Francisco with Mr. Wenston here. We left San Francisco at eleven o’clock. I had some friends come down to the plane to see me off.”