“This place been swept recently?” he asked.
“This morning,” Vicker said. “I had the consulate’s man over.”
“Good,” Carmingler said and made a note that I was too far away to read upside down. He put the pencil on the pad, leaned back in his chair, and locked his hands behind his head. “Let’s begin with the facts — the ones that nobody disputes. Both of you went to the rendezvous with Pai Chung-liang, the chap who worked for the Bank of China. Vicker hid in the back room. Dye stayed in the shop itself. Pai came in, said something to Dye, who handed him an envelope. Then Pai said something else, something that only Dye could hear. About that time the two Chinese busted in. Vicker shot Pai. The two Chinese snatched his briefcase and fled. Dye bent down and Pai either said or did not say something before he died.” He looked at both of us. “Is that a fair summation?”
I nodded. So did Vicker.
Carmingler picked his briefcase up from the floor and rested it in his lap. He fished out a single sheet of paper that had some typing on it and placed it on the desk before him. He put the briefcase back on the floor.
“You were issued a side arm,” he said to me. “A .38 Smith & Wesson, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have it the day that Pai was killed?”
“No.”
“Where is it now?”
“At home.”
“In your hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Do you always keep it there?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“You mean where in the room?”
“That’s right.”
“In a locked suitcase. The suitcase is in a closet. The closet is also locked. It’s a special lock. I’m the only one with a key.”
“Why?”
“Do you mean why do I keep it there?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged. “It seems safe enough.”
“Don’t you ever carry it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have any use for it.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Carmingler tapped the single sheet of paper. “It says here that you’re very good with a gun. Or used to be. I seem to remember that you were. Why don’t you ever carry it?”
“I just don’t. I don’t need it.”
“You still don’t think you needed it the day that Pai got shot?”
“No.”
“And you don’t think that Pai needed shooting?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got my report.”
“Vicker doesn’t have it.”
“All right,” I said. “I think they were on to Pai. I think they would have shot him that morning if Vicker hadn’t saved them the trouble.”
“Who tipped them off about your rendezvous with Pai?”
I looked at Vicker. “Ask him.”
Carmingler nodded and made another note. I still couldn’t read it. He turned to Vicker. He looked at him for several moments and for all I knew he may have been admiring Vicker’s suit. It was a new one.
“You carry your side arm, don’t you?” he said.
Vicker nodded. “Always.”
“Why?”
“It’s a tough town.”
“Any other reason?”
“I’m in a tough business.”
“In a tough town,” Carmingler said.
“I think so.”
Carmingler looked at the sheet of paper again. “Let’s see. Mr. Pai was thirty-nine years old. He liked flowers. He liked figures and his wife. He was a bank clerk. He was just a little over five feet tall and weighed a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. And he didn’t carry a gun. So you shot him.”
“That’s right,” Vicker said.
“When?”
“Just after the two with the guns came in.”
“Did they have their guns out when they came into the shop or did they start waving them around later — after you’d shot Pai?”
Vicker seemed to think about the question. “They had them out when they came in.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Carmingler nodded. “All right. We’ll come back to that.” He turned to me. “What do you remember? Did they have their guns out when they came in or did they pull them later?”
“They pulled them later. After Pai was shot.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He turned back to Vicker. “You say just the opposite — that the two men came into the shop with their guns drawn?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew that they were opposition?”
“It was obvious.”
“So you shot Pai.”
“Yes.”
“To keep him from doing what?”
“From fingering Dye.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Vicker looked pained. “You know what fingering means, for God’s sake. They were on to Pai. He was going to accuse Dye.”
“Of what?” Carmingler said and made it sound as if he were deeply interested.
“Of having bribed him to feed Dye information from the bank.”
“I see,” Carmingler said and made another note.
“How long were you in the back room before Pai came in the shop?” Carmingler asked Vicker.
“Two or three minutes.”
“Pai was prompt?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have your gun in your hand when he entered or did you wait until the two men came in?”
“I didn’t draw it until they came in.”
“And you still say that they came in with their guns drawn?”
“Yes.”
“They pulled the guns from their pockets on Upper Lascar? Wasn’t it crowded as usual?”
Vicker crossed his legs. It was the first thing that he had moved other than his mouth. “It was crowded.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange that they would pull guns on a crowded street?”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“I find it very unlikely that they would.”
Vicker shrugged. “Maybe they pulled them just as they entered the shop.”
“Did you see them do that?”
“No.”
“But if they hadn’t pulled the guns, then you would have thought they were just a couple of customers?”
“I suppose. Maybe.”
“And if they hadn’t pulled them, and if you had taken them for a couple of customers, you wouldn’t have shot Pai? You would have let him tell Dye what he came to tell?”
Vicker waited before answering that one. Then he said yes.
“All right,” Carmingler said, making another note. “Let’s suppose, just for the hell of it, that Dye’s version is correct. The two men didn’t pull their revolvers or automatics or whatever until after you had shot Pai. If that’s true, then you couldn’t have known that they were the opposition, could you?”
“No.”
“And you would have had no reason for shooting Pai? I mean he couldn’t have fingered Dye to a couple of strangers?”
“That’s right.”
Carmingler reached for his briefcase again and produced a sheaf of papers. “This is the Hong Kong Special Branch report on the murder of one Pai Chung-liang. It’s quite interesting. They’re most thorough people, you know. They interviewed twenty-three persons before they came up with a reliable eyewitness. They then interviewed another fifty-two before they found one who could corroborate his story. Let’s see, I’ll just paraphrase it for you.” Carmingler ran his right forefinger down the first sheet, flipped it over, and then ran it halfway down the second sheet. “Yes, here it is. At about ten o’clock on the morning in question two male foreigners (that’s you two) dressed thus and so entered the shop on Upper Lascar... then the proprietor left... then a Chinese in a white suit carrying a briefcase entered... then two other Chinese entered... and, yes, here it is, no guns were visible. A few minutes later there was the sound of a single shot and the two Chinese were seen running from the shop carrying a briefcase. They disappeared. That’s from the first witness. Another witness, a twelve-year-old-boy, actually saw the whole thing. Through the shop’s window. He backs up the first witness in full and then swears, or whatever they do here, that the two Chinese gentlemen in question did not pull their guns until after Pai was shot. So...” Carmingler put the report back into his briefcase. He put the briefcase on the floor and then smiled at Vicker.