The reason, of course, was disappointment; he had had no hand in the downfall of either man, and thus he felt robbed of the satisfaction of bringing at least one of them to justice after his long and difficult hunt. It nettled his pride, his ego. Understandable, given the somewhat vainglorious man he was, but in Sabina’s view, not particularly valid.
“You recovered our client’s stock certificates and all but one of the bearer bonds,” she said to him. “That is the important thing, my dear — that, and the fact that those two scoundrels will lie, cheat, and steal no more. Mr. Anderson will be very grateful.”
“I expect so,” John admitted. “But I still wish I had been the one to end Vereen’s foul career, if not Nagle’s.”
“Yes, but think of the difficulties his capture alive would have entailed.”
“Difficulties?”
“Transportation of the prisoner to Kailua, to Hilo, to Honolulu, to the police. Explanations, questions, written statements... a lengthy, arduous, and disagreeable procedure. This way, you have been saved all of that.”
It was plain from his expression that he hadn’t considered this. “I suppose you’re right. Still...”
“I know I’m right,” she said a touch ruefully. “I spent most of Wednesday and part of yesterday in a similar procedure with the Honolulu police.”
“You did?” Surprise made him blink and then fluff his beard. “For what reason?”
“Well, I had a professional adventure of my own while you were gone.”
“What sort of adventure?”
“One you wouldn’t have minded sharing. The next-door neighbor, Gordon Pettibone, was shot to death in his locked study early Tuesday morning. It appeared at first to be either accident or suicide, but it was neither. He was murdered.”
“The devil you say. But how did you become involved?”
She explained in detail — how she first learned of Pettibone’s death, how her aid had been enlisted by Philip Oakes, and how she had deduced the explanations for the crime’s complexities.
John was genuinely impressed. “A stellar piece of detective work, my love,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Praise of the highest order,” she said with only a hint of irony.
“That lecherous fop Oakes must have been thrilled. Death by homicide doesn’t invalidate his uncle’s insurance policy. He’ll collect the full twenty thousand dollars.”
“Thrilled for that reason, and because his uncle’s death released him from bondage and Miss Thurmond’s arrest removed her from his life as well. The property is his alone now, at least until the will is probated.”
“He has access to enough money to pay our fee, I trust? We won’t have to wait until he collects the insurance?”
“Well, actually, John, I didn’t charge him a fee.”
“You didn’t? Why the deuce not? He didn’t expect you to investigate gratis, did he?”
“No, he offered to pay our usual rate, but I’m afraid I declined.”
“Declined?” He gave her a half-pained, half-reproving look. “Why? Were you giddy from the heat?”
“Perhaps. But since I have no professional standing here, it seemed a reasonable thing to do at the time.”
“It’s not a reasonable thing to do at any time, professional standing or not,” John said. “Well, we’ll soon rectify the error. You will present Philip Oakes with a bill for services rendered and I will make sure he pays it before we leave Honolulu.”
Sabina didn’t argue. She was not always in accord with John’s obsession with the almighty dollar, but in this particular case she was. That lecherous fop Philip Oakes blessed well ought to pay and pay handsomely for her services!
Quincannon
If he had had his way, they would have booked passage on the next available steamship bound for San Francisco. A desire to report to R. W. Anderson and return the stock certificates and bearer bonds was one reason, the bad taste left by the deaths of Vereen and Nagle and his misadventures on the Big Island another. But the primary reason was that he missed the city and its familiar haunts, and Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services. The old bromide that absence makes the heart grow fonder was never truer than when your home and business were seven days and almost three thousand miles distant.
Sabina, however, was less eager to leave. Now that the weather had improved, the attractions of Waikiki and Honolulu, combined with the well-meaning blandishments of Margaret Pritchard, had her yearning to prolong the vacation aspects of their visit. The matter was settled at dinner with the Pritchards that evening, when Lyman offered to arrange for their first-class passage on an Oceanic steamer from Australia scheduled to depart Honolulu on Tuesday. The prospect of three more days on the island put a sparkle in Sabina’s eyes that Quincannon could not bring himself to dim. Only an unfeeling dolt — he was many things, but that was not one of them — would deny his bride, his partner, and his best friend a simple pleasure. A well-earned one, too, for Philip Oakes had paid the bill she gave him promptly and without complaint.
As it turned out, the delay in their departure was not without benefit for Quincannon, too. On Saturday, Lyman and Margaret took them on a picnic in lush Manoa Valley, and on Sunday to a native luau replete with traditional Polynesian music and dancing, and succulent roast pig. He found these outings almost as enjoyable as how he and Sabina spent their last day on Waikiki, which was to do nothing more than swim in the ocean and lie indolently in the shade of coconut palms.
Both Lyman and Margaret accompanied them to the harbor on Tuesday afternoon. Sabina and Margaret had become staunch friends, a bond strengthened by Sabina’s sterling efforts in the Pettibone matter; they promised to write regularly and to arrange a get-together when the Pritchards made their annual trip to San Francisco the following year, and Margaret issued an open invitation for another island visit. The get-together, if not the invitation, suited Quincannon. His small coterie of social acquaintances did not normally include corporation executives, but Lyman was more congenial by far than any he’d dealt with in California.
When the Oceanic steamer sailed out of Honolulu Harbor, he stood with Sabina at the rail for his last glimpse of Hawaii’s tropical lushness. Now that he was departing, he had to admit that his feelings toward the Islands had mellowed. They had a certain amount of allure, to be sure. Although another visit was unlikely given the demands of their profession, he supposed he might not be averse to it someday to please Sabina.
The mellowness lasted until the steamer was two days from the Golden Gate. That was when a sudden storm as fierce as those on the westbound crossing set the sea a-churn, the ship to pitching and rolling, and Quincannon lurching to their stateroom.
He lay abed, green-gilled and groaning despite Sabina’s tender ministrations, and silently vowed that he would shoot himself before he took another ocean voyage. As for paradise, he thought morosely, one man’s version was another man’s aversion. Travel to such a place was all in the eye — and the stomach — of the beholder.