West of Guam (33 page)

“The sort of thing you buy on the Escolta for a few
pesos.
Cheap stuff—it fell while she was ransacking the place.”

The Third Officer nodded. “You have not suffered a loss?” he asked.

Señor Ferraro shrugged. “I have nothing of importance—to lose,” he stated.

He took the bar pin from the officer’s fingers. He juggled it carelessly about in the palm of his right hand, without looking at it.

The Chief Steward addressed Jo Gar.

“And you, Señor Gar? You have not lost anything of importance?”

Jo Gar smiled at Ferraro. “I am much in the position of Señor Ferraro,” he said quietly.

The Third Officer spoke in a peculiar tone.

“Neither of you gentlemen possess anything of great value—and yet each of you has been robbed.”

Ferraro smiled a little, his blue eyes on the half-closed ones of the Island detective.

“It is very strange,” he said softly.

Jo Gar spoke tonelessly. “It
seems
very strange,” he agreed. “I shall return to my cabin and try to get things in order.”

The Chief Steward said grimly: “We will make an investigation, of course. Perhaps the pin—”

Ferraro handed it to the Chief Steward. He looked at Jo.

“Señor Gar is quite skilled in these matters,” he said slowly. “He is an interested person, in this case.”

The Island detective smiled. “And
you
were formerly with the Island Constabulary,” he reminded. “You see with what little esteem the intruder has regarded us.”

The Third Officer said: “Perhaps it has been just a blundering affair—an attempt at quick robbery.”

Jo Gar nodded his head, and kept his brown face serious.

“That is very possible,” he agreed, and moved along the corridor towards his own cabin.

He was interrupted several times while he was adjusting things. It was not easy to think clearly, with so many people about. At ten o’clock the Third Officer came into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. He said very quietly:

“In matters such as this we always are suspicious of the cabin steward. We have questioned him at length. He states that you have tipped him generously, and that you had him come to you, on deck this evening, and warn you that Señor Ferraro had left his cabin and was going above for a bit of air before dining.”

The Third Officer paused. Jo Gar nodded, his brown face expressionless.

“It is so,” he said. “You wish to know the reason?”

The officer spread his hands in a little gesture, half of apology, half of assent. Jo said:

“I am weary of discussing Island matters. I wished to be alone. With the cabin steward advising me in time, I hoped to avoid Señor Ferraro for a few days. Unfortunately, I was unable to rise from the deck chair in time. So we met.”

The Third Officer frowned. Then he nodded his head, very slowly.

He said:

“Thank you, Señor Gar.”

Jo smiled pleasantly. He said in a careless voice:

“You are keeping that imitation thing—that bar pin?”

The officer shook his head. “There was no loss to Señor Ferraro,” he said. “We shall make adjustment for any baggage damage. He asked me to leave the pin with him. He intends, I believe, to do some quiet investigating. He was with the Constabulary.”

Jo Gar nodded pleasantly. “That is quite the wisest thing to do, I think,” he said.

The Third Officer expressed regrets. The captain was disturbed. Such things seldom happened aboard the
Cheyo Maru.

Jo Gar sighed. The Third Officer went from the cabin, turning at the door and smiling pleasantly. When he had gone Jo removed his palm beach suiting and got into clothes that were of dark silk. He waited a short time, went to the deck quickly, carrying a light blanket that bulked over his arm. His face held a tight smile as he approached the spot where his deck chair had been.

The night was warm and there was no moon. Most of the deck chairs had been collected and were being stacked together. Jo moved towards the deck steward, a tall Jap with eyes that were very black. He said:

“Please return my chair. I wish to rest a while on deck—I am sleepy and my cabin is stuffy.”

The deck steward bowed. Jo showed him the spot, one that was fairly secluded, aft of the second stack. When the chair had been set up he relaxed in it. The deck steward smiled and moved away.

After a short time Jo turned his head to one side and appeared to doze. The deck steward passed him, treading very softly. He halted, and through slitted eyes the Island detective saw that he was staring at him. Then the steward moved hurriedly forward.

Jo Gar lay motionless in the chair. There was the steady vibration of the engines, and the faint sound of steam reaching the air. From some spot below music reached the boat deck. Jo said very quietly:

“How calm the sea is!”

His lips held an ironical smile. He breathed evenly, closed his almond-shaped eyes.

Five minutes later there were three shots. The first one was a muffled, Maxim-silenced pop-cough. The second was smothered but had more sound. The third was a sharp
crack
sound.

Jo Gar, his small body tense, stepped out from behind the ventilator—caught sight of a black figure moving aft. He bent his body low, ran along the deck, his automatic gripped tightly in his right-hand fingers. From some spot forward a voice called with the shrill of the Jap tongue a word that sounded like:

“Hai!”

The dark figure ahead had reached the steps of the port companionway. It seemed almost to dive down them. Jo Gar slowed his pace, approached the steps carefully. When he reached the bottom of them he heard shouts. Men were coming up from the deck below.

He tried to get past them, but a short, chunky man caught him by the right arm and tried to get his gun away. Jo said sharply:

“Stop—a man came down here! I am after—him.”

He was breathing heavily. The chunky one wore a white uniform.

He said in bad English:

“I—ship police. I see no one—”

Other men were coming up. Several of them were in dinner clothes. Jo Gar watched the Third Officer come into the group. He shook off the grip of the ship policeman, said grimly:

“I was on deck. Three shots were fired. A figure in black ran towards this companionway. I followed.”

A man in dinner clothes said: “I heard only two shots—from above.”

The Third Officer was beside Jo. He spoke in a soft tone.

“You are dressed in black, also, Señor Gar.”

Jo Gar nodded. “It is less conspicuous,” he replied. “I was on deck—and wished to be inconspicuous.”

The Third Officer said: “Why?”

Jo Gar raised his voice, but did not answer the question.

“And none of this group saw the man I was pursuing?” he asked. None in the group had seen any person in black—but Jo. The Third Officer said:

“The shots were fired—at you?”

Jo Gar shook his head. “At my deck chair,” he said quietly. “I was some distance away.”

He read suspicion in the Third Officer’s eyes. The one in dinner clothes, who had spoken before, said grimly:

“You say there were three shots—I heard only two.”

Jo Gar shrugged. “The first was Maxim-silenced,” he replied. “If you will come to the boat deck—”

He broke off, turning. He went up the steps of the companionway, closely followed by the Third Officer. The others trailed along behind. When they reached the boat deck there were several other people. Two stood near the spot in which the steward had placed Jo’s chair.

The Third Officer used his flashlight; he muttered an exclamation as the beam fell across the chair. Jo Gar stood to one side, smiling a little. His eyes were on the brown mask that had rolled from the chair. He said: “That is a mask that Sebastino, the Spaniard in Manila, made for me. It is a good likeness.”

He moved forward, lifted it. The others crowded around him. The plaster had been broken in two places. There was a hole in the left cheek—another in the forehead. The Island detective said very softly: “You see—the one in black was an excellent shot. The third bullet—” He leaned over the chair and moved the cloth of the palm beach coat he had wrapped around the light blanket. There was a hole in the left lapel. He said in a toneless voice: “There is where it struck. It was like this—”

He adjusted the trousers and coat, rested the face mask above the coat, laying it with the right cheek against the canvas of the deck chair. He said quietly:

“Switch off the light—and move back here.”

The Third Officer switched off the flashlight. The group moved away from the chair, towards the vessel’s port rail. They stood looking towards the mask and the palm beach material. In the faint light it resembled Jo Gar—sleeping in the deck chair. The mask was very life-like.

The Third Officer sucked in his breath sharply. The man in dinner clothes, who had spoken before, swore.

He said grimly: “It was—attempted murder, all right!”

Jo Gar nodded. “And the one who attempted it has got away,” he said. “Below that companionway—are there several avenues of escape?” The Third Officer nodded slowly. “A corridor to the concert room. Another companionway, to the deck below. A narrow passageway to the radio room—”

Jo Gar said slowly: “That is enough.”

The Third Officer made a clicking sound. “We shall talk with the captain—you and I, Señor Gar,” he said.

Jo nodded. There was the sound of footfalls—of a man running. A Jap came into the group, clad in the uniform of a subordinate officer. He addressed the Third Officer.

“Deck Steward Kamogi, sir!” he breathed. “He lies up forward, near your cabin. He’s—dead.”

The Third Officer spoke in Japanese. “Dead?” he asked.

“Shot?” The subordinate shook his head. “It was—a knife, sir,” he replied. “In the back!”

The Third Officer narrowed his eyes on the blue-gray ones of Jo Gar. He said very softly:

“The deck steward, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective looked towards the face mask in the chair. He said in a voice that held a suggestion of grimness:

“He
would
have been the first person I would have questioned.”

Captain Haroysan sat across the table from Jo Gar, his moon face crinkled, his black eyes narrowed on those of the Island detective.

“You knew your life was in danger—you changed your attire, arranged a trap—”

Jo Gar spread his brown, chubby hands.

“I
sensed
my life was in danger,” he corrected. “It was the deck steward—”

The captain of the
Cheyo Maru
frowned. He spoke slowly, shaking his head.

“It is very bad. The vessel has never had anything like this—”

Jo Gar smiled a little. “I have been very frank with you, Captain,” he said. “The one responsible for the theft of the Von Loffler diamonds is aboard your ship, I am sure of that. He knows that I am aboard. That does not please him. I think that he bribed the deck steward to tell him when I was sleeping. Then he wished to be safe. So the deck steward was knifed.”

The captain frowned. “And you bribed the steward of your cabin, to be told when Señor Ferraro was approaching you, on deck.”

Jo Gar nodded. “I wished to evade him,” he said.

The captain shrugged. “I do not believe that,” he replied.

The Island detective smiled. “Señor Ferraro’s cabin was broken into—so was mine,” he said. “That is puzzling.”

Captain Haroysan said sharply: “You are changing the point of the discussion.”

Jo Gar rose from his chair. “The Von Loffler diamonds are valued in excess of two hundred thousand dollars, Captain,” he said. “Already, more than a half dozen men have been murdered, because of them. One of those men was Juan Arragon, my friend. Another was Señor Delgado’s son. Both Von Loffler and Delgado have commissioned me to hunt down the thief and murderer. I had evidence that he was aboard your ship.”

The Japanese stood up also. He said grimly:

“If it satisfies me—I will take charge of him.”

Jo Gar sighed. “It is weak evidence,” he said quietly. “A Malay involved in an attempt to kill the American head of the Manila police gave it to me. He was dying at the time. It is not strong enough to make an arrest.”

The captain said: “And you want the diamonds, Señor Gar?” Jo Gar nodded. “Of course,” he agreed.

The captain shrugged. “A murderer is aboard the
Cheyo Maru,
” he said. “In less than two weeks we shall be in Honolulu. But what is to happen—before we land—”

The Island detective said tonelessly:

“We will have the murderer of the deck steward.
Perhaps
we will have the Von Loffler diamonds.”

Captain Haroysan made a guttural sound.

“I have radioed Manila—about you, Señor. And about Señor Ferraro.”

Jo Gar said with a faint smile:

“And the information you received—it was good?”

Haroysan said with grim amusement: “It was even flattering. Señor Ferraro has seen honorable service with the Constabulary. You are much respected. And yet—”

The
Cheyo Maru
captain broke off abruptly. He shrugged. Jo Gar smiled sympathetically.

“And yet you are far from satisfied,” he finished.

The captain said nothing. His eyes were narrow lines of blackness.

Jo Gar bowed slightly.

“I can understand your feelings, Captain,” he said softly. “I feel—much the same way.”

On the fourth day out the sky clouded, and there was wind. It was wind that blew gently at first, but increased steadily in velocity. There were rumors of a typhoon; the
Cheyo Maru
rolled badly. Racks were on the tables, and things creaked and rattled in the cabins. At four in the afternoon, with the sea growing steadily rougher, Jo Gar moved cautiously towards the cabin of Señor Ferraro and rapped on the door.

Ferraro called out: “Who is it?” And Jo answered him. The door was opened almost immediately.

The Island detective smiled and said: “Does the roughness bother you, Señor?”

Ferraro’s white face was a little twisted, but he managed a smile. “I am not exactly a sailor,” he said.

Jo stepped inside the cabin. Ferraro closed the door behind him.