West of Guam (20 page)

His words died. Jo Gar took a swift step beyond the cabin as the shot sound echoed down the deck. Vandeer whirled, said fiercely:

“Randonn—”

Then he was running forward, followed by the Island detective. The scream of a woman reached Jo as he was amidships. He caught a glimpse of a figure coming down from the bridge. It looked like Captain Howker’s figure. A heavy list of the yacht sent him towards the rail—but he kept moving forward. When he reached the millionaire’s cabin the door was opened—light streamed on the deck wood.

The body of Randonn lay on the floor of the cabin. Captain Howker was bending over the owner. He straightened as Jo reached his side. He went to Sara Randonn and led her from the cabin. Jo Gar looked at the bullet wound, just over the right eye, touched the right wrist of Randonn.

His eyes moved over the floor of the cabin; he saw the pearls. There were four or five of them. They were perfectly matched. They gleamed dully in the light. The Island detective did not touch them. He went outside. The other guests were crowding around, white faced. The first officer said to Vandeer: “What’s happened?”

Jo Gar turned and said quietly: “Randonn is done—shot through the head.”

He heard Vandeer say grimly: “There are pearls—on the floor—”

The first officer was saying: “Any one seen running from here, moving away?”

Jo Gar stood motionlessly, looking forward and aft along the deck.

He said to himself:

“No powder burns—the cabin is small. The shot came clearly enough—”

Vandeer came to his side and spoke in a grim tone. “I guess it wasn’t—a joke, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective said quietly: “Someone came to return the pearls. They are in there, spilled on the floor. Then something went wrong—and the thief killed.”

Vandeer said: “He might not have believed that Randonn wouldn’t prosecute. Perhaps Randonn changed his mind, and told the thief—”

Captain Howker came up and said in a strained voice:

“I’d like you two gentlemen to come inside Randonn’s cabin. We’ve got—a killer aboard.”

Jo Gar and Vandeer followed the captain into the owner’s cabin. The first officer went outside, closed the door. The murmur of the guests’ voices came inside faintly. Howker said in a harsh voice:

“Those the—fake pearls?”

He pointed towards the jewels scattered about the floor. Jo Gar said quietly:

“I’m not an expert on jewels—perhaps you are, Vandeer?”

Vandeer shook his head. “I don’t know anything about them,” he returned.

The captain said grimly: “That’s a small caliber bullet, I’d say.”

Vandeer leaned over the body of the millionaire. When he straightened up his eyes were frowning. He said:

“A .22, perhaps.”

The captain said: “A woman’s weapon.”

Jo Gar said very gently: “A woman’s weapon—but one that men can easily use.”

It was one o’clock. Howker and Jo Gar were in the map room. The captain said in a hard voice, as his eyes narrowed on those of Jo Gar: “We’re holding the course for Nagasaki. Only we’re under full steam. You and this Vandeer—you’re not getting anywhere.”

The Island detective touched his grayish hair with his short, browned fingers. He said in an apologetic voice:

“No one was seen near Randonn’s cabin. Several of the guests are unaccounted for—they were alone, at the time of the shooting. The gun could so easily have been thrown overboard. We must accept the word of the guests who were alone. Mrs. Carris was indisposed and had retired. Mr. and Mrs. Lealand were at bridge with Mr. Carris and Sara Randonn, in the card room. They heard the shot clearly. They saw no one. The crew below—they saw no one. It was quite dark, of course.”

The captain swore. “The thief got yellow,” he said. “He stole the fake pearls. He was afraid that if he didn’t return them he’d be caught. You and Vandeer were aboard. He went to Randonn and confessed, bringing him the stones. Randonn may have said that he was going to prosecute. We don’t know what happened. But the thief murdered Randonn—and he’s aboard the ship.”

Jo Gar said quietly: “One of the crew—”

The captain shook his head. “None of them knew about Randonn’s personal affairs,” he said. “It was—one of the guests. Perhaps a woman.” The Island detective smiled a little. “But you referred to the murderer using the word ‘he’,” he reminded. “You do not think it was a woman.”

Captain Howker frowned. “I want that killer,” he muttered grimly. “It’s up to you and Vandeer to get him.”

Jo Gar narrowed his eyes on the face of the yacht commander. He said slowly:

“I will tell you something. The pearls that were stolen were not imitations. They were real.”

The captain stared at him.

The Island detective nodded. “In Vandeer’s presence I told you that I was not an expert on pearls. I am. I suggested to Randonn that he make the statement he made. It was my feeling that if the thief did not know pearls—he might return them. That was what happened. But the pearls that I now have in my cabin are real. They are extremely valuable. There are twenty-four of them—I found them all in the owner’s cabin, scattered about.”

The captain was still staring at Gar. His short body was tense. “Vandeer doesn’t know this,” he muttered. “Why?”

Jo Gar said slowly: “Randonn did not trust him—that was why he brought me on this trip. Because Randonn did not trust him—I am not sure.”

The captain swore softly. “Where was he when the shot was fired?” he snapped.

Jo Gar smiled with his thin lips. “He was talking with me—just outside my cabin, astern,” he said.

Captain Howker frowned. “God!” he muttered. “The thief returned the real pearls!”

The Island detective nodded slowly. He turned his sun browned face towards the bridge.

“Vandeer felt that Randonn was joking,” he said slowly, lazily. “That is what he told me. He was wrong, you see.”

The captain muttered something that the Island detective could not distinguish.

“But he was with you—when the shot was fired,” he stated. “I was on the bridge.”

Jo Gar said: “Yes, I know. I saw you come down, as I ran forward. The companionway faces astern.”

Howker spoke grimly. “If the thief killed Randonn—why did he leave the pearls?” he asked.

Jo said in a steady tone: “We do not know what happened in the cabin, Captain. The thief might have demanded the real pearls. He believed the ones he had were imitations—they were of no use to him. When Randonn refused—he killed. That is a possibility.”

The yacht captain shook his head slowly. He said in a harsh voice: “I have talked with each man in the crew. You have talked with the guests. What can we do?”

The Island detective smiled with his almond shaped eyes looking beyond the captain.

“Things did not work out as I had anticipated,” he said. “I am not sure just what we can do. But for the present, Captain, please inform no one of the fact that I have in my possession pearls worth a great deal of money. When we find the one who stole and returned these pearls—we will have Randonn’s murderer.”

Howker swore bitterly. “The Eastern Star is still Nagasaki bound,” he breathed. “I’ll hold her on the course. You have the pearls in a safe place?”

Jo Gar looked towards the bridge and nodded his head. He lighted a cigarette in a leisurely manner and said quietly:

“An extremely safe place. Captain. But I will turn them over to you—”

Howker shook his head. “Keep them,” he said grimly. “I’m after the murderer of Randonn. No one is missing. I’ve got two men on the deck, watching the boats. Even if this sea is bad—”

Jo Gar nodded. “Formosa is not too far distant,” he agreed. “A watch over the small boats is wise, Captain.”

Howker said: “Better watch this fellow Vandeer. If Randonn didn’t trust him—the very fact that he brought you on this trip—”

Jo Gar went towards the door that led to the bridge. He interrupted quietly.

“I am going to my cabin for a nap,” he said. “But later I shall go about the boat a little. You have radioed Manila about Randonn’s death?”

The captain nodded. He spoke bitterly.

“I’d like to be able to radio that we have the murderer,” he said. Jo Gar glanced at the wheelman. He said in a grim tone:

“I think we should all like that, Captain. All but—one of us.”

The first light of dawn was showing in the eastern sky when Jo Gar left his cabin. He closed the door, snapped the key in the lock. The sea was calmer; there was no blur of mountain peaks to port now. The Island detective went to the stern of the yacht, moved to the starboard side. Then he went forward. He moved soundlessly.

The sea was smoother than it had been in twenty-four hours; as he neared the bridge he thought his eyes saw a movement in the darkness. He stopped. Faint light came through from the smoking room, streaked across the deck behind him.

There was no sound from the spot near the bridge, where he had seen the change of color. He went forward again.

Back of him there was a creaking sound—the swift intake of breath. Jo whirled, saw the raised arm, the downward movement of it. He twisted his head to one side, threw up his left arm. Something struck him a battering blow on the shoulder.

The deck was slippery from spray—he slipped, went to his knees. His right hand fingers gripped the Colt—he jerked it from his duck trouser pocket. A voice, hoarse and strained, gritted:

“Sneakin’ around the deck—”

Jo Gar didn’t squeeze the trigger. He ducked under a second blow from the blunt object the man held in his right hand. He said sharply:

“Deming! Steady—it’s Gar!”

The man muttered an exclamation of surprise, straightened up. Jo Gar got to his feet. He faced the second officer, said grimly:

“I might have—squeezed the trigger! Deming—”

The man stared at him. He said in his husky voice:

“I’m sorry, sir—I saw someone creeping along the deck—I thought it might be—”

Jo Gar moved back a little. He held his weapon low, in his right hand. Deming took a step towards him. Gar said softly:

“Keep off—Deming!”

The second officer was a short man with red hair and a large head. In the darkness his eyes showed like pin points of light. He said huskily:

“I’m mighty—sorry, sir—”

Jo Gar moved back towards the light that made a thin line across the deck from the starboard side of the smoking room. The second officer followed him. He repeated that he was sorry. The light struck the officer’s uniform; he was wearing dark blue. The material was a heavy looking cloth, though the night was warm.

Jo Gar said grimly: “I wasn’t exactly sneaking along the deck, Deming. I’m dressed in white duck. You could have called to me first.” He spoke slowly, his eyes narrowed on the second officer’s. The dawn light was growing brighter now. The Island detective said in a soft voice:

“You wear a heavy uniform—why?”

Deming’s body stiffened a little. He spoke in a shaken tone. “It was chilly—on the bridge—”

“And you couldn’t be seen so easily—on the deck,” Jo Gar interrupted in a low tone.

He saw Deming’s eyes move away from his, go towards the stern of the boat. He said quietly:

“You can return to the bridge, Deming—you were fortunate I didn’t squeeze the trigger.”

He turned abruptly, moved towards the stern. But before he had taken two steps his body swung around. And as he swung Deming leaped at him.

Jo Gar brought the Colt up sharply. The barrel crashed through the second officer’s protecting hand. It stung him heavily on the forehead. His body relaxed—as he dropped to the deck the Island detective gripped him by the left arm partially breaking the force of the fall.

For a second he bent over the man. A blackjack was gripped in the second officer’s right fingers—Jo tore it loose. Then he moved rapidly towards the stern of the yacht.

He crossed the deck forward of his cabin, kept close to the wood of the superstructure. From somewhere forward he heard the voice of a man, calling hoarsely. The second officer’s fall to deck had been heard.

He was several feet from the door of his cabin when it opened outward. The beam of a flashlight struck across the deck, was extinguished suddenly. A cry came down the deck from up forward—it sounded like Harvey Lealand’s voice.

Jo Gar stood with his back against the cabin wood—raised his Colt slowly. A figure moved out from his cabin—the door closed. The man’s back was to the Island detective, and then the figure swung around, faced forward. Jo said quietly: “Please—stand still, Captain!” Howker’s body jerked erect—his breath was sucked in sharply. His right hand moved out from his side—in the faint light of the dawn sky Jo caught a glimpse of blue-black steel.

He aimed at the captain’s right arm—squeezed the trigger of the Colt. The gun crashed.

Jo Gar moved his body to the left as the captain’s gun cracked. Wood from the exterior of the cabin splintered across his right shoulder. Then the gun slipped from Howker’s grip—he stood swaying before Jo.

Men were running down the deck now. From the stern came the Hollander. He was clad in his pajamas—a gun was gripped in his right hand.

Jo Gar moved forward a few feet and kicked the captain’s weapon to one side. He said to Vandeer:

“Go forward—on the starboard side. The second officer—I have knocked him—unconscious. See that he is made a prisoner.”

Vandeer stared at Howker. The first officer came running up, followed by several of the crew. Harvey Lealand came along. Jo Gar kept his gun leveled on the captain and said quietly:

“I think we have found—the murderer of Randonn. He is shot—in the arm. We will go to the smoking room.”

Howker stood glaring at him, holding his right arm, just above the wrist. He breathed hoarsely:

“Deming—turned me up—”

Jo Gar shook his head. He smiled a little. He spoke in a tired voice.

“Mistakes—turned you up, Howker. It is often that way. Please walk—forward.”

Captain Howker sat in the smoking room with bandages on his right arm, and steel cuffs on his wrists. His face was expressionless. The women guests were not present, but the others were in the room. Jo Gar spoke in a steady voice, his eyes half closed.