West of Guam (56 page)

Sadi Ratan kept his eyes on the half-closed ones of the Chinese.

“He could easily have done that—and still have murdered the man he hated,” he said grimly.

Jo Gar nodded his head. “Quiet easily,” he agreed. “And the one who answered for him and made the footfall sounds could have gone from the house and vanished.”

Harvey Wall swore softly. The Island detective smiled. “But it did not happen that way,” he said quietly.

Sadi Ratan frowned at the diminutive detective, his fine figure very straight. The Chinese said slowly and with little tone in his voice:

“I in my room. I hear scream. Master—he call and me call back. I come down quick. It is so.”

Sadi Ratan said in a hard voice: “It is so now, but I do not think it will be so in a short time. You are lying, Sarong, and it will not be easy for you to continue lying.”

Jo Gar lighted another of his brown-paper cigarettes and spoke to Lieutenant Ratan.

“You have so often jumped at conclusions in the past, Lieutenant—and so often you have been mistaken. A man is dead, murdered, and a man that hated him is alive. Does that make him the murderer?”

Sadi Ratan smiled coldly at the Island detective. “It so happens that the Chinese is an expert with knives,” he said evenly. “Perhaps you were not aware of that fact, Señor Gar?”

Jo Gar shrugged. “Many Chinese are experts with knives,” he said.

The lieutenant of police continued to smile.

“While you were strolling about the beach my men have been busy. I think that Sarong is both a fool and a murderer. They have found a palm that is scarred by the blades of thrown knives. There is a cleared spot near it. In the next house there is a house-boy Carinto. He has seen the Chinese at practice.”

Harvey Wall swore again, softly. Jo Gar said nothing.

The Chinese smiled impassively. “I know—Carinto see me,” he said. “He no good. He hear knife strike tree. One time me miss.”

Jo Gar grinned, showing his white teeth. He chuckled softly. Harvey Wall grunted. Sadi Ratan frowned at the Chinese.

Jo said: “You have an accommodating murderer, Lieutenant. He even admits that there are times when he misses a throw.”

The Chinese smiled at the Island detective, then suddenly his eyes held a worried expression. He spoke very rapidly in Chinese, and Jo saw that even Sadi Ratan did not understand.

Jo replied to the cook, and Sarong smiled again. Ratan said in a cold voice:

“What did he say, Señor Gar?”

Jo said: “He said that he did not murder the man that he hated, and that he did not wish to die because some other one did murder him. He trusts that I will be able to find this other one, because he thinks that I am an honest man and he thinks that you do not like him.”

Sadi Ratan scowled at the Chinese, whose eyes again held no expression. Jo Gar asked:

“Why, Sarong, did you hate Vincente?”

The Chinese started to speak in his native tongue, but Jo shook his head.

“In English, Sarong,” he said. “Señor Wall should be able to understand.”

The cook turned his eyes towards Harvey Wall, then looked at Jo. “He want to kill me,” he said simply. “He no like me. He talk to himself—I hear him say some day he kill me. And I no like him.”

Jo Gar chuckled again. “That is a good reason for disliking a man,” he agreed. “A very good reason.”

Sadi Ratan muttered something under his breath, then said coldly: “It is not even funny. He is lying. Why did you hate Vincente, Sarong? Why did you murder him with a knife—with one of your knives, and then hide the knife, perhaps throw it into the Bay? Why did you place the body in the black
sampan?
What was the real reason?” Jo Gar said dryly: “And why did you spend all this time in
practicing
throwing knives when you are supposed to have murdered Vincente
without
throwing one?”

Sadi Ratan swung his body towards Jo Gar’s. “You will please remain silent,” he said grimly. “I am questioning this man.”

Jo Gar turned his back, shrugging slightly. Ratan spoke in a hard, loud tone:

“Was it because of a woman? Because he owed you money?”

The Chinese sighed heavily. He half closed his eyes again. One of Lieutenant Ratan’s men came into the library, almost silently. He went to Ratan’s side.

“We have found the woman, Lieutenant,” he said in precise Spanish. “It is the kitchen maid of the Dutch family in the adjoining house—Herr Saaden.”

Lieutenant Ratan stood very erectly, and when Jo Gar faced him again he was smiling in a satisfied manner.

“A woman or money,” he announced.

“It is almost always one or the other.”

“Or both,” Jo added. “What about the woman?”

Sadi Ratan looked at the khaki-clad police officer who had come in.

“What about the woman?” he asked. “Tell us.”

The officer was short and chesty. He stood very stiffly and said that as ordered he had gone to the nearest house to make inquiries. He had talked with the house-boy, one named Carinto, and had learned that the Chinese and the Filipino of the American Señor, Harvey Wall, hated each other. He had learned that the house-boy of the Dutch family had watched the Chinese throwing knives at a palm tree. He had brought this information to Lieutenant Ratan and had then sought a reason for the hatred. And he had now learned that both Sarong and the dead Filipino had been in love with this Filipino maid of the family in the nearest house. Her name was Maria Tondo, and she was a half-breed of Spanish-Filipino parentage.

Sadi Ratan gestured with spread hands, brown palms upturned, when the policeman had finished.

“That is good,” he said.

“We will go with the Chinese to the woman—”

The officer interrupted to state that the woman was now outside.

Sadi Ratan said sharply:

“Bring her in.”

He faced the Chinese and spoke coldly.

“You will be wise to confess. We know that you hated the dead man, and that you are an expert with knives. You will confess and tell us who it was that you sent to your room, in case your master should call. The one who was to answer in your tone of voice, while you crept through the palm growth and knifed Vincente to death, because you wanted this Maria Tondo, and because perhaps you feared that she preferred Vincente.”

The Chinese said flatly: “I no kill Vincente—I no want Maria.”

Lieutenant Ratan slapped a fist against a palm of his left hand, swore, and in Spanish. The policeman came in behind a slim, short girl of perhaps seventeen. She was pretty in a dark, graceful way. Her eyes were very black.

She stopped several feet from the Chinese, and her breath was drawn in in a sharp hiss. Then she raised both arms above her head and cried out shrilly. She moved towards Sarong, who was watching her with narrowed eyes. Sadi Ratan caught her by an arm, held her firmly. But he let her talk.

She said that Sarong was the son of a dog; she cursed him, waving her one free arm about. Her eyes were flashing and she was breathing heavily. She said that he had murdered the man she loved, and that he would die for it. He deserved to die for it, a thousand times. She had told Vincente only this very morning that she would marry him, and he had told Sarong, of course. And therefore the Chinese had murdered the man she loved.

When she quieted, Sadi Ratan looked at Harvey Wall and smiled a little proudly. Then he turned towards Jo Gar, who had been smoking and watching the Chinese.

“It is finished,” he said. “We now have the motive.”

The Island detective smiled back at Lieutenant Ratan, while Harvey Wall was repeating that he could hardly believe it—he had never noticed any hatred between his two servants. But then, he had been very busy with his monthly accounts of late. Perhaps he had not paid much attention to matters between the two.

Jo Gar said suddenly: “You do not find it strange, Lieutenant, that the body was found in the black
sampan?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “He was murdered perhaps alongside of it,” he suggested. “No—I do not find it strange.”

The girl, still breathing heavily, said that she often met Vincente beside the
sampan.
Because Sarong was a devil, he had deliberately placed the body of the man she loved in it.

Sadi Ratan smiled more broadly. “You see?” he said. “It is all very simple.”

There was a little silence and then the lieutenant went close to the seated Chinese.

“Who was the one you had in your room, to answer Señor Wall?” he demanded.

The Chinese raised his eyes and looked at the lieutenant of Manila police. He shook his head slowly from side to side, then looked at Jo Gar.

“I did not—kill him,” he said very steadily and tonelessly. “This girl—she lie.”

The girl shrilled words at him again, in native tongues—a mixture of Low Spanish and Filipino. Sadi Ratan interrupted her.

“In prison it will be different,” he said. “We will have his confession there.”

Jo Gar spoke softly. “I do not think it will be different. It is not easy for one to confess to a murder not committed.”

Sadi Ratan smiled nastily, then sighed. “Confession will hardly be necessary,” he said. “The evidence is very strong against the Chinese.”

Harvey Wall came over near Jo Gar and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You are not satisfied that Sarong is guilty?” he asked.

Jo smiled a little. “I certainly am not,” he replied. “On the contrary, I am quite sure he is innocent.”

Sadi Ratan gestured towards the girl and then motioned for her to be taken out. Two more policemen came into the room, and the lieutenant pointed at Sarong.

“He is arrested for the murder of Señor Wall’s house-boy Vincente,” he said slowly. “Take him away, and guard him carefully.”

The Chinese stood up, raised his hands slightly and let them fall at his sides. Jo Gar smiled at him.

“It will be for only a short time, Sarong,” he said. “Perhaps only for hours.”

The Chinese lifted his shoulders, let them fall, and was led from the room. Sadi Ratan went to a small wicker table and placed his pith helmet on his head, adjusting it carefully. Jo Gar spoke quietly.

“You have probably worked more rapidly on this case than on any other, Lieutenant,” he said. “Unfortunately, I do not think you have the right person.”

Sadi Ratan smiled at Harvey Wall, as though in sympathy.

“It was your wish to call in Señor Gar,” he said. “I regret that he was of so little use to you.”

Harvey Wall looked at Jo Gar. “I think the lieutenant is right, Señor Gar,” he said. “It is a surprise—but I think Sarong killed Vincente. The girl is sure of it, and the evidence is all against him.”

Jo Gar narrowed his blue-gray eyes on the gray ones of the American. He let his gaze flicker to Sadi Ratan, and then come back to the American again.

“But you still wish to find the murderer of your house-boy?” he asked pleasantly.

Harvey Wall frowned. “Certainly,” he said.

The Island detective nodded his head and looked towards the screened windows that faced in the direction of the Bay.

“In that case,” he said very tonelessly, “I shall wander about a bit.”

Sadi Ratan sighed again. “While I am getting a confession from the Chinese,” he said.

Jo Gar bowed slightly. “While you are
attempting
to get a confession from the Chinese,” he corrected placidly.

A half hour or so before dusk, on the next day, Jo Gar stood near the desk of Lieutenant Ratan, at police headquarters, just off the Escolta. The creak of carriage wheels and the chug-noise of small machines on Manila’s main business street came through the screened windows of the room. Sadi Ratan sat behind his desk and seemed very pleased with himself.

“He has not confessed,” he said, “but these things take some time, as you know. Because you are interested in the case, and appear to sympathize with this Chinese, I shall be severe but not at all brutal with him.”

The Island detective nodded. “It is kind of you,” he returned. “You are dealing with a very clever murderer. He could not have been at all certain that Señor Wall would call for him, nor could he have been certain that Vincente would cry out. Yet he went to great trouble in putting a substitute in his quarters, in case of such a circumstance.”

The lieutenant frowned. He tapped the desk surface with his right-hand fingers.

“You think that Sarong would not have planned so carefully,” he said slowly. “I disagree—the Chinese are very shrewd.”

Jo Gar nodded. “Sarong was the cook,” he said. “Ground glass in food would have been much more simple.”

Sadi Ratan shook his head. “In the autopsy it would have been discovered. Instantly Sarong would have been caught—just because he—
was
the cook.”

The Island detective was silent for several seconds. “In the tropics one can hardly help but notice servants,” he said. “Yet Señor Wall failed to notice they hated each other. That is unnatural.”

Sadi Ratan made a gesture that was broad and dismissing.

“He was busy with his monthly accounts. And it is very possible that Sarong and Vincente were careful.”

Jo Gar frowned slightly. “There is the matter of the
sampan,
” he said. “The body being placed on the wooden deck would make sound. Or if it fell there it would make sound. And yet it was found there.” The police lieutenant smiled coldly. “You are growing old, Señor Gar,” he observed viciously. “The
sampan
was the love spot of the house-boy and the girl. Sarong had discovered that—it pleased him to deposit Vincente’s body there.”

Jo Gar said: “This Maria has told you that Sarong loved her, as well as Vincente?” he asked.

Sadi Ratan nodded. “Naturally, and that she refused him, even laughed at him. There is no Chinese blood in her veins. She would not marry him. Vincente was a Filipino.”

Jo Gar looked at the ceiling fan. “The girl is here?” he asked. The police lieutenant shook his head.

“I released her this afternoon. She is needed at the Saaden house. She will not go away. She hates Sarong. She says there is bad Malay blood in him. She will stay, and if he does not confess—her word will be enough to convict him.”

Jo Gar placed his soiled Panama on top of his head and turned towards the office door.