West of Guam (64 page)

“The passengers and crew will remain aboard until I have made inquiries,” he stated. “Miss Crale’s injuries may prove fatal.”

The ship’s doctor returned with stewards bearing a stretcher.

“Facilities are greater in the hospital,” he stated. “The moving will not cause further injury.”

Sadi Ratan looked narrowly at Jo Gar. “I will repeat a question you did not answer. Where were you when the stewardess screamed?”

Jo Gar stepped aside as the stretcher was carried out, the doctor following it.

“I was in the cabin of Baron Jacobi,” he replied simply.

Sadi Ratan’s dark eyes narrowed a little more. He moved nearer the Island detective.

“Baron Jacobi? He is aboard?”

Jo Gar said: “It is so—he is aboard.”

Sadi Ratan said: “You were in his cabin when you heard the screams. You came here. The baron did not come with you?”

“He was unable to come with me,” Jo Gar said softly.

Lieutenant Ratan spoke sharply. “And why was that, Señor Gar?”

Jo Gar placed a brown-paper cigarette between his lips, lighted the tip of it.

“Because Lieutenant Ratan,” he said very gently, “Baron Jacobi was dead.”

Sadi Ratan paced back and forth, in the captain’s quarters, stopping every few seconds at the desk on which lay a radiogram, the one to the police from Virginia Crale. The
China Maru
was less than a quarter mile from her berth and going in slowly. Lieutenant Ratan faced Jo. “Miss Crale’s radio to us states that she appealed to you and you refused to meet the vessel. It asks our aid. Your radio from Baron Jacobi states that his life is in danger—he asks your aid.”

Jo Gar nodded slowly. “That is so,” he said quietly.

Sadi Ratan stood still and frowned.” You came out to the boat to see Baron Jacobi. When you reached his cabin—he was dead, murdered. While you were in his cabin the stewardess discovered the unconscious Miss Crale. Her screams did not interest you very much—you did not hurry to see what was the matter.”

He paused and regarded Jo narrowly.

The Island detective said tonelessly:

“I seldom hurry. There was a dead man in the room.”

Sadi Ratan made a grunting sound. “I do not accept your explanation,” he stated coldly. “You are concealing facts from me, from the police.”

Jo Gar said: “On the contrary, I have told you of the words in Jacobi’s handwriting, that I found in his cabin. I have told you that the baron was almost a fanatic where Chinese lacquer was concerned. I have told you that he greatly desired Miss Crale’s collection, and that she had several times refused to sell.”

Sadi Ratan nodded. “You have told me what you wished me to know. I have spent almost an hour questioning persons who seem to know nothing. Miss Crale is still unconscious and the captain refuses to hold the boat away from the dock any longer. In spite of the precautions that I have taken—once the
China Maru
docks there is a fine chance for the murderer to escape.”

“It is as you say.”

Sadi Ratan frowned heavily. “In the radio to you from Miss Crale—did she state why she felt her life was in danger? Did she suspect some person aboard the vessel?”

The Island detective half closed his gray-blue eyes. He looked thoughtfully beyond Lieutenant Ratan.

“Her radio stated that her life had been threatened twice since leaving Nagasaki, where she came aboard. We know that Baron Jacobi boarded the vessel at Shanghai. A portion of her radio read: I think it is the man from Shanghai.”

Sadi Ratan sucked in a swift breath. “You did not tell me of this before. It is very important. She was afraid of Baron Jacobi. He wanted her collection and she refused to sell. He was almost a fanatic in the matter, you admit.”

“Miss Crale has suspected many persons of intended injury,” Jo Gar said slowly.

Lieutenant Ratan said sharply: “She has been injured, Señor Gar—seriously injured. She suspected Baron Jacobi.”

Jo Gar rolled a cigarette between his fingers. He sprawled his diminutive body lower in the chair.

“Very well, Lieutenant. Baron Jacobi attacked her in her cabin. He knew that such an attack would not gain him her collection, but he was furious at her continued refusals to sell. He struck her with something and she knifed him in the neck. He wandered back to his cabin and died. She rang for the stewardess and lost consciousness. Does that theory please you?”

Sadi Ratan kept his dark eyes narrowed. He did not speak. Jo Gar chuckled.

“Please, Lieutenant,” he said softly, “do not think so seriously. The theory is what the Americans often term ‘lousy.’ Miss Crale’s head is badly battered. She probably lost consciousness after the first blow. Her attacker left the cabin with the weapon. Her attacker was not Baron Jacobi, because had he been knifed in such a manner as he was he could not have returned to his cabin. And where is the knife, where is the weapon Miss Crale was attacked with?”

Sadi Ratan said thoughtfully. “There is blood on the button that was pressed to call the stewardess, so Miss Crale did
not
lose consciousness after the first blow. She touched fingers to her wound, rang for the stewardess. The stewardess has stated that she did not reach the cabin for several minutes—she was busy with another passenger. The ship doctor informs me that in isolated instances such a wound as the one that killed Baron Jacobi is not instantly fatal. Jacobi might have tossed the weapon he used on Miss Crale, and the knife with which she defended herself—from a porthole.”

The whistle of the
China Maru
made hoarse sound and there was the faint sound of the welcoming band, on the dock.

“You have always chosen to oppose me, Lieutenant,” Jo Gar said quietly.

“It is a mistake to allow personal prejudice to enter matters of this sort, for in so doing you have often neglected important facts. You have your gun?”

Sadi Ratan scowled at him. “Naturally,” he replied.

Jo Gar smiled up, at the lieutenant. “It is good,” he said. “You shall make the arrest.”

Sadi Ratan widened his dark eyes. “You have been to the hospital, against my orders! Miss Crale has regained consciousness—she has told you—”

Jo Gar shook his head. “I regret to state that Miss Crale has not talked. I doubt that she will talk again. Ten minutes ago, on my way here, I met the doctor. Miss Crale is dead.”

The police lieutenant swore sharply in Tagalog. His slender body was tense.

“Dios!
A double murder—”

He stared at Jo, spoke rapidly. “You have the murderer—”

The Island detective leaned lack in the chair. He inhaled and blew a thin stream of smoke towards the nearest fan. The music from the band on the clock was louder now. Sadi Ratan said suddenly:

“You are not bluffing, Señor Gar—”

Jo spoke quietly. “It seldom pays to bluff. In the half hour during which you were talking with people—I have been doing the same thing. But in a different way. I do not think that Jacobi even spoke to Miss Crale, aboard this boat.”

The police lieutenant blinked his dark eyes. “Then why did she appeal for help—”

Jo Gar said: “Had Baron Jacobi lived you could have arrested him for the murder of Virginia Crale.”

Sadi Ratan swore sharply. “But you have just said that they did not speak—”

“Virginia Crale had no relatives. She hated museums. I doubt that she left any provision for her collection. It would have been sold. I think that Jacobi knew that. He would have bought the collection. But first—she would have to be dead.”

Sadi Ratan narrowed eyes on Jo Gar. The engines of the
China Maru
were vibrating—the vessel was near the dock. Jo Gar said:

“The words on the check—they showed me Jacobi was interested in the location of Virginia Crale’s cabin. He always felt that she did not appreciate her collection, did not deserve it. He was a hard man. So he decided to murder her. I don’t think that he ever actually threatened her, but she realized, felt that he hated her.”

Sadi Ratan kept his eyes on Jo’s.

“Why did he radio for you to meet the
China Maru?”

Jo Gar shrugged. “Protecting himself. He wanted the police to believe his life was in danger, so that after Virginia Crale’s murder he could say that
both
of them had been followed from China. Lacquer chests—ancient, Godlike affairs, he would have said. The Chinese resenting their purchase. He felt the radio to me would have thrown the police off his track.”

The lieutenant looked puzzled. “He murdered her so that he would gain the collection. But then—”

Jo Gar said: “He
had
her murdered. It was almost a blundered affair. And because of that—Baron Jacobi lost his temper. And for losing his temper he was knifed. And the murderer—”

He broke off, rose slowly from the chair. The music of the band had ceased; the
China Maru
was swinging close to the long dock near the Manila Hotel. Jo drew a handkerchief from a pocket of his duck suit, wiped his face. His right hand went to his right trouser pocket, felt the grip of his automatic.

“If you wish,” he said quietly, “we will go to the murderer of Virginia Crale—and of Baron Jacobi. He is clever with a knife—and less clever with a wooden club.”

Sadi Ratan spoke slowly. “But Baron Jacobi was considered a fine collector of swords and knives, and skilled in the use of them. If he were hiring a killer—”

“He would
not
allow the killer to use a knife or a sword,” Jo cut in grimly.

Lieutenant Ratan coughed nervously. Jo Gar walked towards the door of the captain’s quarters, followed by the police officer. On the deck he moved to the nearest companionway, went down it. On Deck C he moved towards the stern, crossed to the second-class quarters. In a narrow corridor he stopped and said to Sadi Ratan:

“Having twice murdered—this man might not hesitate to kill again.”

Lieutenant Ratan spoke grimly.

“My fingers are in the proper place—but I would like to know how—”

“I am not too secretive a person, Lieutenant,” the Island detective said.

He moved on, turned down a narrow corridor and stopped opposite a cabin marked with the number 12. He rapped on the door. A voice said questioningly, from inside the cabin: “Well?”

Jo gripped his Colt with the fingers of his right hand. He said cheerfully:

“It is Señor Gar. Baron Jacobi has sent for me. I was informed that I should see you, if not able to locate the Baron.”

There was a clicking sound; the door opened. Jo Gar stepped into the small cabin, followed by Sadi Ratan. He smiled into the almond-shaped eyes of a stocky Chinese. The man said in very good English:

“You have been unable to find Baron Jacobi?”

Jo Gar said: “Lieutenant Ratan—this is Sam Toya. He is the trusted servant of Baron Jacobi.”

Sadi Ratan did not speak. Toya looked impassively at the Island detective.

“My master, perhaps, is on deck,” he stated calmly.

Jo Gar shook his head.

“No,” he replied quietly. “He is not on deck. And Miss Crale is not on deck.”

The Chinese pursed his lips. His eyes were expressionless.

Jo Gar said: “I presume you tossed the knife overboard, Toya. And the other weapon.”

There was a faint flicker in the servant’s eyes. He spoke softly:

“The knife?”

The Island detective smiled almost gently.

“The knife,” he repeated. He turned his body slightly, but kept his eyes on the Chinese. “You see, Lieutenant Ratan—I was very sure Virginia Crale could not have pressed the button that called the stewardess, after being struck. But there was blood on the button. So I decided that the finger that smeared it there was not Miss Crale’s. And I remember that five years ago Baron Jacobi had hired Sam Toya as his servant. In spite of the fact that Toya had just been released from Bilibid Prison, a fact of which he was aware.”

Sadi Ratan drew a deep breath. The figure of the Chinese was tense. Jo kept his right hand within the cloth of the right trouser pocket. He said:

“Jacobi planned the murder—he wanted the collection. It had become an obsession. Toya battered Virginia Crale down. The pressing of the button was clever. Toya did that, but he was careless. There was Virginia Crale’s blood on his fingers, and it stained the button. The indicator worked by the button is not far from Baron Jacobi’s cabin, and at the time the bell of the indicator sounded Jacobi was talking with the stewardess.”

Sadi Ratan said: “So—he had planned that.”

Jo Gar kept his eyes on the eyes of the Chinese. He smiled very faintly.

“Toya was supposed to return to his quarters, after disposing of the club with which he had struck down Miss Crale. The stewardess, excused by Jacobi, would go directly to the cabin of Miss Crale and discover the body.” Jo Gar paused. “But things did not work out that way.”

The Chinese was breathing heavily, evenly. Jo tightened his grip on the automatic, continued to smile.

“The stewardess left Jacobi, perhaps a half minute after the indicator bell sounded. She has told me that he detained her by asking many foolish questions. She went to the indicator and saw that Room 29 had called her. As she was on her way along the corridor she was called into Room 18. A valuable jewel had been misplaced and the owner was quite excited.”

Jo Gar stopped smiling. “And Toya, instead of returning to his quarters as instructed, went to the cabin of Baron Jacobi. He had thrown away his club, or whatever he used.”

Jo Gar raised the cloth of his gun pocket slightly. His eyes were narrowed on those of the Chinese.

“He knifed Baron Jacobi to death,” he said simply.

The Chinese made a twisting movement; his left hand flashed upward past his right side. Jo Gar squeezed the trigger of the Colt. The gun sound vibrated in the small cabin. The Chinese fell to his knees and coughed. The knife slipped from his fingers and struck the floor as he pitched face downward.

Jo Gar stood motionlessly. Sadi Ratan moved a few feet and lifted the knife. There were shouts in the corridors beyond the cabin. Lieutenant Ratan said:

“Yes—this would have made such a wound as killed Jacobi.”

Jo Gar said slowly: “Toya—you were a fool. There was blood on Jacobi that did not come from his wound. You had a record. Your name was on the passenger list. I knew Jacobi could not have been stabbed by Virginia Crale—and have reached his cabin. I knew she had fallen at the second or third blow, and could not have gotten to his cabin. So when I saw your name—”