The Complete Charlie Chan Series – All 6 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Earl Derr Biggers
"What has his death to do with me?"
"You were the last person to see him alive," Hallet answered. "Now quit bluffing and come inside."
Egan cast one final baffled glance at the street, where a trolley bound for the city three miles away was rattling swiftly by. Then he bowed his head and led the way into the hotel.
They entered a huge, poorly furnished public room, deserted save for a woman tourist writing post-cards at a table, and a shabby Japanese clerk lolling behind the desk. "This way," Egan said, and they followed him past the desk and into a small private office. Here all was confusion, dusty piles of magazines and newspapers were everywhere, battered old ledgers lay upon the floor. On the wall hung a portrait of Queen Victoria; many pictures cut from the London illustrated weeklies were tacked up haphazardly. Jennison spread a newspaper carefully over the window-sill and sat down there. Egan cleared chairs for Hallet, Chan and John Quincy, and himself took his place before an ancient roll-top desk.
"If you will be brief, Captain," he suggested, "I might still have time—" He glanced at a clock above the desk.
"Forget that," advised Hallet sharply. His manner was considerably different from that he employed in the house of a leading citizen like Dan Winterslip. "Let's get to business." He turned to Chan. "Got your book, Charlie?"
"Preparations are complete," replied Chan, his pencil poised.
"All right." Hallet drew his chair closer to the desk. "Now Egan, you come through and come clean. I know that last night about seven-thirty you called up Dan Winterslip and tried to slide out of an appointment you had made with him. I know that he refused to let you off, and insisted on seeing you at eleven. About that time you went to his house. You and he had a rather excited talk. At one-twenty-five Winterslip was found dead. Murdered, Egan! Now give me your end of it."
Jim Egan ran his fingers through his curly, close-cropped hair—straw-colored once, but now mostly gray. "That's all quite true," he said. "Do—do you mind if I smoke?" He took out a silver case and removed a cigarette. His hand trembled slightly as he applied the match. "I did make an appointment with Winterslip for last night," he continued. "During the course of the day I—changed my mind. When I called up to tell him so, he insisted on seeing me. He urged me to come at eleven, and I went."
"Who let you in?" Hallet asked.
"Winterslip was waiting in the garden when I came. We went inside—"
Hallet glanced at the cigarette in Egan's hand. "By the door leading directly into the living-room?" he asked.
"No," said Egan. "By the big door at the front of the house. Winterslip took me out on his lanai, and we had a bit of a chat regarding the—the business that had brought me. About half an hour later, I came away. When I left Winterslip was alive and well—in good spirits, too. Smiling, as a matter of fact."
"By what door did you leave?"
"The front door—the one I'd entered by."
"I see." Hallet looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "You went back later, perhaps."
"I did not," said Egan promptly. "I came directly here and went to bed."
"Who saw you?"
"No one. My clerk goes off duty at eleven. The hotel is open, but there is no one in charge. My patronage is—not large."
"You came here at eleven-thirty and went to bed," Hallet said. "But no one saw you. Tell me, were you well acquainted with Dan Winterslip?"
Egan shook his head. "In the twenty-three years I've been in Honolulu, I had never spoken to him until I called him on the telephone yesterday morning."
"Humph." Hallet leaned back in his chair and spoke in a more amiable tone. "As a younger man, I believe you traveled a lot?"
"I drifted about a bit," Egan admitted. "I was just eighteen when I left England—"
"At your family's suggestion," smiled the captain.
"What's that to you?" Egan flared.
"Where did you go?"
"Australia. I ranched it for a time—and later I worked in Melbourne."
"What doing?" persisted Hallet.
"In—in a bank."
"A bank, eh? And then—"
"The South Seas. Just—wandering about—I was restless—"
"Beach-combing, eh?"
Egan flushed. "I may have been on my uppers at times, but damn it—"
"Wait a minute," Hallet cut in. "What I want to know is—those years you were drifting about—did you by any chance run into Dan Winterslip?"
"I—I might have."
"What sort of an answer is that! Yes or no?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I did," Egan admitted. "Just once—in Melbourne. But it was a quite unimportant meeting. So unimportant Winterslip had completely forgotten it."
"But you hadn't. And yesterday morning, after twenty-three years' silence between you, you called him on the telephone. On rather sudden business."
"I did."
Hallet came closer. "All right, Egan. We've reached the important part of your story. What was that business?"
A tense silence fell in the little office as they awaited Egan's answer. The Englishman looked Hallet calmly in the eye. "I can't tell you that," he said.
Hallet's face reddened. "Oh, yes, you can. And you're going to."
"Never," answered Egan, without raising his voice.
The captain glared at him. "You don't seem to realize your position."
"I realize it perfectly."
"If you and I were alone—"
"I won't tell you under any circumstances, Hallet."
"Maybe you'll tell the prosecutor—"
"Look here," cried Egan wearily. "Why must I say it over and over? I'll tell nobody my business with Winterslip. Nobody, understand!" He crushed the half-smoked cigarette savagely down on to a tray at his side.
John Quincy saw Hallet nod to Chan. He saw the Chinaman's pudgy little hand go out and seize the remnant of cigarette. A happy grin spread over the Oriental's fat face. He handed the stub to his chief.
"Corsican brand!" he cried triumphantly.
"Ah, yes," said Hallet. "This your usual smoke?"
A startled look crossed Egan's tired face. "No, it's not," he said.
"It's a make that's not on sale in the Islands, I believe?"
"No, I fancy it isn't."
Captain Hallet held out his hand. "Give me your cigarette case, Egan." The Englishman passed it over, and Hallet opened it. "Humph," he said. "You've managed to get hold of a few, haven't you?"
"Yes. They were—given me."
"Is that so? Who gave them to you?"
Egan considered. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, either," he said.
Hallet's eyes glittered angrily. "Let me give you a few facts," he began. "You called on Dan Winterslip last night, you entered and left by the front door, and you didn't go back. Yet just outside the door leading directly into the living-room, we have found a partly smoked cigarette of this unusual brand. Now will you tell me who gave you these Corsicans?"
"No," said Egan, "I won't."
Hallet slipped the silver cigarette case into his pocket, and stood up. "Very well," he remarked. "I've wasted all the time I intend to here. The district court prosecutor will want to talk to you—"
"Of course," agreed Egan, "I'll come and see him—this afternoon—"
Hallet