Behind That Curtain Read Free

the bungalow.” Sir Frederic turned and, swinging shut the door of a big wall safe, swiftly twirled the knob.
    â€œYou did that just like an American businessman, Sir Frederic,” Rankin smiled.
    The detective nodded. “Mr. Kirk has kindly allowed me to use his office while I am his guest.”
    â€œAh—then you’re not altogether on a pleasure trip,” said Bill Rankin quickly.
    The gray eyes hardened. “Absolutely—a pleasure trip. But there are certain matters—private business—I am writing my memoirs—”
    â€œAh yes—of course,” apologized the reporter.
    The door opened, and a cleaning woman entered. Sir Frederic turned to her. “Good evening,” he said. “You understand that no papers on this desk—or in it—are to be interfered with in any way?”
    â€œOh, yes, sir,” the woman answered.
    â€œVery good. Now, Mr.—er—Mr.—”
    â€œRankin, Sir Frederic.”
    â€œOf course. There is a stairs in this rear room leading up to the bungalow. If you will come with me—”
    They entered the third and last room of the office suite, and Bill Rankin followed the huge figure of the Englishman aloft. The stairs ended in a dark passageway on the floor above. Throwing open the nearest door, Sir Frederic flooded the place with light, and Bill Rankin stepped into the great living-room of the bungalow. Paradise was alone in the room; he received the reporter with cold disdain. Barry Kirk, it appeared, was dressing for dinner, and the butler went reluctantly to inform him of the newspaperman’s unseemly presence.
    Kirk appeared at once, in his shirt-sleeves and with the ends of a white tie dangling about his neck. He was a handsome, lean young man in the late twenties, whose manner spoke of sophistication, and spoke true. For he had traveled to the far corners of the earth seeking to discover what the Kirk fortune would purchase there, and life held no surprises for him any more.
    â€œAh yes—Mr. Rankin of the
Globe,
” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
    Paradise hastened forward to officiate with the tie, and over the servant’s shoulder Bill Rankin explained his mission. Kirk nodded.
    â€œA bully idea,” he remarked. “I have a lot of friends in Honolulu, and I’ve heard about Charlie Chan. I’d like to meet him myself.”
    â€œVery happy to have you join us,” said the reporter.
    â€œCan’t be done. You must join me.”
    â€œBut—the suggestion of the lunch was mine—” began Rankin uncomfortably.
    Kirk waved a hand in the airy manner of the rich in such a situation. “My dear fellow—I’ve already arranged a luncheon for tomorrow.Some chap in the district attorney’s office wrote me a letter. He’s interested in criminology and wants to meet Sir Frederic. As I explained to Sir Frederic, I couldn’t very well ignore it. We never know when we’ll need a friend in the district attorney’s office, these days.”
    â€œOne of the deputies?” inquired Rankin.
    â€œYes. A fellow named Morrow—J. V. Morrow. Perhaps you know him?”
    Rankin nodded. “I do,” he said.
    â€œWell, that’s the scenario,” went on Kirk. “We’re to meet this lad at the St. Francis to-morrow at one. The topic of the day will be murder, and I’m sure your friend from Honolulu will fit in admirably. You must pick up Mr. Chan and join us.”
    â€œThank you very much,” said Rankin. “You’re extremely kind. We’ll be there. I—I won’t keep you any longer.”
    Paradise came forward with alacrity to let him out. At the foot of the stairs on the twentieth floor he met his old rival, Gleason of the
Herald.
He chuckled with delight.
    â€œTurn right around,” he said. “You’re too late. I thought of it first.”
    â€œThought of what?”