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Researching
Conflict, Drama
and Learning
The International DRACON Project
Researching Conflict, Drama and Learning
John O’Toole Dale Bagshaw
• •
Janet Pillai
123
John O’Toole Dale Bagshaw
University of Melbourne University of South Australia
South Brisbane, VIC, Australia Adelaide, SA, Australia
Janet Pillai
Arts-ED
TTDI, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd.
The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721,
Singapore
This book is dedicated to:
The dozens of schools, hundreds of teachers,
and especially the thousands of students who
participated in DRACON, and informed,
nourished and sustained all four national
projects.
Foreword 1 (Conflict Mediation)
The core idea of Researching Conflict, Drama and Learning: The International
DRACON Project is inspired. After reading it, you will wonder why we don’t bring
drama and conflict together more often. The authors explain how the fields of
conflict studies and drama do actually overlap and share a lexicon: for example,
words like protagonist and antagonist, used in conflict studies, are drawn from
Greek drama. In practice, too, dramatic techniques like role-play are widely used
not only to teach conflict transformation but also to examine students’ grasp of
processes like mediation. Reading this book, I was struck by the idea that tech-
niques like role-play might be even more effectively used if those who teach and
learn conflict transformation had more education in transformative drama.
The DRACON project explores the relationship between drama and conflict
transformation in an impressively comprehensive way. The first part of the book
lays down the conceptual foundations of the project. Theories of conflict trans-
formation drawn from the academic field of conflict studies are explained, and then
the theory and practice of transformative drama education is explicated. The sec-
ondpart of the book tells the stories of four action research teams, drawn from three
different countries. A description of the local cultural and educational context
provides a background for the reader: the school system, the student population, the
researchers’ expertise. Each chapter is then centred on reporting the action research:
its aims, methods, the fieldwork and its analysis. Working in schools in very
different cultural settings, each team developed its own program and teachers in
particular will appreciate the variety of different creative processes used in the
classrooms. Set across a time span of ten years, the research uses both quantitative
and qualitative approaches, and results in findings which, taken together, make a
substantial contribution to the teaching of drama and conflict transformation. The
third part of the book reports on follow-up events that have occurred since the
project officially finished, providing evidence of the capacity of DRACON to
inspire and act as a catalyst across the globe. In terms of research, the book is very
sound and thorough, demonstrating how different research techniques can be used
to evaluate and refine courses in drama and conflict. The coverage of the issues and
relevant theories and models is encyclopaedic.
vii
viii Foreword 1 (Conflict Mediation)
The book raises a number of novel and interesting ideas. I will touch on several
as examples to whet the readers’ appetite. A person who is dogmatic and black and
white in their thinking is not going to be a good candidate for mediation or similar
conflict transformation processes. A key element of conflict transformation is the
idea that conflict has a subjective dimension and the capacity to shift away from
absolutes, to accept that different perspectives may be equally valid, and that events
may look different if seen from a different angle is fundamental. This more fluid and
flexible way of thinking is sometimes termed dialectical thinking. It is hard to think
of a better way of extending a student’s capacity to think dialectically than using
dramatic techniques which, as the authors point out, literally play with roles to shift
perspectives. In drama, the actor must be both close to a person, having empathy for
the character being played, and distant, aware of how the performance comes across
to an audience. Similarly, the mediator must tune in closely and listen empathically
to one party, but also maintain distance, being aware of the needs and concerns
of the other parties and the broader system in which the conflict is embedded.
DRACON has opened a door to further research: looking at how drama can pro-
mote the kind of cognitive style and dialectical thinking that makes conflict
transformation possible. Another point which interested me, and is neglected
elsewhere in the academic literature, is the relationship between fact and fiction.
Working directly with real conflicts may be too confronting and intrusive, espe-
cially when the teachers and researchers are adults and the participants are young
people, so fiction, or somewhat fictionalised conflicts based on true stories, can be
valuable material to work with. And young people’s fiction, their popular culture,
provides such a wealth of rich resources for understanding conflict. DRACON
shows how drama brings conflict to life, and drama without conflict would have no
life. So, whether you are a teacher, researcher, student or interested member of the
public, please read on, learn and enjoy.
Over recent months, I have been involved in the national monitoring of research
outputs across New Zealand universities. It is an exacting role, requiring groups of
academics to negotiate an overall score on an individual’s research program over
6 years. As a committee, we often talk about the impact of research. Traditionally
that has been measured by the quantum of references an article or chapter attracts,
or about the esteem in which an individual is held. Increasingly, we are looking at
new ways to understand how we might best understand the impact and relative
quality of research.
Applying the kind of metrics that might be useful to understand the value of
research, the question of the impact of the DRACON project might be best
answered by thinking about the many thousands of people across the world who
have benefited from their use of drama to better handle conflict. Students and
teachers have come to find ways of naming and understanding the culturally con-
ditioned nature of conflict, not just within their school settings but across their entire
lives. That this has happened across the cultural diversity of Sweden, Malaysia and
Australia speaks loudly of the care and thought in the initial design of the program
and the flexible purposing across decades of implementation.
I was left wondering as I finished reading this book of the importance of
serendipity in research—though it is not a metric we use to measure the quality
of the research. By serendipity, I mean more than picking up on chance, but the
ability to notice possibilities, to draw links across from happenchance and make
something meaningful from the seemingly accidental. The spin-off tangential
projects that DRACON generated might be its most consequential contribution.
DRACON has spread to China strengthening NGO trainers, involves nursing
training in Jordan, is working with African men in Adelaide to challenge cultural
norms on domestic violence, and has trained senior management staff at Melbourne
University. The wide range of tangential projects and the longevity of the overall
project, adapting and changing as it meets new challenges, speaks of a team of
researchers who understood the power of serendipity.
ix
x Foreword 2 (Drama Education)
One of the impacts of this research is that we might better understand how open,
dialogic international research projects, that allow freedom and autonomy for
constituent parties, provide the opportunity for long-term relationships to deliver far
more than original plans or visions.
I am often invited on to research teams that have clearly defined outcomes; it is
one of the binds necessary for funding. My work and the work of the rest of the
team are then constrained by the roles assigned at the beginning of the project, as
we move onwards to the inevitable report that somehow justifies our work and our
funding. What is strikingly different about the DRACON project is its
open-endedness. In many ways, it has worked in the same way that a good process
drama does. There was a hook, the pre-text that drew the ensemble together to work
something out, but how that was done was determined in the making of the research
rather than it being predetermined. The multiple and divergent outcomes suggest
researchers who aren’t just using arts-based processes but are working as
artist/researchers. The artistry of this research is one of its strongest features.
A willingness to be deeply curious, to engage in genuine collaboration, to be
playful with ideas and take risks with new approaches, content to work with
ambiguity marks researchers who act as artists.
Many years ago, John O’Toole and I sat with Dorothy Heathcote on a warm
afternoon in Northampton. Dorothy knew John well, me not so well. She turned to
me and asked, ‘So, in New Zealand do children do things that matter, and in doing
those things do they learn that they matter too?’ I was silent for a long time. An
easier question would have been about whether they did drama. The great gift of
DRACON is that the children and teachers who were engaged in this project did
work that truly matters in so many ways and that the whole project was motivated
by a desire to let children know their lives matter. Perhaps Dorothy’s questions
might help other researchers frame their work so ethically.
This book is a record of an extraordinary project spanning continents and many
years. It tells many variants of the story that there is much to be gained by having
people engage in drama to handle conflict in their lives and much to be learned from
research which artistically works on significant issues.
xi
xii Acknowledgements
Thanks
The authors wish to acknowledge gratefully the support and assistance of the fol-
lowing organisations and people between 1994 and 2005:
• All the school and education system administrators, principals and policy offi-
cers in Australia, Malaysia and Sweden, who supported and sustained
DRACON for over a decade.
DRACON Malaysia
xiii
xiv Contents
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
8 Brisbane—Cooling Conflicts and Acting Against Bullying . . . . . . . . 183
The Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
Genesis of the Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184
The Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184
Research Premises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184
Research Aim and Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
Evolution of the Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
Research Design and Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
The Action Research Cycles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Selection of Schools, Teachers and Students . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
The Pedagogy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Teaching Conflict Literacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Acting Against Bullying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
Teaching Drama Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Peer Teaching . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Implementing the Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Cycle 1, 1996 Queensland—An Urban Brisbane High School . . . . . . 195
Cycle 2, 1997 Queensland—The Same Brisbane High School . . . . . 195
Cycle 3, 1998 Queensland—The Same Brisbane High School . . . . . 197
Cycle 4, 1999 New South Wales—A Rural High School and Feeder
Primary Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Cycle 5, 2000 NSW—4 Sydney High Schools and Feeder Primary
Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
Cycle 6, 2001 NSW—8 Sydney and Regional High Schools and
Feeder Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
Cycles 7–9 Queensland 2002–5—Twenty-Five Brisbane and
Regional Queensland Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Findings and Outcomes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
Outcomes from Cycles 7–9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
Conclusions and Projections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Postscript . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215
John O’Toole was formerly Foundation Chair of Arts Education at the University
of Melbourne, and previously Professor of Drama and Applied Theatre at Griffith
University, Queensland. He has taught, lectured and researched drama and arts
education for over forty years, with all ages and on all continents. He has written or
co-written over 15 research and teaching textbooks, many of which are standard
works, and three of which are published by Springer. In 2001, he was awarded the
American Alliance for Theater and Education Lifetime Research Award, and in
2014 he was made a Member of the Order of Australia for his contribution to drama
education.
xix
xx About the Authors
xxi
List of Figures
xxiii
List of Tables
xxv
List of Photographs
Malaysian Project
Malaysia 1: Cycle 1: Students explore feelings through movement in
school-related conflicts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
Malaysia 2: Cycle 1: Student-devised dance performance of school
related conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
Malaysia 3: Cycle 2: Introduction to postcard theatre for exploring
conflict situations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
Malaysia 4: Cycle 2: Using visual arts (comic drawing) to explore
personal conflicts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Malaysia 5: Cycle 2: Using visual arts (self-portrait) to explore
individual conflicts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Malaysia 6: Cycle 2: Participant explains her newspaper sculpture to her
colleagues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Malaysia 7: Cycle 3: Actors use a spin wheel of types of conflict in
‘Stop! Look! Go!’ TIE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Malaysia 8: Cycle 3: An actor solicits opinions from students in ‘Stop!
Look! Go!’ TIE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
Swedish Project
Sweden 1: Starting the Process—In a ‘drama circle’, the teacher
introduces the procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Sweden 2: Painting a conflict to share with the other students . . . . . . . . . . 150
Sweden 3: ‘Third Party Sculptures’—protagonist and antagonist
in action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
Sweden 4: ‘Third Party Sculptures’—two mediators in action with
protagonist and antagonist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
Sweden 5: ‘Third Party Sculptures’—mediating is difficult! . . . . . . . . . . . . 152
Sweden 6: ‘Third Party Sculptures’—The mediator practises on a
teenage-mother conflict, with interested audience . . . . . . . . . . . 152
xxvii
xxviii List of Photographs
Brisbane Project
Brisbane 1: Acting Against Bullying… Will the bystanders intervene? . . . . 210
Brisbane 2: Acting Against Bullying… Enhanced forum
theatre—emerging conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
Brisbane 3: Cooling Conflict… Manifest conflict—who
can de-escalate it? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Brisbane 4: Cooling Conflict… Enhanced forum theatre—hot-seating
a protagonist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Brisbane 5: Cooling Conflict… Spotting a latent conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
Brisbane 6: Cooling Conflict… Year 8 peer teachers demonstrate
manifest conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
Brisbane 7: Acting Against Bullying… The mediator investigates . . . . . . . 214
Brisbane 8: Acting Against Bullying… The mediator intervenes . . . . . . . . 214
Part I
Background and Theory
Chapter 1
Introduction
The real world of human conflict and the imaginary worlds of drama are closely
tangled together in our thinking at every level—personal, communal and geopolitical.
It clearly shows in our language—at least in English—and in our metaphors. Just
think how often we hear and use clichés like ‘What a tragic conflict…’, ‘This is a
dramatic escalation…’ and ‘Let’s not have a drama about this…’. They constantly
colour our recounting of life’s difficult moments, and think how many journalists
would be bereft without these images!
Harnessing the power and familiarity of those dramatic ideas and images in order
to help young people to address their real-life conflicts, albeit indirectly, has been
the overarching purpose of DRACON, an international educational research project
with a life and afterlife of over twenty years—and, as we shall demonstrate in the
final chapter, it is still very much alive.
The DRAma and CONflict (DRACON) international project was an interdisci-
plinary and comparative action research project that commenced officially in 1996
and ended in 2005 with the publication of its ‘final’ report,1 detailing a decade of
mainly action research work conducted in four locations in three countries span-
ning the globe—Sweden, Malaysia and Australia. These countries were partly cho-
sen because of important cultural differences and contrasts, and partly by happen-
stance—where those researchers with matching expertise and interests in the area
happened to come across or already know each other.
Background
Sweden is one of the earliest countries whose scholars and policy makers recog-
nised the importance of peace and conflict studies. As early as 1964, the Swedish
Prime Minister, Tage Erlander, puts forward the idea of establishing a peace research
institute. In 1996, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) was
founded to commemorate Sweden’s 150 years of unbroken peace. The Department
of Peace and Development Research at the University of Gothenburg was a leading
centre of interdisciplinary and action-oriented enquiry.
Peace and conflict studies can be classified as a pedagogical activity (dealing with
the teaching of conflict literacy) as well as a research activity (aiming to create new
knowledge about conflict and conflict handling). By the 1970s, the field had become
well established as research within the social sciences in universities in many coun-
tries, including Sweden, Malaysia and Australia. However, the pedagogical aspect of
teaching conflict literacy was not as far advanced as the theoretical research develop-
ment. One contributing factor is likely to be that higher education has been resistant
to changing the relationship between theory and practice, and university thinking is
itself still largely characterised by a traditional pedagogy based on lectures, tutorials
and end-of-course tests (Christie & de Graaff, 2017). Research shows that a major
problem with ‘traditional’ pedagogy at the tertiary level is that it encourages students
to take a surface rather than a deep approach to their learning (Marton, Hounsell, &
Entwistle, 1984).
ing tool. After observing a creative arts program with young people, organised by
the company Five Arts Centre, Andersson was highly inspired by what he saw as a
potential link between the academic and practical fields of drama and conflict resolu-
tion. He proceeded to organise contacts between Swedish conflict researcher Friberg
and Janet Pillai, the educational drama programmer at the Five Arts Centre, and a
lecturer at the local University of Sains Malaysia, Penang, Malaysia.
In July 1992, Andersson attended the first International Congress of
Drama/Theatre and Education (IDEA ’92) in Oporto, Portugal. Andersson was
highly inspired by what he saw as a potential link between the academic and prac-
tical fields of drama and conflict resolution. Here, he connected with Margret Lepp
from Malmö University, Sweden, then a PhD student in pedagogy with a focus on
applied drama in nursing education. They decided to meet again in Sweden to further
discuss possible plans for a drama and conflict management project. A meeting was
set up with Friberg, who later became the first project leader of DRACON Interna-
tional from 1994 to 2001.
Andersson’s vision and determination to link the two disciplines of conflict res-
olution and drama and bring experts together cannot be understated. Sadly, he had
no further influence on the development of the project because of his death in 1995.
Christie and de Graaff (2017) state that while both educationalists and engineers
seek to understand phenomena and solve problems connected with them, educa-
tional researchers focus on phenomena and problems that involve people, whereas
engineers tend to focus on material objects and effects. It can be surmised that as an
engineer, Andersson may have professionally perceived the potential of drama and
observed the effects of active learning while observing the Malaysian drama program
with children.
and drama in Brisbane. The core South Australian DRACON team consisted of Dale
Bagshaw, a conflict resolution specialist from the University of South Australia in
Adelaide, and Ken Rigby, an expert on bullying in schools, also from the University
of South Australia, with Rosemary Nursey-Bray and Myk Mykyta, drama consultants
and teachers, providing the drama input. The Queensland team initially comprised
John O’Toole and Bruce Burton, both drama specialists from Griffith University in
Brisbane, with advice from conflict management specialist Merrelyn Bates from the
Griffith Justice Administration team. As this program grew to become the largest,
longest-lasting and most widespread of the DRACON research projects, three more
researchers were incorporated: Morag Morrison, then a local Brisbane teacher; Anna
Plunkett, a PhD student; and as the program spread interstate to New South Wales,
research associate Christine Hatton from Sydney. These three were all specialists in
drama education.
Essentially, all four DRACON teams were responsible for financing their own
research throughout. From 2001 to 2005, Löfgren assumed leadership of the DRA-
CON International project and the Swedish team was given a grant from The Swedish
Council of Scientific Research for three years’ research to complete the Swedish stud-
ies and to draw the country findings together. Lofgren invited a PhD student, Birgitte
Malm from Malmö University, to join the Swedish team, who together with Löfgren
co-edited the final report.
From these beginnings, all the authors of this book were directly and intensely
involved in the DRACON project, through to its formal completion in 2005, and
some of us have continued, indirectly or sporadically, right through to the time of
writing, as will be detailed in Chap. 9.
The essential hypothesis underlying this project is that drama can be an effective
way to learn about conflict handling or management—more commonly labelled at the
time of writing this book as conflict transformation—not conflict resolution. These
decisions will be explained in the next three chapters, because early in the project
there was some discussion about drama’s capacity for actual conflict resolution,
meaning solving participants’ real everyday life conflicts. This concept was rejected
at the outset by some of the Australian drama specialists who were only willing to join
the project on the condition that direct management and resolution of conflicts in real
life were excluded. The Malaysian project did try dealing partially with student’s real
conflicts using a multi-arts approach, but found it problematic. The reasons for these
difficulties and the Australian refusals are addressed in detail in Chap. 4, Bridging
Conflict and Drama. For the rest of the project, the consensus was that we would
use drama indirectly, as a strategy for helping students to understand the nature of
conflict, and perhaps give them some useful tools to later understand, manage or
transform their own conflicts.
In the early years of peace and conflict studies, the idea of joining the fields of
conflict transformation and drama, either in theory or practice, was almost unheard
of. The cautious tendency to keep the two fields separate now seems strange given
that drama and conflict are two words that have always had a lot in common that is
recognised in common parlance—as we have mentioned, and as will be examined
in detail in Chap. 4.
From the outset, cultural and intercultural contexts and factors of conflict were a
major priority of DRACON International; this is hardly surprising, given the cultural
diversity of the teams, but it also flowed on naturally from its earlier forebears. As
we have mentioned, a group of Swedish and Malaysian researchers had cooperated
for some years on a comparative study of how conflicts are handled in different
social and cultural contexts in Sweden and in Malaysia. The project Culturally con-
ditioned models of conflict resolution in Sweden and Malaysia lasted from 1988 to
1994 (Allwood & Friberg, 1994). DRACON carried over an important idea from this
earlier study: that culture matters in conflict transformation. Therefore, the DRA-
CON project adopted a comparative and cross-cultural approach and inherited the
idea of international research cooperation organised on a symmetrical basis between
independent national teams. In an early meeting, the team members discussed the
opportunities afforded for useful three-way comparisons and contrasts between the
ways in which these three nations with quite disparate social and cultural histories
were coming to terms with their ongoing challenges of multiculturalism and changing
population profiles. Conflict is an inevitable component of intercultural and cross-
cultural encounters, and there were opportunities to compare how conflict has been
managed traditionally and contemporarily in the schools in those societies.
The DRACON research focused on adolescents in the context of school. It is well
understood that young adolescents in transition from childhood to adult life often
experience tensions and difficulties in handling conflicts. DRACON team members,
who were predominantly educators, strongly believed it would be appropriate to
introduce the concept of conflict literacy to young adolescents and that the school was
the most strategic arena for learning, practising and spreading conflict competence.
The DRACON research teams focused on a sample of school-going adolescents aged
13–15 years to increase their conflict handling skills and knowledge using educational
drama methods.
The whole of the DRACON research was based on five basic hypotheses:
• It is possible to improve conflict literacy and conflict handling through drama.
• The school is a strategic arena for learning conflict handling and literacy skills.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
phrase like that from my cousin Mr. Willie Chan, Captain of All
Chinese baseball team—"
But John Quincy did not hear, his eyes were glued to the object that
lay on the table. An ohia wood box, bound with copper—the initials
T. M. B.
"We will unlatch it," said Chan. He made an examination. "No,
locked most strongly. We will crash into it at police station, where
you and I and this silent Hawaiian will now hasten. Mr. Spencer, you
will remain on spot here. Should Brade appear, you know your duty."
"I do," said Spencer.
"Mr. Kaohla, do me the honor to accompany," continued Chan. "At
police headquarters much talk will be extracted out of you."
They turned toward the door. As they did so, Carlota Egan came up.
"May I speak to you a moment?" she said to John Quincy.
"Surely." He walked with her to the desk.
"I went to the lanai just now," she whispered breathlessly. "Some
one was crouching outside the window near where you were talking.
I went closer and it was—Mr. Saladine!"
"Aha," said John Quincy. "Mr. Saladine had better drop that sort of
thing, or he'll get himself in trouble."
"Should we tell Chan?"
"Not yet. You and I will do a little investigating ourselves first. Chan
has other things to think about. And we don't want any of our
guests to leave unless it's absolutely necessary."
"We certainly don't," she smiled. "I'm glad you've got the interests of
the house at heart."
"That's just where I've got them—" John Quincy began, but Chan
cut in.
"Humbly begging pardon," he said, "we must speed. Captain Hallet
will have high delight to encounter this Kaohla, to say nothing of
ohia wood box."
In the doorway, Kaohla crowded close to John Quincy, and the latter
was startled by the look of hate he saw in the boy's stormy eyes.
"You did this," muttered the Hawaiian. "I don't forget."
CHAPTER XV
THE MAN FROM INDIA
They clattered along Kalakaua Avenue in Chan's car.
John Quincy sat alone on the rear seat; at the detective's request he
held the ohia wood box on his knees.
He rested his hands upon it. Once it had eluded him, but he had it
now. His mind went back to that night in the attic two thousand
miles away, the shadow against the moonlit window, the sting of a
jewel cutting across his cheek. Roger's heartfelt cry of "Poor old
Dan!" Did they hold at last, in this ohia wood box, the answer to the
mystery of Dan's death?
Hallet was waiting in his room. With him was a keen-eyed, efficient
looking man evidently in his late thirties.
"Hello, boys," said the captain. "Mr. Winterslip, meet Mr. Greene, our
district court prosecutor."
Greene shook hands cordially. "I've been wanting to meet you, sir,"
he said. "I know your city rather well. Spent three years at your
Harvard Law School."
"Really?" replied John Quincy with enthusiasm.
"Yes. I went there after I got through at New Haven. I'm a Yale
man, you know."
"Oh," remarked John Quincy, without any enthusiasm at all. But
Greene seemed a pleasant fellow, despite his choice of college.
Chan had set the box on the table before Hallet, and was explaining
how they had come upon it. The captain's thin face had brightened
perceptibly. He inspected the treasure. "Locked, eh?" he remarked.
"You got the key, Kaohla?"
The Hawaiian shook his head sullenly. "No."
"Watch your step, boy," warned Hallet. "Go over him, Charlie."
Chan went over him, rapidly and thoroughly. He found a key ring,
but none of the keys fitted the lock on the box. He also brought to
light a fat roll of bills.
"Where'd you get all that money, Dick?" Hallet inquired.
"I got it," glowered the boy.
But Hallet was more interested in the box. He tapped it lovingly.
"This is important, Mr. Greene. We may find the solution of our
puzzle in here." He took a small chisel from his desk, and after a
brief struggle, pried open the lid.
John Quincy, Chan and the prosecutor pressed close, their eyes
staring eagerly as the captain lifted the lid. The box was empty.
"Filled with nothing," murmured Chan. "Another dream go smash
against stone wall."
The disappointment angered Hallet. He turned on Kaohla. "Now, my
lad," he said. "I want to hear from you. You've been in touch with
Brade, you talked with him last Sunday night, you've heard he's
returning to-night. You've got some deal on with him. Come across
and be quick about it."
"Nothing to tell," said the Hawaiian stubbornly.
Hallet leaped to his feet. "Oh, yes you have. And by heaven, you're
going to tell it. I'm not any too patient to-night and I warn you if you
don't talk and talk quick I'm likely to get rough." He stopped
suddenly and turned to Chan. "Charlie, that Inter-Island boat is due
from Maui about now. Get down to the dock and watch for Brade.
You've got his description?"
"Sure," answered Chan. "Thin pale face, one shoulder descended
below other, gray mustaches that droop in saddened mood."
"That's right. Keep a sharp lookout. And leave this lad to us. He
won't have any secrets when we get through with him, eh, Mr.
Greene?"
The prosecutor, more discreet, merely smiled.
"Mr. Winterslip," said Chan. "The night is delicious. A little stroll to
moonly dock—"
"I'm with you," John Quincy replied. He looked back over his
shoulder as he went, and reflected that he wouldn't care to be in
Kaohla's shoes.
The pier-shed was dimly lighted and a small but diversified group
awaited the incoming boat. Chan and John Quincy walked to the far
end and there, seated on a packing-case, they found the water-front
reporter of the evening paper.
"Hello, Charlie," cried Mr. Mayberry. "What you doing here?"
"Maybe friend arrive on boat," grinned Chan.
"Is that so?" responded Mayberry. "You boys over at the station have
certainly become pretty mysterious all of a sudden. What's doing,
Charlie?"
"All pronouncements come from captain," advised Chan.
"Yeah, we've heard his pronouncements," sneered Mayberry. "The
police have unearthed clues and are working on them. Nothing to
report at present. It's sickening. Well, sit down, Charlie. Oh—Mr.
Winterslip—good evening. I didn't recognize you at first."
"How are you," said John Quincy. He and Chan also found packing-
cases. There was a penetrating odor of sugar in the air. Through a
wide opening in the pier-shed they gazed along the water-front and
out upon the moonlit harbor. A rather exotic and intriguing scene,
John Quincy reflected, and he said as much.
"Think so?" answered Mayberry. "Well, I don't. To me it's just like
Seattle or Galveston or any of those stereotyped ports. But you see
—I knew it when—"
"I think you mentioned that before," John Quincy smiled.
"I'm likely to mention it at any moment. As far as I'm concerned, the
harbor of Honolulu has lost its romance. Once this was the most
picturesque water-front in the world, my boy. And now look at the
damned thing!" The reporter relighted his pipe. "Charlie can tell you
—he remembers. The old ramshackle, low-lying wharves. Old Naval
Row with its sailing ships. The wooden-hulled steamers with a mast
or two—not too proud to use God's good winds occasionally. The
bright little row-boats, the Aloha, the Manu, the Emma. Eh, Chan?"
"All extinct," agreed Chan.
"You wouldn't see a Rotary Club gang like this on a pier in those
days," Mayberry continued. "Just Hawaiian stevedores with leis on
their hats and ukuleles in their hands. Fishermen with their nets, and
maybe a breezy old-time purser—a glad-hander and not a mere
machine." He puffed a moment in sad silence. "Those were the
days, Mr. Winterslip, the days of Hawaii's isolation, and her charm.
The cable and the radio hadn't linked us up with the so-called
civilization of the mainland. Every boat that came in we'd scamper
over it, hunting a newspaper with the very latest news of the outside
world. Remember those steamer days, Charlie, when everybody
went down to the wharf in the good old hacks of yesteryear, when
the women wore holokus and lauhala hats, and Berger was there
with his band, and maybe a prince or two—"
"And the nights," suggested Charlie.
"Yeah, old-timer, I was coming to the nights. The soft nights when
the serenaders drifted about the harbor in row-boats, and the
lanterns speared long paths on the water—"
He seemed about to weep. John Quincy's mind went back to books
he had read in his boyhood.
"And occasionally," he said, "I presume somebody went aboard a
ship against his will?"
"I'll say he did," replied Mr. Mayberry, brightening at the thought.
"Why, it was only in the 'nineties I was sitting one night on a dock a
few yards down, when I saw a scuffle near the landing, and one of
my best friends shouted to me: 'Good-by, Pete!' I was up and off in
a minute, and I got him away from them—I was younger in those
days. He was a good fellow, a sailorman, and he wasn't intending to
take the journey that bunch had planned for him. They'd got him
into a saloon and drugged him, but he pulled out of it just in time—
oh, well, those days are gone for ever now. Just like Galveston or
Seattle. Yes, sir, this harbor of Honolulu has lost its romance."
The little Inter-Island boat was drawing up to the pier, and they
watched it come. As the gangplank went down, Chan rose.
"Who you expecting, Charlie?" asked Mayberry.
"We grope about," said Chan. "Maybe on this boat are Mr. Brade."
"Brade!" Mayberry leaped to his feet.
"Not so sure," warned Chan. "Only a matter we suppose. If correct,
humbly suggest you follow to the station. You might capture news."
John Quincy and Chan moved up to the gangplank as the
passengers descended. There were not many aboard. A few Island
business men, a scattering of tourists, a party of Japanese in
western clothes, ceremoniously received by friends ashore—a quaint
little group all bowing from the waist. John Quincy was watching
them with interest when Chan touched his arm.
A tall stooped Englishman was coming down the plank. Thomas
Macan Brade would have been easily spotted in any crowd. His
mustache was patterned after that of the Earl of Pawtucket, and to
make identification even simpler, he wore a white pith helmet. Pith
helmets are not necessary under the kindly skies of Hawaii; this was
evidently a relic of Indian days.
Chan stepped forward. "Mr. Brade?"
The man had a tired look in his eyes. He started nervously. "Y—yes,"
he hesitated.
"I am Detective-Sergeant Chan, Honolulu police. You will do me the
great honor to accompany me to the station, if you please."
Brade stared at him, then shook his head. "It's quite impossible," he
said.
"Pardon me, please," answered Chan. "It are unevitable."
"I—I have just returned from a journey," protested the man. "My
wife may be worried regarding me. I must have a talk with her, and
after that—"
"Regret," purred Chan, "are scorching me. But duty remains duty.
Chief's words are law. Humbly suggest we squander valuable time."
"Am I to understand that I'm under arrest?" flared Brade.
"The idea is preposterous," Chan assured him. "But the captain waits
eager for statement from you. You will walk this way, I am sure. A
moment's pardon. I introduce my fine friend, Mr. John Quincy
Winterslip, of Boston."
At mention of the name, Brade turned and regarded John Quincy
with deep interest. "Very good," he said. "I'll go with you."
They went out to the street, Brade carrying a small hand-bag. The
flurry of arrival was dying fast. Honolulu would shortly return to its
accustomed evening calm.
When they reached the police station, Hallet and the prosecutor
seemed in high good humor. Kaohla sat in a corner, hopeless and
defeated; John Quincy saw at a glance that the boy's secret was his
no longer.
"Introducing Mr. Brade," said Chan.
"Ah," cried Hallet, "we're glad to see you, Mr. Brade. We'd been
getting pretty worried about you."
"Really, sir," said Brade, "I am completely at a loss—"
"Sit down," ordered Hallet. The man sank into a chair. He too had a
hopeless, defeated air. No one can appear more humble and beaten
than a British civil servant, and this man had known thirty-six years
of baking under the Indian sun, looked down on by the military,
respected by none. Not only his mustache but his whole figure
drooped "in saddened mood." Yet now and then, John Quincy noted,
he flashed into life, a moment of self-assertion and defiance.
"Where have you been, Mr. Brade?" Hallet inquired.
"I have visited one of the other islands. Maui."
"You went last Tuesday morning?"
"Yes. On the same steamer that brought me back."
"Your name was not on the sailing list," Hallet said.
"No. I went under another name. I had—reasons."
"Indeed?"
The flash of life. "Just why am I here, sir?" He turned to the
prosecutor. "Perhaps you will tell me that?"
Greene nodded toward the detective. "Captain Hallet will enlighten
you," he said.
"You bet I will," Hallet announced. "As perhaps you know, Mr. Brade,
Mr. Dan Winterslip has been murdered."
Brade's washed-out eyes turned to John Quincy. "Yes," he said. "I
read about it in a Hilo newspaper."
"You didn't know it when you left last Tuesday morning?" Hallet
asked.
"I did not. I sailed without seeing a paper here."
"Ah, yes. When did you see Mr. Dan Winterslip last?"
"I never saw him."
"What! Be careful, sir."
"I never saw Dan Winterslip in my life."
"All right. Where were you last Tuesday morning at twenty minutes
past one?"
"I was asleep in my room at the Reef and Palm Hotel. I'd retired at
nine-thirty, as I had to rise early in order to board my boat. My wife
can verify that."
"A wife's testimony, Mr. Brade, is not of great value—"
Brade leaped to his feet. "Look here, sir! Do you mean to insinuate
—"
"Take it easy," said Hallet smoothly. "I have a few matters to call to
your attention, Mr. Brade. Mr. Dan Winterslip was murdered at one-
twenty or thereabouts last Tuesday morning. We happen to know
that in his youth he served as first officer aboard the Maid of Shiloh,
a blackbirder. The master of that vessel had the same name as
yourself. An investigation of your room at the Reef and Palm—"
"How dare you!" cried Brade. "By what right—"
"I am hunting the murderer of Dan Winterslip," broke in Hallet
coolly. "And I follow the trail wherever it leads. In your room I found
a letter from the British Consul here addressed to you, and informing
you that Winterslip was alive and in Honolulu. I also found this tin of
Corsican cigarettes. Just outside the living-room door of Winterslip's
house, we picked up the stub of a Corsican cigarette. It's a brand
not on sale in Honolulu."
Brade had dropped back into his chair, and was staring in a dazed
way at the tin box in Hallet's hand. Hallet indicated the Hawaiian boy
in the corner. "Ever see this lad before, Mr. Brade?" Brade nodded.
"You had a talk with him last Sunday night on the beach?"
"Yes."
"The boy's told us all about it. He read in the paper that you were
coming to Honolulu. His father was a confidential servant in Dan
Winterslip's employ and he himself was brought up in the Winterslip
household. He could make a pretty good guess at your business with
Winterslip, and he figured you'd be pleased to lay hands on this ohia
wood box. In his boyhood he'd seen it in a trunk in the attic of
Winterslip's San Francisco house. He went down to the President
Tyler and arranged with a friend aboard that boat, the
quartermaster, to break into the house and steal the box. When he
saw you last Sunday night he told you he'd have the box as soon as
the President Tyler got in, and he arranged to sell it to you for a
good sum. Am I right so far, Mr. Brade?"
"You are quite right," said Brade.
"The initials on the box are T. M. B." Hallet persisted. "They are your
initials, are they not?"
"They happen to be," said Brade. "But they were also the initials of
my father. My father died aboard ship in the South Seas many years
ago, and that box was stolen from his cabin after his death. It was
stolen by the first officer of the Maid of Shiloh—by Mr. Dan
Winterslip."
For a moment no one spoke. A cold shiver ran down the spine of
John Quincy Winterslip and a hot flush suffused his cheek. Why, oh,
why, had he strayed so far from home? In Boston he traveled in a
rut, perhaps, but ruts were safe, secure. There no one had ever
brought a charge such as this against a Winterslip, no whisper of
scandal had ever sullied the name. But here Winterslips had run
amuck, and there was no telling what would next be dragged into
the light.
"I think, Mr. Brade," said the prosecutor slowly, "you had better
make a full statement."
Brade nodded. "I intend to do so. My case against Winterslip is not
complete and I should have preferred to remain silent for a time. But
under the circumstances, of course I must speak out. I'll smoke, if
you don't mind." He took a cigarette from his case and lighted it.
"I'm a bit puzzled just how to begin. My father disappeared from
England in the 'seventies, leaving my mother and me to shift for
ourselves. For a time we heard nothing of him, then letters began to
arrive from various points in Australia and the South Seas. Letters
with money in them, money we badly needed. I have since learned
that he had gone into the blackbirding trade; it is nothing to be
proud of, God knows, but I like to recall in his favor that he did not
entirely abandon his wife and boy.
"In the 'eighties we got word of his death. He died aboard the Maid
of Shiloh and was buried on the island of Apiang in the Gilbert Group
—buried by Dan Winterslip, his first officer. We accepted the fact of
his death, the fact of no more letters with remittances, and took up
our struggle again. Six months later we received, from a friend of
my father in Sydney, a brother captain, a most amazing letter.
"This letter said that, to the writer's certain knowledge, my father
had carried a great deal of money in his cabin on the Maid of Shiloh.
He had done no business with banks, instead he had had this strong
box made of ohia wood. The man who wrote us said that he had
seen the inside of it, and that it contained jewelry and a large
quantity of gold. My father had also shown him several bags of
green hide, containing gold coins from many countries. He estimated
that there must have been close to twenty thousand pounds, in all.
Dan Winterslip, the letter said, had brought the Maid of Shiloh back
to Sydney and turned over to the proper authorities my father's
clothing and personal effects, and a scant ten pounds in money. He
had made no mention of anything further. He and the only other
white man aboard the Maid, an Irishman named Hagin, had left at
once for Hawaii. My father's friend suggested that we start an
immediate investigation.
"Well, gentlemen"—Brade looked about the circle of interested faces
—"what could we do? We were in pitiful circumstances, my mother
and I. We had no money to employ lawyers, to fight a case
thousands of miles away. We did make a few inquiries through a
relative in Sydney, but nothing came of them. There was talk for a
time, but the talk died out, and the matter was dropped. But I—I
have never forgotten.
"Dan Winterslip returned here, and prospered. He built on the
foundation of the money he found in my father's cabin a fortune that
inspired the admiration of Honolulu. And while he prospered, we
were close to starvation. My mother died, but I carried on. For years
it has been my dream to make him pay. I have not been particularly
successful, but I have saved, scrimped. I have the money now to
fight this case.
"Four months ago I resigned my post in India and set out for
Honolulu. I stopped over in Sydney—my father's friend is dead, but I
have his letter. I have the depositions of others who knew about that
money—about the ohia wood box. I came on here, ready to face
Dan Winterslip at last. But I never faced him. As you know,
gentlemen"—Brade's hand trembled slightly as he put down his
cigarette—"some one robbed me of that privilege. Some unknown
hand removed from my path the man I have hated for more than
forty years."
"You arrived last Saturday—a week ago," said Hallet, after a pause.
"On Sunday evening Kaohla here called on you. He offered you the
strong box?"
"He did," Brade replied. "He'd had a cable from his friend, and
expected to have the box by Tuesday. I promised him five thousand
dollars for it—a sum I intended Winterslip should pay. Kaohla also
told me that Hagin was living on a ranch in a remote part of the
Island of Maui. That explains my journey there—I took another
name, as I didn't want Winterslip to follow my movements. I had no
doubt he was watching me."
"You didn't tell Kaohla you were going, either?"
"No, I didn't think it advisable to take him completely into my
confidence. I found Hagin, but could get nothing out of him.
Evidently Winterslip had bought his silence long ago. I realized the
box was of great importance to me, and I cabled Kaohla to bring it
to me immediately on my return. It was then that the news of
Winterslip's death came through. It was a deep disappointment, but
it will not deter me." He turned to John Quincy. "Winterslip's heirs
must pay. I am determined they shall make my old age secure."
John Quincy's face flushed again. A spirit of rebellion, of family pride
outraged, stirred within him. "We'll see about that, Mr. Brade," he
said. "You have unearthed the box, but so far as any proof about
valuables—money—"
"One moment," cut in Greene, the prosecutor. "Mr. Brade, have you
a description of any article of value taken from your father?"
Brade nodded. "Yes. In my father's last letter to us—I was looking
through it only the other day—he spoke of a brooch he had picked
up in Sydney. A tree of emeralds, rubies and diamonds against an
onyx background. He said he was sending it to my mother—but it
never came."
The prosecutor looked at John Quincy. John Quincy looked away.
"I'm not one of Dan Winterslip's heirs, Mr. Brade," he explained. "As
a matter of fact, he was a rather distant relative of mine. I can't
presume to speak for his daughter, but I'm reasonably sure that
when she knows your story, this matter can be settled out of court.
You'll wait, of course?"
"I'll wait," agreed Brade. "And now, Captain—"
Hallet raised his hand. "Just a minute. You didn't call on Winterslip?
You didn't go near his house?"
"I did not," said Brade.
"Yet just outside the door of his living-room we found, as I told you,
the stub of a Corsican cigarette. It's a matter still to be cleared up."
Brade considered briefly. "I don't want to get any one into trouble,"
he said. "But the man is nothing to me, and I must clear my own
name. In the course of a chat with the proprietor of the Reef and
Palm Hotel, I offered him a cigarette. He was delighted when he
recognized the brand—said it had been years since he'd seen one.
So I gave him a handful, and he filled his case."
"You're speaking of Jim Egan," suggested Hallet delightedly.
"Of Mr. James Egan, yes," Brade replied.
"That's all I want to know," said Hallet. "Well, Mr. Greene—"
The prosecutor addressed Brade. "For the present, we can't permit
you to leave Honolulu," he said. "But you are free to go to your
hotel. This box will remain here until we can settle its final
disposition."
"Naturally." Brade rose.
John Quincy faced him. "I'll call on you very soon," he promised.
"What? Oh, yes—yes, of course." The man stared nervously about
him. "If you'll pardon me, gentlemen, I must run—I really must—"
He went out. The prosecutor looked at his watch. "Well, that's that.
I'll have a conference with you in the morning, Hallet. My wife's
waiting for me at the Country Club. Good night, Mr. Winterslip." He
saw the look on John Quincy's face, and smiled. "Don't take those
revelations about your cousin too seriously. The 'eighties are ancient
history, you know."
As Greene disappeared, Hallet turned to John Quincy. "What about
this Kaohla?" he inquired. "It will be a pretty complicated job to
prosecute him and his house-breaking friend on the President Tyler,
but it can be done—"
A uniformed policeman appeared at the door, summoning Chan
outside.
"Oh, no," said John Quincy. "Let the boy go. We don't want any
publicity about this. I'll ask you, Captain, to keep Brade's story out of
the papers."
"I'll try," Hallet replied. He turned to the Hawaiian. "Come here!" The
boy rose. "You heard what this gentleman said. You ought to be sent
up for this, but we've got more important things to attend to now.
Run along—beat it—"
Chan came in just in time to hear the last. At his heels followed a sly
little Jap and a young Chinese boy. The latter was attired in the
extreme of college-cut clothes; he was an American and he
emphasized the fact.
"Only one moment," Chan cried. "New and interesting fact emerge
into light. Gentlemen, my Cousin Willie Chan, captain All Chinese
baseball team and demon back-stopper of the Pacific!"
"Pleased to meetchu," said Willie Chan.
"Also Okamoto, who have auto stand on Kalakaua Avenue, not far
from Winterslip household—"
"I know Okamoto," said Hallet. "He sells okolehau on the side."
"No, indeed," protested the Jap. "Auto stand, that is what."
"Willie do small investigating to help out crowded hours," went on
Chan. "He have dug up strange event out of this Okamoto here. On
early morning of Tuesday, July first, Okamoto is roused from slumber
by fierce knocks on door of room. He go to door—"
"Let him tell it," suggested Hallet. "What time was this?"
"Two of the morning," said the Jap. "Knocks were as described. I
rouse and look at watch, run to door. Mr. Dick Kaohla here is waiting.
Demand I drive him to home over in Iwilei district. I done so."
"All right," said Hallet. "Anything else? No? Charlie—take them out
and thank them—that's your specialty." He waited until the Orientals
had left the room, then turned fiercely on Kaohla. "Well, here you
are back in the limelight," he cried. "Now, come across. What were
you doing out near Winterslip's house the night of the murder?"
"Nothing," said the Hawaiian.
"Nothing! A little late to be up doing nothing, wasn't it? Look here,
my boy, I'm beginning to get you. For years Dan Winterslip gave you
money, supported you, until he finally decided you were no good. So
he stopped the funds and you and he had a big row. Now, didn't
you?"
"Yes," admitted Dick Kaohla.
"On Sunday night Brade offered you five thousand for the box. You
thought it wasn't enough. The idea struck you that maybe Dan
Winterslip would pay more. You were a little afraid of him, but you
screwed up your courage and went to his house—"
"No, no," the boy cried. "I did not go there."
"I say you did. You'd made up your mind to double-cross Brade. You
and Dan Winterslip had another big scrap, you drew a knife—"
"Lies, all lies," the boy shouted, terrified.
"Don't tell me I lie! You killed Winterslip and I'll get it out of you! I
got the other and I'll get this." Hallet rose threateningly from his
chair.
Chan suddenly reentered the room, and handed Hallet a note.
"Arrive this moment by special messenger," he explained.
Hallet ripped open the envelope and read. His expression altered. He
turned disgustedly to Kaohla. "Beat it!" he scowled.
The boy fled gratefully. John Quincy and Chan looked wonderingly at
the captain. Hallet sat down at his desk. "It all comes back to Egan,"
he said. "I've known it from the first."
"Wait a minute," cried John Quincy. "What about that boy?"
Hallet crumpled the letter in his hand. "Kaohla? Oh, he's out of it
now."
"Why?"
"That's all I can tell you. He's out of it."
"That's not enough," John Quincy said. "I demand to know—"
Hallet glared at him. "You know all you're going to," he answered
angrily. "I say Kaohla's out, and that settles it. Egan killed Winterslip,
and before I get through with him—"
"Permit me to say," interrupted John Quincy, "that you have the
most trusting nature I ever met. Everybody's story goes with you.
The Compton woman and that rat Leatherbee come in here and spin
a yarn, and you bow them out. And Brade! What about Brade! In
bed at one-twenty last Tuesday morning, eh? Who says so? He does.
Who can prove it? His wife can. What was to prevent his stepping
out on the balcony of the Reef and Palm and walking along the
beach to my cousin's house? Answer me that!"
Hallet shook his head. "It's Egan. That cigarette—"
"Yes—that cigarette. Has it occurred to you that Brade may have
given him those cigarettes purposely—"
"Egan did it," cut in Hallet stubbornly. "All I need now is his story; I'll
get it. I have ways and means—"
"I congratulate you on your magnificent stupidity," cried John
Quincy. "Good night, sir."
He walked along Bethel Street, Chan at his side.
"You are partly consumed by anger," said the Chinaman. "Humbly
suggest you cool. Calm heads needed."
"But what was in that note? Why wouldn't he tell us?"
"In good time, we know. Captain honest man. Be patient."
"But we're all at sea again," protested John Quincy. "Who killed
Cousin Dan? We get nowhere."
"So very true," agreed Chan. "More clues lead us into presence of
immovable stone wall. We sway about, seeking still other path."
"I'll say we do," answered John Quincy. "There comes my car. Good
night!"
Not until the trolley was half-way to Waikiki did he remember Mr.
Saladine. Saladine crouching outside that window at the Reef and
Palm. What did that mean? But Saladine was a comic figure, a
lisping searcher after bridge-work in the limpid waters of Waikiki.
Even so, perhaps his humble activities should be investigated.
CHAPTER XVI
THE RETURN OF CAPTAIN COPE
After breakfast on Sunday morning, John Quincy followed Miss
Minerva to the lanai. It was a neat world that lay outside the screen,
for Dan Winterslip's yard boy had been busy until a late hour the
night before, sweeping the lawn with the same loving thoroughness
a housewife might display on a precious Oriental rug.
Barbara had not come down to breakfast, and John Quincy had
seized the opportunity to tell his aunt of Brade's return, and repeat
the man's story of Dan Winterslip's theft on board the Maid of
Shiloh. Now he lighted a cigarette and sat staring seriously out at
the distant water.
"Cheer up," said Miss Minerva. "You look like a judge. I presume
you're thinking of poor Dan."
"I am."
"Forgive and forget. None of us ever suspected Dan of being a
saint."
"A saint! Far from it! He was just a plain—"
"Never mind," put in his aunt sharply. "Remember, John Quincy, man
is a creature of environment. And the temptation must have been
great. Picture Dan on that ship in these easy-going latitudes, wealth
at his feet and not a soul in sight to claim it. Ill-gotten wealth, at
that. Even you—"
"Even I," said John Quincy sternly, "would have recalled I am a
Winterslip. I never dreamed I'd live to hear you offering apologies
for that sort of conduct."
She laughed. "You know what they say about white women who go
to the tropics. They lose first their complexion, then their teeth, and
finally their moral sense." She hesitated. "I've had to visit the dentist
a good deal of late," she added.
John Quincy was shocked "My advice to you is to hurry home," he
said.
"When are you going?"
"Oh, soon—soon."
"That's what we all say. Returning to Boston, I suppose?"
"Of course."
"How about San Francisco?"
"Oh, that's off. I did suggest it to Agatha, but I'm certain she won't
hear of it. And I'm beginning to think she'd be quite right." His aunt
rose. "You'd better go to church," said John Quincy severely.
"That's just where I am going," she smiled. "By the way, Amos is
coming to dinner to-night, and he'd best hear the Brade story from
us, rather than in some garbled form. Barbara must hear it too. If it
proves to be true, the family ought to do something for Mr. Brade."
"Oh, the family will do something for him, all right," John Quincy
remarked. "Whether it wants to or not."
"Well, I'll let you tell Barbara about him," Miss Minerva promised.
"Thank you so much," replied her nephew sarcastically.
"Not at all. Are you coming to church?"
"No," he said. "I don't need it the way you do."
She left him there to face a lazy uneventful day. By five in the
afternoon Waikiki was alive with its usual Sunday crowd—not the
unsavory holiday throng seen on a mainland beach, but a scattering
of good-looking people whose tanned straight bodies would have
delighted the heart of a physical culture enthusiast. John Quincy
summoned sufficient energy to don a bathing suit and plunge in.
There was something soothing in the warm touch of the water, and
he was becoming more at home there every day. With long powerful
strokes he drew away from the malihini breakers to dare the great
rollers beyond. Surf-board riders flashed by him; now and then he
had to alter his course to avoid an outrigger canoe.
On the farthest float of all he saw Carlota Egan. She sat there, a
slender lovely figure vibrant with life, and awaited his coming. As he
climbed up beside her and looked into her eyes he was—perhaps
from his exertion in the water—a little breathless.
"I rather hoped I'd find you," he panted.
"Did you?" She smiled faintly. "I hoped it too. You see, I need a lot
of cheering up."
"On a perfect day like this!"
"I'd pinned such hopes on Mr. Brade," she explained. "Perhaps you
know he's back—and from what I can gather, his return hasn't
meant a thing so far as dad's concerned. Not a thing."
"Well, I'm afraid it hasn't," John Quincy admitted. "But we mustn't
get discouraged. As Chan puts it, we sway about, seeking a new
path. You and I have a bit of swaying to do. How about Mr.
Saladine?"
"I've been thinking about Mr. Saladine. But I can't get excited about
him, somehow. He's so ridiculous."
"We mustn't pass him up on that account," admonished John Quincy.
"I caught a glimpse of his purple bathing suit on the first float. Come
on—we'll just casually drop in on him. I'll race you there."
She smiled again, and leaped to her feet. For a second she stood
poised, then dived in a way that John Quincy could never hope to
emulate. He slipped off in pursuit, and though he put forth every
effort, she reached Saladine's side five seconds before he did.
"Hello, Mr. Saladine," she said. "This is Mr. Winterslip, of Boston."
"Ah, yeth," responded Mr. Saladine, gloomily. "Mr. Winterthlip." He
regarded the young man with interest.
"Any luck, sir?" inquired John Quincy sympathetically.
"Oh—you heard about my accthident?"
"I did, sir, and I'm sorry."
"I am, too," said Mr. Saladine feelingly. "Not a thrath of them tho far.
And I muth go home in a few dath."
"I believe Miss Egan said you lived in Des Moines?"
"Yeth. Deth—Deth—I can't thay it."
"In business there?" inquired John Quincy nonchalantly.
"Yeth. Wholethale grothery buthineth," answered Mr. Saladine,
slowly but not very successfully.
John Quincy turned away to hide a smile. "Shall we go along?" he
said to the girl. "Good luck to you, sir." He dove off, and as they
swam toward the shore, he reflected that they were on a false trail
there—a trail as spurious as the teeth. That little business man was
too conventional a figure to have any connection with the murder of
Dan Winterslip. He kept these thoughts to himself, however.
Half-way to the beach, they encountered an enormous figure
floating languidly on the water. Just beyond the great stomach John
Quincy perceived the serene face of Charlie Chan.
"Hello, Charlie," he cried. "It's a small ocean, after all! Got your Ford
with you?"
Chan righted himself and grinned. "Little pleasant recreation," he
explained. "Forget detective worries out here floating idle like leaf on
stream."
"Please float ashore," suggested John Quincy. "I have something to
tell you."
"Only too happy," agreed Chan.
He followed them in and they sat, an odd trio, on the white sand.
John Quincy told the detective about Saladine's activities outside the
window the night before, and repeated the conversation he had just
had with the middle westerner. "Of course, the man seems almost
too foolish to mean anything," he added.
Chan shook his head. "Begging most humble pardon," he said, "that
are wrong attitude completely. Detective business made up of
unsignificant trifles. One after other our clues go burst in our
countenance. Wise to pursue matter of Mr. Saladine."
"What do you suggest?" John Quincy asked.
"To-night I visit city for night work to drive off my piled tasks," Chan
replied. "After evening meal, suggest you join with me at cable
office. We despatch message to postmaster of this Des Moines,
inquiring what are present locality of Mr. Saladine, expert in
wholeselling provisions. Your name will be signed to message, much
better than police meddling."
"All right," John Quincy agreed, "I'll meet you there at eight-thirty."
Carlota Egan rose. "I must get back to the Reef and Palm. You've no
idea all I have to do—"
John Quincy stood beside her. "If I can help, you know—"
"I know," she smiled. "I'm thinking of making you assistant manager.
They'd be so proud of you—in Boston."
She moved off toward the water for her homeward swim, and John
Quincy dropped down beside Chan. The Chinaman's little amber
eyes followed the girl. "Endeavoring to make English language my
slave," he said, "I pursue poetry. Who were the great poet who said
—'She walks in beauty like the night?'"
"Why, that was—er—who was it?" remarked John Quincy helpfully.
"Name is slippery," went on Chan. "But no matter. Lines pop into
brain whenever I see this Miss Egan. Beauty like the night, Hawaiian
night maybe, lovely as purest jade. Most especially on this beach.
Spot of heart-breaking charm, this beach."
"Surely is," agreed John Quincy, amused at Chan's obviously
sentimental mood.
"Here on gleaming sand I first regard my future wife," continued
Chan. "Slender as the bamboo is slender, beautiful as blossom of the
plum—"
"Your wife," repeated John Quincy. The idea was a new one.
"Yes, indeed." Chan rose. "Recalls I must hasten home where she
attends the children who are now, by actual count, nine in number."
He looked down at John Quincy thoughtfully. "Are you well-fitted
with the armor of preparation?" he said. "Consider. Some night the
moon has splendor in this neighborhood, the cocoa-palms bow lowly
and turn away their heads so they do not see. And the white man
kisses without intending to do so."
"Oh, don't worry about me," John Quincy laughed; "I'm from Boston,
and immune."
"Immune," repeated Chan. "Ah, yes, I grasp meaning. In my home I
have idol brought from China with insides of solid stone. He would
think he is—immune. But even so I would not entrust him on this
beach. As my cousin Willie Chan say with vulgarity, see you later."
John Quincy sat for a time on the sand, then rose and strolled
toward home. His path lay close to the lanai of Arlene Compton's
cottage, and he was surprised to hear his name called from behind
the screen. He stepped to the door and looked in. The woman was
sitting there alone.
"Come in a minute, Mr. Winterslip," she said.
John Quincy hesitated. He did not care to make any social calls on
this lady, but he did not have it in him to be rude. He went inside
and sat down gingerly, poised for flight. "Got to hurry back for
dinner," he explained.
"Dinner? You'll want a cocktail."
"No, thanks. I'm—I'm on the wagon."
"You'll find it hard to stick out here," she said a little bitterly. "I won't
keep you long. I just want to know—are those boneheads down at
the station getting anywhere, or ain't they?"
"The police," smiled John Quincy. "They seem to be making
progress. But it's slow. It's very slow."
"I'll tell the world it's slow. And I got to stick here till they pin it on
somebody. Pleasant outlook, ain't it?"
"Is Mr. Leatherbee still with you?" inquired John Quincy.
"What do you mean is he still with me?" she flared.
"Pardon me. Is he still in town?"
"Of course he's in town. They won't let him go, either. But I ain't
worrying about him. I got troubles of my own. I want to go home."
She nodded toward a newspaper on the table. "I just got hold of an
old Variety and seen about a show opening in Atlantic City. A lot of
the gang is in it, working like dogs, rehearsing night and day,
worrying themselves sick over how long the thing will last. Gee,
don't I envy them. I was near to bawling when you came along."
"You'll get back all right," comforted John Quincy.
"Say—if I ever do! I'll stop everybody I meet on Broadway and
promise never to leave 'em again." John Quincy rose. "You tell that
guy Hallet to get a move on," she urged.
"I'll tell him," he agreed.
"And drop in to see me now and then," she added wistfully. "Us
easterners ought to stick together out here."
"That's right, we should," John Quincy answered. "Good-by."
As he walked along the beach, he thought of her with pity. The story
she and Leatherbee had told might be entirely false; even so, she
was a human and appealing figure and her homesickness touched
his heart.
Later that evening when John Quincy came down-stairs faultlessly
attired for dinner, he encountered Amos Winterslip in the living-
room. Cousin Amos's lean face was whiter than ever; his manner
listless. He had been robbed of his hate; his evenings beneath the
algaroba tree had lost their savor; life was devoid of spice.
Dinner was not a particularly jolly affair. Barbara seemed intent on
knowing now the details of the search the police were conducting,
and it fell to John Quincy to enlighten her. Reluctantly he came at
last to the story of Brade. She listened in silence. After dinner she
and John Quincy went out into the garden and sat on a bench under
the hau tree, facing the water.
"I'm terribly sorry I had to tell you that about Brade," John Quincy
said gently. "But it seemed necessary."
"Of course," she agreed. "Poor dad! He was weak—weak—"
"Forgive and forget," John Quincy suggested. "Man is a creature of
environment." He wondered dimly where he had heard that before.
"Your father was not entirely to blame—"
"You're terribly kind, John Quincy," she told him.
"No—but I mean it," he protested. "Just picture the scene to
yourself. That lonely ocean, wealth at his feet for the taking, no one
to see or know."
She shook her head. "Oh, but it was wrong, wrong. Poor Mr. Brade. I
must make things right with him as nearly as I can. I shall ask Harry
to talk with him to-morrow—"
"Just a suggestion," interposed John Quincy. "Whatever you agree to
do for Brade must not be done until the man who killed your father
is found."
She stared at him. "What! You don't think that Brade—"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. Brade is unable to prove where he
was early last Tuesday morning."
They sat silent for a moment; then the girl suddenly collapsed and
buried her face in her hands. Her slim shoulders trembled
convulsively and John Quincy, deeply sympathetic, moved closer. He
put his arm about her. The moonlight shone on her bright hair, the
trades whispered in the hau tree, the breakers murmured on the
beach. She lifted her face, and he kissed her. A cousinly kiss he had
meant it to be, but somehow it wasn't—it was a kiss he would never
have been up to on Beacon Street.
"Miss Minerva said I'd find you here," remarked a voice behind them.
John Quincy leaped to his feet and found himself staring into the
cynical eyes of Harry Jennison. Even though you are the girl's
cousin, it is a bit embarrassing to have a man find you kissing his
fiancée. Particularly if the kiss wasn't at all cousinly—John Quincy
wondered if Jennison had noticed that.
"Come in—I mean, sit down," stammered John Quincy. "I was just
going."
"Good-by," said Jennison coldly.
John Quincy went hastily through the living-room, where Miss
Minerva sat with Amos. "Got an appointment down-town," he
explained, and picking up his hat in the hall, fled into the night.
He had intended taking the roadster, but to reach the garage he
would have to pass that bench under the hau tree. Oh, well, the
colorful atmosphere of a trolley was more interesting, anyhow.
In the cable office on the ground floor of the Alexander Young Hotel,
Chan was waiting, and they sent off their inquiry to the postmaster
at Des Moines, signing John Quincy's name and address. That
attended to, they returned to the street. In the park across the way
an unseen group of young men strummed steel guitars and sang in
soft haunting voices; it was the only sign of life in Honolulu.
"Kindly deign to enter hotel lobby with me," suggested Chan. "It is
my custom to regard names in register from time to time."
At the cigar stand just inside the door, the boy paused to light his
pipe, while Chan went on to the desk. As John Quincy turned he saw
a man seated alone in the lobby, a handsome, distinguished man
who wore immaculate evening clothes that bore the stamp of Bond
Street. An old acquaintance, Captain Arthur Temple Cope.
At sight of John Quincy, Cope leaped to his feet and came forward.
"Hello, I'm glad to see you," he cried, with a cordiality that had not
been evident at former meetings. "Come over and sit down."
John Quincy followed him. "Aren't you back rather soon?" he
inquired.
"Sooner than I expected," Cope rejoined. "Not sorry, either."
"Then you didn't care for your little flock of islands?"
"My boy, you should visit there. Thirty-five white men, two hundred
and fifty natives, and a cable station. Jolly place of an evening,
what?"
Chan came up, and John Quincy presented him. Captain Cope was
the perfect host. "Sit down, both of you," he urged. "Have a
cigarette." He extended a silver case.
"Thanks, I'll stick to the pipe," John Quincy said. Chan gravely
accepted a cigarette and lighted it.
"Tell me, my boy," Cope said when they were seated, "is there
anything new on the Winterslip murder? Haven't run down the guilty
man, by any chance."
"No, not yet," John Quincy replied.
"That's a great pity. I—er—understand the police are holding a chap
named Egan?"
"Yes—Jim Egan, of the Reef and Palm Hotel."
"Just what evidence have they against Egan, Mr. Winterslip?"
John Quincy was suddenly aware of Chan looking at him in a
peculiar way. "Oh, they've dug up several things," he answered
vaguely.
"Mr. Chan, you are a member of the police force," Captain Cope
went on. "Perhaps you can tell me?"
Chan's little eyes narrowed. "Such matters are not yet presented to
public," he replied.
"Ah, yes, naturally." Captain Cope's tone suggested disappointment.
"You have interest in this murder, I think?" Chan said.
"Why, yes—every one out this way is puzzling about it, I fancy. The
thing has so many angles."
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