A Coffin from Hong Kong / Гроб из Гонконга. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“Did Mr. Jefferson give him what he asked for?”

“Oh yes. Whenever he was asked, he always sent money.”

“From these letters,” I said, touching the letters, “Herman seems to have asked for money once a year. Were the sums substantial?”

“Never more than five hundred dollars.”

“He couldn’t have lived on that for a year. He must have earned something besides.”

“I suppose so.”

I rubbed my jaw while I stared out of the window, my mind busy.

“There’s not much to go on, is there?” I said finally. Then I asked the question I had been wanting to ask since I had become aware of her nearly concealed tension. “Did you know Herman Jefferson personally?”

That got a reaction. I saw her stiffen slightly and the remoteness went out of her eyes for a brief moment, but came back.

“Why, yes, of course. I have been with Mr. Jefferson for eight years. Herman lived here before he went out East. Yes: I knew him.”

“What sort of man was he? His father says he was wild[56] but he now thinks if he had been more understanding his son wouldn’t have been so wild. Do you agree?”

Her eyes flashed suddenly and I was startled to see how hard she could look when she let her mask slip.

“Mr. Jefferson was very shocked to learn his son was dead,” she said, her voice sharp. “At the moment he is feeling sentimental. Herman was vicious, callous and amoral. He was a thief. He stole money from his father: he even stole money from me. It is hard to believe he was Mr. Jefferson’s son. Mr. Jefferson is a fine man: he has never done a mean thing in his life!”

I found her intensity slightly embarrassing.

“Well, thanks,” I said and got to my feet. “I’ll do my best for Mr. Jefferson, but I’ll have to have some luck.”

She flicked through a pile of signed cheques, found one and pushed it across the desk.

“Mr. Jefferson wishes to pay you a retainer. I will have your air ticket ready when you let me know when you can leave. If you need more money, please let me know.”

I looked at the cheque. It was signed by her and for a thousand dollars.

“I’m not this expensive,” I said. “Three hundred would have been enough.”

“Mr. Jefferson told me he wanted you to have it,” she said as if she had handed me five bucks.

“Well, I never refuse money.” I looked at her. “You handle Mr. Jefferson’s affairs?”

“I’m his secretary,” she said, a curt note in her voice.

“Well…” There didn’t seem anything to say to that, so instead, I said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I know when I can leave.”

As I was moving to the door, she said, “Was she very pretty?”

For a moment I didn’t catch on[57], then I looked quickly at her. She sat still, and there was a curious expression in her eyes I couldn’t read.

“His wife? I guess so. Some Chinese women are very attractive. She was – even in death.”

“I see.”

She picked up her fountain pen and pulled the triple cheque book towards her. It was her way of dismissing me.

I found the butler waiting for me in the hall. He let me out with a slight bow. No one could ever accuse him of being over-talkative.

I walked slowly to my car. That last scrap of dialogue had been enlightening. I was suddenly sure at one time or the other Janet West and Herman Jefferson had been lovers. The news of his marriage and his death must have been as great a shock to her as it had been to old man Jefferson. This was an unexpected and interesting development. I decided it might pay off[58] to know something more about Janet West.

I got into my car and drove to police headquarters. I had to wait half an hour before I could see Retnick. I found him at his desk, chewing a dead cigar and in a depressed mood. “I don’t know if I want to waste time with you, shamus,” he said as I shut the door and came over to his desk. “What do you want?”

“I’m now employed by J. Wilbur Jefferson,” I said. “I thought you should know.”

His face hardened.

“If you foul up my investigation, Ryan,” he said, “I’ll see you lose your licence. I’m warning you.” He paused, then went on, “What’s he paying you?”

I sat down on the upright chair.

“Enough. I won’t have a chance to foul up anything. I’m going to Hong Kong.”

“Who wouldn’t be a peeper[59]”, he said. “Hong Kong, eh? Wouldn’t mind going there myself. What do you imagine you’ll do when you get there?”

“The old man wants to know who the girl is. He thinks we won’t get anywhere until I’ve dug up her background and taken a look at it. He could be right.”

Retnick fidgeted with a ball-pen for some moments, then he said, “It’ll be a waste of money and time, but I don’t suppose that’ll worry you as long as you get paid.”

“It won’t,” I said cheerfully. “He can afford to indulge his whims and I can afford the time. I might even strike lucky.”

“I know as much about her as you’ll ever find out. I didn’t have to go to Hong Kong to find out either. All I had to do was to send a cable.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Her name was Jo-An Cheung – that’s a hell of a name, isn’t it? Three years ago she was caught landing in Hong Kong from a junk from Macau. She spent six weeks in jail and was then given papers. She worked as a taxi dancer at the Pagoda Club and that probably means she was a prostitute.” He scratched his ear, looking out of the window for some moments before going on. “She married Jefferson before the American Consul on the 21st of September of last year. They lived together at a Chinese joint called the Celestial Empire Hotel. Jefferson seems to have had no work. He probably lived on what she earned and what he picked up from his old man. On September 6th of this year, he was killed in a car smash and she applied to the American Consul for permission to take his body back to his home. That’s the story. Why go to Hong Kong?”

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