Behind That Curtain by Earl Der Biggers Page A

sir.”

Chapter 4

THE RECKONING OF HEAVEN
    Barry Kirk stood looking about his office; he found it difficult to believe that into this commonplace, familiar room, tragedy had found its way. Yet there was that silent figure on the floor, a few moments before so full of life and energy.
    â€œPoor Sir Frederic,” he said. “Only today he told me he was near the end of a long trail. Nearer than he dreamed, it appears.” He stopped. “A long trail, Sergeant,—only a few of us know how far back into the past this thing must reach.”
    Chan nodded. He had been consulting a huge gold watch; now he snapped shut the case and restored it to his pocket. “Death is the reckoning of heaven,” he remarked. “On this occasion, a most complicated reckoning.”
    â€œWell, what shall we do?” Kirk asked helplessly. “The police, I suppose. But good lord—this is a case beyond any policeman I ever met. Any uniformed man, I mean.” He paused, and a grim smile flashed across his face. “It looks very much to me, Mr. Chan, as though you would have to take charge and—”
    A stubborn light leaped into the little black eyes. “Miss Morrow is above,” said Chan. “What a happy chance, since she is from the district attorney’s office. If I may humbly suggest—”
    â€œOh, I never thought of that.” Kirk turned to his servant. “Paradise, ask Miss Morrow to come here. Make my excuses to my guests, and ask them to wait.”
    â€œVery good, sir,” replied Paradise, and departed.
    Kirk walked slowly about the room. The drawers of the big desk were open and their contents jumbled. “Somebody’s been on a frantic search here,” he said. He paused before the safe; its door was slightly ajar.
    â€œSafe stands open,” suggested Chan.
    â€œOdd about that,” said Kirk. “This afternoon Sir Frederic asked me to take out anything of value and move it upstairs. I did so. He didn’t explain.”
    â€œOf course,” nodded Chan. “And at the dinner table he makes uncalled-for reference to fact that he has not locked safe. The matter struck me at the time. One thing becomes clear—Sir Frederic desired to set a trap. A safe unlocked to tempt marauders.” He nodded to the small volume that lay at the dead man’s side. “We must disturb nothing. Do not touch, but kindly regard book and tell me where last reposing.”
    Kirk leaned over. “That? Why, it’s the year-book of the Cosmopolitan Club. It was usually in that revolving case on which the telephone stands. It can’t mean anything.”
    â€œMaybe not. Maybe”—Chan’s little eyes narrowed—“a hint from beyond the unknown.”
    â€œI wonder,” mused Kirk.
    â€œSir Frederic was guest of Cosmopolitan Club?”
    â€œYes—I gave him a two weeks’ card. He wrote a lot of his letters there. But—but—I can’t see—”
    â€œHe was clever man. Even in moment of passing, his dying hand would seek to leave behind essential clue.”
    â€œSpeaking of that,” said Kirk, “how about those velvet slippers? Where are they?”
    Chan shrugged. “Slippers were essential clue in one case, long ago. What did they lead to? Positively nothing. If I am suiting my own taste, this time I look elsewhere.”
    Miss Morrow entered the room. Her face was usually full of color—an authentic color that is the gift of the fog to San Francisco’s daughters. Now it was deathly pale. Without speaking, she stepped beyond the desk and looked down. For a moment she swayed, and Barry Kirk leaped forward.
    â€œNo, no,” cried the girl.
    â€œBut I thought—” he began.
    â€œYou thought I was going to faint. Absurd. This is my work—it has come to me and I shall do it. You believe I can’t—”
    â€œNot at all,” protested Kirk.
    â€œOh, yes