The Jap waved his hands in an eloquent oriental gesture. He assured the honorable questioner that he did not know any Mr. Mercer. There was no one in the house.
The colonel had seated himself in a priceless arm-chair in Cordova stamped leather; he no longer looked like an invalid. “Show your star, please,” he commanded Birdsall, and the latter silently flung back the lapel of his coat.
“I ought to tell you,” continued Rupert Winter, “that the game is up. It would do no good for you to run that poisoned bit of steel of yours into me or into any of us; we have only to stay here a little too long and the police of San Francisco will be down on you—oh, I know all about what sort they are, but we have money to spend as well as you. You take the note I shall write to Mr. Mercer, or whatever you choose to call him, and bring his answer. We stay here until he comes.”
Having thus spoken in an even, gentle voice, he scribbled a few words on a piece of paper which he took out of his note-book. This he proffered to the Jap.
On his part, the latter kept his self-respect; he abated no jot of his assurance that they were alone in the house; he insinuated his suspicion that they were there for no honest purpose; finally he was willing to search the house if they would stay where they were.
“I am not often mistaken in people,” was the colonel’s rather oblique answer, “and I think you are a gentleman who might kill me if you had a chance, but would not break his word to me. If you will promise to play fair with us, do no harm to my nephew, take this letter and bring me an answer—if you find any one—on your word of honor as a Japanese soldier and gentleman, you may go; we will not signal the police. Is it a bargain?”
The Jap gravely assented, still in the language of the East, “saving his face” by the declaration of the absence of his principals. And he went off as gracefully and courteously as if only the highest civilities had passed between them.
“Won’t he try some skin game on us?” the detective questioned; but Winter only motioned toward the telephone desk. “Listen at it,” he said, “you can tell if the wires are cut; and he knows your men are outside hiding, somewhere; he doesn’t know how many. You see, we have the advantage of them there; to be safe they don’t dare to let many people into their secret. We can have a whole gang. We haven’t many, but they may think we have.”
Birdsall, who had lifted the receiver to his ear, laid it down with an appeased nod. Immediately he proceeded to satisfy his professional conscience by a search in every nook and cranny of the apartment. But no result appeared important enough to justify the production of his red morocco note-book and his fountain-pen. He had paused in disgust when the colonel sat up suddenly, erect in his chair; his keener ears had caught some sound which made him dart to all the windows in succession. He called Haley (whom he had posted outside to guard the door) and despatched him across the hall to reconnoiter. “I am sure it was the sound of wheels,” he explained, “but Haley will be too late; we are on the wrong side of the house.”
As he spoke the buzz of an electric bell jarred their ears. “Somebody is coming in the front door,” hazarded Birdsall.