James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

Our enemies work like that: a life for a life. You must remember also Mr. Jaffe had 8,000 piastres on him..?

“What makes you say that?” Hambley snapped. “If your theory is right, he drew the money out to give to the boy. Surely the boy would have taken it before forcing Jaffe to drive to the police post?”

The Inspector inclined his head. He warned himself to be careful. This young man wasn’t quite the fool the Inspector thought he was.

“It is immaterial, Lieutenant, whether Mr. Jaffe or the boy had the money. One of them had it during the drive because there is no trace of it in the villa. I think Mr. Jaffe retained it when he was threatened with the gun. He could have said he hadn’t been able to raise such a sum. I think when the bandits found he had killed Haum and when they searched him and found the money, they killed him. The bandits would divide up the money between themselves before returning to headquarters. If they took Mr. Jaffe back alive, he would tell their leader about the money and the leader would recover it from his men and keep it for himself. It would be more convenient for the bandits for Mr. Jaffe to die. I feel certain that is what happened.”

Hambley rubbed his jaw while he stared at the Inspector.

“You sure have got this buttoned up haven’t you?” he said. “How about the suitcase and the shaving kit?”

“It was the intention of the Viet Minh to hold Mr. Jaffe to ransom. He would have been well cared for: naturally he would want his shaving things and a change of clothing. No doubt Haum had these packed ready when Mr. Jaffe returned to the villa.”

“And the girl and the cook?”

“They were waverers, Lieutenant. My converted informant told me that both of them would have become converts but for Haum’s influence. Once they knew he was dead, there was nothing to stop them leaving the Viet Minh influence. They were killed no doubt by orders from Hanoi as examples to waverers.”

Hambley took off his service cap and ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. This little monkey could be right, he was thinking. It’s a fantastic story but it holds together. If Jaffe was a queer we don’t want it spread around. It wouldn’t look so hot to have all that dirt in the newspapers.

Watching him, the Inspector saw that he had succeeded in switching the Lieutenant’s attention and interest into much less dangerous channels. He would have to see the Colonel immediately and report the interview. He only hoped the Colonel would agree and support the story he had manufactured.

Hambley got to his feet.

“I’ll have to report this,” he said.

“Of course,” the Inspector said. “Colonel On-dinh-Khuc will send in a confidential report covering all these points I have raised. Your Embassy can be sure there will be no undesirable publicity given to this unfortunate affair. If it is thought necessary we can produce proof that Mr. Jaffe was a degenerate. The reward in this morning’s papers has brought forward a number of people who have had associations with Mr. Jaffe and they would be prepared to testify, but I suggest it would be better to let the matter rest where it is. In the meantime you can rely on me to continue my search for Mr. Jaffe’s body.”

“Yeah,” Hambley said. “Well, okay. Be seeing you, Inspector,” and straightenening his cap, he shook hands with the Inspector and left.

The Inspector stood for some moments looking through the window until he heard the jeep drive away, then he walked slowly over to the picture on the wall and regarded it. It was fortunate, he thought, that the Lieutenant hadn’t thought of taking the picture down. It would have been very awkward if he had found the hole in the wall.

He stepped up to the picture and lifted it slightly, looking under it. The solid wall that met his gaze came as a shock to him. There was no sign that yesterday there had been a hole in the wall. Whoever had repaired the wall had been a highly skilled craftsman.

As he settled the picture back into place, the Inspector remembered that Lam-Than’s brother was an interior decorator.

With a troubled expression in his small black eyes, he left the villa and drove rapidly back to Security Police Headquarters.

Outside the Saigon airport, Blackie Lee sat in his car and picked his teeth with a splinter of bamboo. He was waiting impatiently for the passengers from the newly-arrived aircraft from Hong Kong to pass through the Customs and Immigration barriers.

He had already caught sight of his brother, Charlie, as he had left the aircraft. It was a great weight off Blackie’s mind that Charlie had answered his S 0 S so promptly.

Charlie Lee was five years older than his brother: a more serious and ambitious man, but not nearly so well off as Blackie.

The trouble with Charlie, Blackie had often said to Yu-lan, is he won’t get down to a real job of work. He’s always looking for quick, big, easy money. He is always messing around with white elephants hoping that one of his crack-brain schemes will land him into the big money. He is always spoiling his chances by chasing the gold at the foot of a rainbow when he should have opened up a dance hall in Hong Kong the way I wanted him to.

But with a job like this one - the job of getting the American to Hong Kong - Blackie could think of no one more likely to find a solution to the problem than Charlie. If Charlie couldn’t dream up something, then the American was as good as dead.

He watched Charlie come out of the airport, pause and look around. He thought his brother looked a trifle thinner and a little more shabby than when he had last seen him four months ago.

Charlie spotted the American car and came over; Blackie got out and greeted him. The two men stood in the hot sun and talked for a few minutes. They inquired after each other’s health, then Charlie inquired after Yu-lan who he liked. Neither of them mentioned the urgent cable Blackie had sent asking his brother to drop everything and come at once.

They got into the car and drove without haste back to the club. During the drive, Blackie asked how business was, and Charlie, with a resigned lift of his hands, admitted it wasn’t good at the moment. He was having trouble with his team of rickshaw boys. Sooner or later the rickshaw would go: traffic in Hong Kong was becoming increasingly congested and was gradually edging the rickshaw off the streets. The boys knew this. They were demanding higher pay to have something to fall back on when they could no longer work. The four girls Charlie protected were also making trouble. Since the publication of that book about a prostitute in Hong Kong, the American authorities had forbidden all.American sailors in uniform to enter any of the hotels where he girls worked. This ruling had a had effect on business and to make matters worse the girls were demanding a higher percentage.

Blackie listened, grunting in sympathy from time to time. They were still discussing Charlie’s affairs as they climbed the stairs to the club where Yu-Ian greeted Charlie affectionately.

Lunch was ready and the three sat down and ate through eight courses of immaculately prepared food. Little was said during the meal and when it was finished the two brothers retired to Blackie’s office while Yu-Ian went to her room for a siesta. Charlie sat in the most comfortable chair while Blackie sat behind his desk. He offered a cigar which Charlie accepted.

There was a short silence while Charlie lit the cigar, then he said, “There is something perhaps that I can do for you?”

Blackie immediately got down to business. With admirable clarity, he told his brother Jaffe’s story. He gave his brother every scrap of information he had been able to gather without complicating the facts with his own thoughts or opinions.