Soo Hoo Duck’s eyes stared steadily at Ngat T’oy. He didn’t speak.
“My father says,” Ngat T’oy went on, “that facts are food for thought which the mind of the truly wise man digests into wisdom.”
I said, “I’m afraid my digestion is not too good.”
She said nothing, merely waited.
“Oh, well” — I surrendered — “Betty Crofath was on the trail of something big. She was afraid. She got in touch with Daphne Strate because she was afraid. Daphne has lied to me. I don’t know where the truth leaves off and the lies begin. Daphne has some hold on Benjamin Ruttling, the president of the chemical company. She knew I was going to see Ruttling. I delivered my message to Whitney, Ruttling’s secretary. It brought Ruttling to me on the run. But, before I reached him, something happened. That something must have been a telephone call from Daphne herself. Ruttling played with me as a cat plays with a mouse. And Daphne gave me the double-cross.
“Betty Crofath had something. She was playing a shrewd game, evidently posing as a neutral, possibly Swedish. She was on the trail of something that was carefully developed for months. There must have been something — some map, some clue, some documentary evidence. Daphne Strate must have that. She must know its value, and she is going to use it to feather her nest. She may offer it to us, but not until she sees how much the other side will pay to get it back... Unless Genevieve Hotling is the one who has it, and the one who telephoned Ruttling.”
Ngat T’oy translated.
Soo Hoo Duck mumbled in Chinese, “The cat which has eaten the canary always starts purring.”
Ngat T’oy said, “Which one of the women will be the first to buy new clothes, Ed?”
I said, “It isn’t that. It’s bigger and deeper than that. I don’t think the canary has been eaten — not yet. The person who got the information Betty Crofath had hasn’t been able to use it. That may be just a hunch, but it’s my best guess.”
“What makes you say that, Ed?”
I said in Chinese, “When the canary cage is open and none of the cats are purring, it is a good sign the bird has flown out the window.”
I felt Soo Hoo Duck’s shrewd eyes fastened on mine, probing my thoughts.
I said, “I have looked up The Bak Shui Wong Chemical Company. It had headquarters in Shanghai. Ostensibly, it is still Chinese, but you know what must have happened to the control of that company. It has extensive trade in Argentina. Large stocks were piled up there for distribution before transportation difficulties developed.”
Ngat T’oy flashed a glance at her father. “You have a plan, Ed?”
I nodded. “I will be the canary,” I said, “and see which cat tries to pounce upon me when I am not looking.”
There was a moment of silence, then Soo Hoo Duck’s hands moved once more over the map. The nail sheaths made his motions slightly awkward as he fumbled over a carved ivory rosebud in the decorations of the inlaid table.
His thumb joint pressed down. I heard a metallic click, and the drawer slid open. It was filled to the brim with currency. Soo Hoo Duck said nothing.
Ngat T’oy’s delicate fingers scooped out the large denomination bills. “You will,” she said, “need the sinews of war. As a canary, you must have golden feathers, Ed.”
Chapter Ten
A full moon riding high in the heavens turned Lake Pontchartrain into a pathway of gold. The New Orleans airport loomed ahead and the plane dipped its nose.
The stewardess came by, adjusting the dark curtains over the windows. “Sony,” she apologized, “but we have to come down with the passengers blind.”
I said, “You got my wire off to Mr. Holaberry?”
“Oh, yes. That went hours ago,” she assured me.
The motors gave forth that peculiar swishing sound which is so characteristic of a big plane coming down. A few moments later, a series of faint, muffled jolts running up through the plane indicated that we had landed.
It was still a long, tedious ride to the city, but when I arrived, my reservations were waiting for me. I had just finished with the luxury of a good tub bath when the telephone rang and Randolph Holaberry was on the line.
“Is it too late to run up for a chat, Mr. Sabin?” he inquired.
“No. I was rather hoping you’d call. You got my wire?”
“Yes. I’ll be right up.”
He was a brisk, alert chap in the late forties, with the restrained, jovial manner of a man who wants to be the perfect host and furnish just the right entertainment, but is carefully feeling his way.
“You’re familiar with New Orleans?” he asked.
“I’ve been here several times.”
“We have some unique night spots in the Vieux Carré.”
“I know you have.”
“Some of the atmosphere has been ruined by the influx of such a large number of people — conditions due to the war and all that — but you can still find — well, just about anything you may be looking for.”
His eyes, slate-gray, prominent and alert, twinkled at me from behind rimless spectacles.
“So I understand. I’m afraid I won’t have time to do much prowling. I’m leaving almost immediately.”
“Your wire said you were interested in detergents?”
“That’s right. In quantity, delivered at Buenos Aires.”
“I think we could make you a very attractive offer.”
“You have an agency there?”
“A distributor. We, of course, would work very closely with our distributor on matters of this kind.”
“My purchases,” I said, “would run somewhere around twenty-five hundred dollars a month — in gold.”
“Could you tell me something of the nature of your business?”
“Not now. I want to know just what you manufacture, and get your prices first. I presume you’d want to get in touch with your South American distributor,” I said.
“Well... well, yes and no. However, I can give you approximate data.”
He was fumbling with the snaps of a brief case as he talked. Once the fastenings came off the case, he was the suave, persuasive manager of an important business. He took out illustrated folders, showed me his line, showed me testimonials, gave me interesting information on competitive prices, on local conditions, on shipments and deliveries.
“I see,” I said at length, “that your line is most complete. Have you made any attempt to segregate those chemicals that are dangerous?”
“What do you mean by being dangerous?” he wanted to know.
“Poisonous.”
“No. Many of them are very deadly to man. We, of course, see that purchasers of those chemicals are duly warned.”
“There isn’t anything then in the shape of tablets that might be confused with...”
“Oh, no. Our stuff is in bulk. Wait a minute — we have one chemical that is put up in small, white tablets that is — well, it could be...”
“Poisonous?”
“Well, yes.”
“In small doses?”
“Yes.”
“What would the symptoms be?”
“Something similar to an overdose of sleeping medicine, I believe. And, of course, there are some of the cyanides... But surely, Mr. Sabin, you aren’t apprehensive that...”
“I am,” I interrupted. “I insist that any company with which I do business shall take all responsibilities in connection with labeling. The laws of various countries differ, and I am not familiar in detail with the laws of Argentina in this respect.”
His face showed relief. “Have no fear, Mr. Sabin. We will assume all responsibility.”
An hour later, he extended his hand and clasped mine in a cordial handshake. “That will give you a general idea,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow around ten o’clock. By that time, you’ll have had a chance to think things over.”