Port O' Gold Part 48

"You must come at once," she panted. "Robert has been robbed of an important letter to the bank. They talk of arresting him.... Ralston wants you at his office."

CHAPTER LXIII

LEES SOLVES A MYSTERY

In the president's office at the Bank of California, Benito found his son, pale but intrepid. He was being questioned by William Sharon and a postoffice inspector. Ralston, hands crammed into trousers pockets, paced the room disturbedly.

"You admit, then, that the envelope was given you?" Sharon was asking truculently as Benito entered.

"Yes," said Robert, "I remember seeing such a letter as I packed my mail."

"Humph!" exclaimed Sharon. He seemed about to ask another question, but the postal official antic.i.p.ated him. "Explain what happened after you left the mail station."

"Nothing much ... I walked up Washington street as usual. On the edge of Chinatown a woman stopped me ... asked me how to get to Market street."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all," said Robert. "She seemed confused by our criss-cross streets. I had to tell her several times ... to point the way before she understood."

"And nothing else happened?"

"Nothing else--except that Mr. Ralston asked me for the letter. Said he was expecting it.... I searched my bag but couldn't find it."

"Tell us more about this woman. Give us a description of her."

"Spanish type," said Robert tersely. "Very pleasant; smiled a lot and had gold fillings in her teeth. Must have been quite handsome when she was young."

The inspector stroked his chin reflectively. "Didn't set the bag down, did you? ... when you pointed out the way, for instance?"

"Let me see.... Why, yes--I did. I hadn't thought of that...."

Captain of Detectives I.W. Lees was making a record for himself among the nation's crime-detectors. He was a swarthy little man, implacable as an Indian and as pertinacious on a trail. He never forgot a face and no amount of disguise could hide its ident.i.ty from his penetrating glance.

Without great vision or imagination, he knew criminals as did few other men; could reason from cause to effect within certain channels, unerringly. He was heartless, ruthless--some said venal. But he caught and convicted felons, solved the problems of his office by a dogged perseverance that ignored defeat. For, with a mind essentially tricky, he antic.i.p.ated tricksters--unless their operations were beyond his scope.

It was 10 o'clock at night, but he was still at work upon a case which, up to now, had baffled him--a case of opium smuggling--when Robert and Benito entered. At first he listened to them inattentively. But at Robert's story of the woman, he became electrified.

"Rose Terranza! Dance hall girl back in the Eldorado days! Queen of the Night Life under half a dozen names! Smiling Rose, some called her. Good clothes and gold in her teeth! I've her picture--wait a minute." He pulled a cord; a bell jangled somewhere. An officer entered.

Chinatown at midnight. Dark and narrow streets; fat, round paper lanterns here and there above dim doorways; silent forms, soft-shuffling, warily alert.

"Wait one minee," said Po Lun. "I find 'em door."

Following the Chinaman were Captain Lees, with his half a dozen "plain clothes men," Benito, Robert and the mail inspector. Presently Po spoke again. "Jus' alound co'ne'" (corner), he whispered. "Me go ahead. Plitty soon you come. You hea' me makem noise ... allee same cat."

Lees descried him as he paused before a dimly lighted door. Evidently he was challenged; gave a countersign. For the door swung back. Po Lun pa.s.sed through. Nothing happened for a time. Then a piercing feline wail stabbed through the night.

"M-i-i-a-o-w-r-r-r!"

Lees sprang forward, pressed his weight against the partly-open portal; flashed his dark lantern on two figures struggling violently. His hand fell on the collar of Po Lun's antagonist; a policeman's "billy" cracked upon his skull. "Tie and gag him," said the captain. "Leave a man on guard.... The rest of you come on."

Po Lun leading, they went, single file through utter blackness. Now and then the white disc of Lees' lantern, now in Po Lun's hand, gleamed like a guiding will-o-wisp upon the tortuous path.

Suddenly Benito felt the presence of new personalities. They seemed to be in a room with other people. Several dark lamps flashed at Po Lun's signal. They revealed a room sumptuously furnished. Teakwood chairs, with red embroidered backs and cushions, stood about the walls. Handsome gilded grillwork screened a boudoir worthy of a queen. Clad in the laciest of robes de chambre, a dark-skinned woman sat on the edge of a canopied bed. She was past her first youth, but still of remarkable beauty. At the foot of the bed stood McTurpin--pale ghost of his former self. He looked like a cornered rat ... and quite as dangerous. Two Chinese were crouched against a lacquered screen.

"What do you want?" asked the woman, her voice shrill with anger.

"Take your hand out from under that pillow!" ordered Lees. "No nonsense, Smiling Rose."

Reluctantly the ringed and tapered fingers that had clutched apparently a hidden weapon came into view. "Light the lamps," said Lees, and one of his men performed this office.

"That's the woman, father," spoke young Robert, unexpectedly.

"Put the bracelets on her," ordered Lees, "and search the place." A man stepped forward.

But they had not counted on McTurpin. "Let her be," he screamed. A pistol flashed. The officer went down at Rose's feet.

Instantly there was confusion. The room was filled with shuffling Oriental figures. The lights went out. Powder-flashes leaped like fireflies in the darkness. Through it all Lees could be heard profanely giving orders.

Then, as swiftly, it was over. Somewhere a door closed. Lees leaped forward just in time to hear an iron bar clang into place.

"Gone," he muttered, as his light searched vainly for the woman.

"Who's that on the bed?" asked Benito.

"The cursed opium-wreck, McTurpin," Lees replied impatiently. "I planted him when I saw d.i.c.k go down." He bent above the wounded officer while Benito relighted the lamps and examined curiously the body of his ancient enemy. For McTurpin was dead. He had evidently tried to reach the woman as he fell. His clawlike fingers clutched, in rigor mortis, her abandoned robe. On the floor, where it had fallen from her bosom, doubtless in the hasty flight, there lay a crumpled, bloodstained envelope. Robert springing forward, seized it with an exclamation. It was addressed to William C. Ralston.

CHAPTER LXIV

AN IDOL TOPPLES

News had come in early spring of Robert Windham senior's death in Monterey; less than two months afterward his wife, Anita, lay beside him in the Spanish cemetery.

The old Californians were pa.s.sing; here and there some venerable Hidalgo played the host upon broad acres as in ancient days and came to San Francisco, booted, spurred, attended by a guard of vaqueros. But a new generation gazed at him curiously and, after a lonely interval, he departed.

Market street was now a lordly thoroughfare; horse-cars jingled merrily along the leading streets. Up Clay street ran that wonder of the age, a cable-tram invented by old Hallidie, the engineer. They had made game of him for years until he demonstrated his invention for the conquering of hills. Now the world was seeking him to solve its transportation problems.

Ralston, as usual, was riding on the crest of fortune. His was a veritable l.u.s.t for city building. Each successive day he founded some new enterprise.

"Like a master juggler," said Benito to his wife, "he keeps a hundred interests in the air. Let's see. There are the Mission Woolen Mills, the Kimball Carriage Works, the Cornell Watch Factory--of all things--the West Coast Furniture plant, the San Francisco Sugar Refinery, the Grand Hotel, a dry dock at Hunter's Point, the California Theater, a reclamation scheme at Sherman Island, the San Joaquin Valley irrigating system, the Rincon Hill cut, the extension of Montgomery street ..." he checked them off on his fingers, pausing finally for lack of breath.