A COFFIN FROM HONG KONG

“Well, of course, putting it like that, I see what you mean.” He ran his hand over his crew- cut and then putting on an expression of a virtuous man who has no truck with scandal, he said, “Herman and Janet West had an affair about nine years ago. There was a baby. Herman ducked out of it and she went to his father who was horrified. The baby died. The old man insisted that Herman should marry the girl, but Herman flatly refused. I think the old man rather fell for her himself. Anyway, he took her into his home and made her his secretary. Herman told me about it. He was mad that his father should bring the girl into his home. I guess the old man hoped Herman would have a change of heart and marry her, but when finally the nickel dropped and he realised Herman wasn’t going to, he fixed for Herman to go East. Janet has been with the old man ever since.”

“She’s attractive,” I said. “I’m surprised she hasn’t married.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. The old man wouldn’t like it. He depends on her, and after all, there is no one else for him to leave his millions to now Herman’s dead.”

“There isn’t?” I tried to conceal my interest. “He must have some relations.”

“No. I used to know the family pretty well. Herman told me he would inherit as there were no other claimants. I bet Janet will pick up quit? a tidy slice when the old man goes.”

“Pretty lucky for her Herman’s wife can’t claim it.”

He looked startled.

“I hadn’t thought of that angle. Not much chance. I can’t imagine the old man would have left a Chinese woman anything.”

“As Herman’s wife, she could make a claim. If the judge was sympathetic, she could have got away with it.”

The door on the right opened and a girl came in with a pile of letters to be signed. She was the kind of girl I would expect Wayde to employ: mousey, scared and with glasses.

I got up as she put the letters on the desk.

“I must run along,” I said. “Be seeing you.”

“Are- there any further developments?” he asked as the girl left the room. “Have the police got any clues?”

“Not a thing. The inquest is for tomorrow, but they’ll have to bring in a verdict of murder by persons unknown. It was a pretty neat killing.”

“I’ll say.” He drew the letters towards him. “If there is anything I can do . . .”

“I’ll let you know.”

Back in my office, I called Retnick and told him what I had learned about Janet West.

“The ball is in your court,” I said. “If I were you, I’d want to know where Miss West was at three o’clock when the Chinese woman died.”

There was a pause while I listened to his heavy breathing.

“But then you aren’t me,” he said finally. “See you at the inquest. Don’t forget to put on a clean shirt. The coroner’s a fussy son-of-a-bitch,” and he hung up.

As I had anticipated, the inquest went off without any fuss or excitement. A fat keen-eyed man who introduced himself to Retnick as Jefferson’s attorney sat at the back, but didn’t contribute anything to the proceedings. Janet West, looking pretty and efficient in a dark tailor-made, told the coroner more or less what she had told me. Retnick said his piece and I said mine. The inquest was adjourned for the police to make further inquiries. I had the feeling that no one was particularly interested that a Chinese refugee had been murdered.

When the coroner had left the court, I went over to Retnick who was gloomily poking a match amongst his teeth.

“Okay for me to leave town now?” I asked.

“Oh, sure,” he said indifferently. “Nothing to keep you here,” He looked slyly at Janet West, who was talking to Jefferson’s attorney. “Did you find out if she was in bed when the yellow skin got hers?”

“I’ll leave that to you.” I said. “Nov/s the time when she has an attorney with her. Step right up and ask her.”

He grinned, shaking his head.

“I’m not that crazy,” he said. “Have a good time. Watch out for the Chink girls. From what I hear they’re not only willing but wanton.”

He went off, giving Janet West and the attorney a wide berth. I hung around until the attorney had gone, then as Janet West was moving towards the exit, I joined her.

“I can get off tomorrow,” I said as she paused and looked at me with her quizzing remote eyes. “Any chance of a plane reservation?”

“Yes, Mr. Ryan. ‘I’ll have your ticket this evening. Is there anything else you want?”

“I’d like a photograph of Herman Jefferson. Can you fix that?”

“A photograph?” She seemed surprised.

“It could be useful. I’m getting a morgue shot of his wife. Photos are always useful when on a job like this.”

“Yes: I can get you one.”

“How would it be if we met somewhere down town this evening? It’ll save me driving out to your place. I’ve got a lot to do before I go. Suppose we say at the Astor Bar at eight?”

She hesitated, then nodded,

“Yes: then at eight.”

“Thanks: it’ll help a lot.”

She nodded again, gave me a cool little smile and walked away. I watched her get into a two-seater Jaguar and drive away.