"Charlie Chan - 7405 - The Temple Of The Golden Horde" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chan Charlie)

"Of course," the old man agreed, and stood up. He smiled now. "I am most grateful, Inspector."
Chan nodded, and the old man left the suite. After Soong had gone, Chan opened the heavy chest and looked again at the priceless scroll. He examined the heavy vellum, and the polished wood spindles it was rolled on. There was nothing unusual about either. He opened the scroll and read the ancient writing. It was slow work, Chan knew only a little ancient Mongolian, but the words seemed to be what they were supposed to be.
He closed the box, and went to the telephone again. Once more he dialed Betty Chan's number. There was still no answer. A trace of worry appeared on his smooth, ivory face. He got his black overcoat, picked up the box, and went out. He rode down in the elevator, and had the scroll placed in the hotel safe.
Then he went out into the cold sun and hailed a taxi.


VIII

BETTY CHAN lived in an old, three-story walk-up building on a narrow Chinatown Street near the edge of North Beach on one of the old Barbary Coast hills. Chan stood in a shadowed doorway across the street and watched the building and the street.
In the morning hours the street was thronged with the busy traffic and bustles of the crowded quarter, the hardworking Chinese-Americans hurrying to their destinations. Chan watched quietly, looking for any signs of the men who had been following Betty Chan, C.V. Soong, and himself. He didn't see a sign of them. The only men lounging on the crowded street, not hurrying past, were three Chinese youths in modern-American long hair and jeans and black leather jackets.
Chan noted these youths with a small sigh - the new ways of youth had reached even into the close-knit society of Chinatown. Chan neither approved nor objected to the new youth, he was only a little sad to see the good ways of the past fade away. It was inevitable, time and distance changed all, and an intelligent man did not oppose the inevitable, but a man could regret the loss of identity. The great culture of China had...
Chan saw the curtain move at a high window in Betty Chan's building. A quick movement, furtive, and it was the window of what had to be Betty Chan's own apartment!
Someone was in the girl's rooms, and there had been no answer to his telephone calls.
Chan watched.
The movement of the curtain came again!
Someone was looking down at the street. Chan tried the door behind him in the hidden doorway. It was open. He went through and along the corridor to the rear entrance. It opened out into one of the narrow back alleys of Chinatown, cluttered with trash cans and the high fire escapes.
Chan went along the alley to the cross street, walked back to the corner and across the street out of sight from Betty Chan's window. He slipped along in the shadow of the buildings to her entrance. No one seemed to be watching him, even the long-haired Chinese youth were gone now. He went into the building.
It was dim inside, the stairs up narrow and dirty. Nothing seemed to move in the corridors. Chan went up as silent as a ghost. On the landing below the girl's top-floor apartment, he stopped and listened. He heard nothing above. He went on up even more slowly.
There was a faint sound behind the closed door of Betty Chan's apartment. A soft sound like someone stepping quietly. Chan drew his small pistol. He went up to the third floor. Barely breathing, he listened just outside the door, and the sound came again - someone was walking very lightly inside the apartment as if on eggshells.
Chan saw the iron ladder up to the roof. He climbed it, pushed open the trap, and emerged onto the flat roof in the sun. The fire escape on this building was in the front. He had seen that from below. He went down cautiously, and crouched with his pistol ready outside Betty Chan's window.
It was the bedroom window, not the window where he had seen the curtain move. The small bedroom inside was spotlessly neat and empty, the door into the other room closed. Chan climbed inside and stood quietly. Then he saw Betty Chan's handbag and coat on the bed!
He stared at the handbag and coat for a time - what woman went out without her handbag? Or her coat on a cool day?
Chan looked at the closed door. Where was Betty Chan, and who was walking so softly out in the girl's living room?
The detective eased the safety off on his pistol, stepped close to the bedroom door. He listened again. He heard the clink of something metal against glass or china, armoire that was across the outside room from the bedroom door
Chan took a breath and opened the door.
He flung it open in a sweeping movement and jumped out into the living room with amazing agility for a man of his age and portliness.
The cup crashed to the floor, and a woman's scream echoed through the small living room.
"Do not move, please!" Chan commanded.
Then the detective blinked.
Betty Chan lay on the floor of her small kitchenette.
The girl had fainted There was no one else in the small apartment. Betty Chan was alone. It had been her scream; she had dropped the cup of tea and fainted dead away when Chan suddenly jumped into the room with his gun leveled.
Surprised, Chan hurried to her. He got some water from the sink and gently revived her. She stared up at him still with terror on her face.
"It is all right," Chan smiled. "Only Inspector Chan."
"I... I thought... you -"
Chan nodded. "Naturally you assumed I was an intruder I entered in so unfortunate a manner because my repeated telephone calls received no answer."
"It's not your fault, Inspector," Betty Chan said.
The girl got up by herself and sat down in the nearest chair. She lit a cigarette, and her hands shook as she smoked. She looked up at Chan.
"I was already frightened," she said nervously. "That's why I didn't answer my telephone this morning." She looked at Chan with her eyes wide and scared. "Inspector, someone's been watching me! Early this morning someone tried to enter my apartment! I bolted the door, pushed a chair against it, and screamed, and he ran away! But I've seen them outside, watching! I know it!"
"I'm not surprised, Betty," Chan said. "yesterday, when you left my hotel, I observed men following you. Later, a man followed me."
"Is that what you tried to call to tell me?" Chan nodded. The girl seemed to shudder. "Who could they be, and what do they want?" she said. "You think they might have... killed Benny?"
"Possibly. It's also possible they are agents of a foreign government and their purpose is to steal the valuable scroll Benny carried."
"But the scroll wasn't stolen, was it?"
"Perhaps Benny fooled them," Chan said.
"He would, you know! He was awful loyal to that Khan man, loved his job at the Temple," Betty said sadly, and then she shook her head. "Only, the men I saw watching me outside sure didn't look like foreign agents, Mr. Chan. They looked like thugs, you know, weird people all covered up in capes and big hats so I could hardly even see a face. Just standing down in the street last night late, not even hiding."
"Capes and hats? You are sure? They weren't men in very ordinary suits? One tall and wearing a brown suit? Carrying, perhaps, newspapers? Very casual?"
"Oh no, nothing at all like that, Inspector. These men were really weird, scary, and they acted like they wanted me to see them. The one who tried to break in made almost no sound when he ran away, like he was wearing sneakers."
Chan sat down slowly. He sat facing the young girl. His veiled eyes were points like dark stone. He seemed to be lost in thought for some minutes as he watched Betty Chan.
"You have never seen these men before?"
"No. I... They scared me, and I think they wanted to."
"Betty, think very deeply. When Benny returned from Hawaii, did he contact you? Did he, possibly, call you from Hawaii? Did anything happen that was unusual? Anything to indicate that Benny had done anything, was frightened of anyone?"