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

Betty Chan told him how to reach the temple on Half Moon Bay, and gave him the name of Lieutenant Forbes of the Highway Patrol barrack at Half Moon Bay as the man in charge of the case.
"You'll go now, Inspector?"
"No, but soon. I have a speech to give early this afternoon, then I must consider the best course of action," Chan said. He smiled and stood up to go and touch the girl on her thin shoulder. "An answer will be found. It is best now that you rest. Remember, the life of a young woman must come before the sorrow of what is passed."
Betty Chan nodded, stood up. "I'll try, Mr. Chan, and thank you. I... I only want to know how Benny really died and why."


III

BETTY CHAN went out of the suite slowly, her head down as if the weight of her brother rested on her. Chan watched the door close thoughtfully. She seemed a steady young woman, and yet the police were rarely wrong in such matters. With another sigh, and a glance at the manuscript of his speech, he crossed the sunny room to the windows above the steep San Francisco street.
His nostrils flared slightly, and he smiled at himself - the scent of a chase interested the great detective far more than a dull speech to yawning colleagues. He thought about a retarded man afraid of water who 'accidentally' drowned, and...
Chan stared down at the San Francisco street. The slim figure of Betty Chan came out of the hotel and crossed the steep street. She walked quickly downhill toward the center of the city.
She didn't walk alone.
Two men walked after her. They were casual, seeming to pay no attention to the girl, but Chan had been a policeman too long not to know. They had appeared as if by magic from a doorway across the steep street, followed too casually, seemed too unconcerned, and when Betty Chan turned the corner at the end of the block, both of them walked faster, almost running, and followed her around the corner.
It was too far for Chan to see their faces - just two men in neutral gray suits and hats, carrying folded newspapers, trying to look like everyone else in the sun of the winter city. But he was sure they were following Betty Chan.
The detective turned from the window, removed his robe, put on his suit coat and light topcoat, picked up his speech, and left the suite. He went down to the hotel dining room for some lunch, ordering the abalone sauteed with slivered almonds, a California delicacy. At precisely one P.M. he finished his second cup of special Chinese tea, and walked from the hotel into an afternoon beginning to cloud over and with a sharp wind rising up from the great bay.
Something moved in the same doorway. where the two men had come from to follow Betty Chan. A faint movement, but clear to Chan's practiced eye. Someone had shifted, come alert, as if seeing what he had been waiting for.
Without the slightest hesitation or breaking of his stride, Chan turned left down the street, giving no indication that he had seen anything at all. He walked briskly in the rising wind, but did not hurry, pausing twice to look at especially striking examples of the bay window construction of so many San Francisco town houses. Each time he was careful not to look behind him.
He turned the same corner Betty Chan had earlier, quickened his pace, and this time he did look behind as he stopped to glance at a shop window.
A tall, lean man in a brown suit came hurrying around the corner, saw Charlie Chan, and with the slightest of hesitations, crossed the street at an angle and went on past Chan. Just a hint of surprise and hesitation, a trained follower, but Chan had not missed the brief instant.
The man was following him!
He waited until the tall man turned the far corner, then he retraced his steps to the street of the hotel, and turned downhill toward the heart of the city. At the first hidden doorway, Chan slipped inside and waited. If his shadower was as good as he seemed, he shouldn't have lost Chan yet. Chan waited for the tall man to come along in pursuit.
After ten minutes the tall man did not appear. No one appeared following him.
The tall man was, perhaps, even better than Chan had expected; too trained to fall into the trap of being caught by a man he was tailing.
Chan stepped out of his doorway, hailed a taxi, and sat back to ride the few blocks to the hotel where his International Symposium was taking place. But he was thinking about the men who seemed so interested in Betty Chan, and now in him.
It was growing dark as Charlie Chan drove south in the rented dark-blue Toyota. He was a careful driver, and never really felt at home behind the wheel of any car except his immaculate 1949 Cadillac sedan now waiting sedately back in his driveway on Punchbowl Hill in Honolulu.
His speech had gone well, there had been a long discussion session that promised productive work for the rest of the week, and Chan was feeling satisfied - except for the small voice at the back of his mind still wondering about the death of Benny Chan, and the men tailing Betty Chan and himself. But those were questions that would, perhaps, soon be answered.
He drove with the sound of the sea to his right, and entered Half Moon Bay just after six o'clock. The Highway Patrol barrack stood off the roadway of Route One, a pleasant building designed to blend into the wooded countryside. Chan parked, and went in to ask for Lieutenant Forbes. The desk sergeant yawned.
"Lieutenant's pretty busy," he said. "You better tell me your business. First, what's your name, and what's the trouble?"
"Inspector Chan, Honolulu Police Department," Chan said quietly. "My business is with Lieutenant -"
"Chan?" the desk sergeant gaped, stood up. "Charlie Chan? The real Charlie Chan? I mean - Hey, I've read all about you! Wow. I mean... I'll get the lieutenant."
The sergeant spoke into his desk telephone, and moments later a short, heavy man in civilian clothes came hurrying along a corridor. He held his hand out to Chan.
"Inspector Chan!" the heavy man explained. "I'm Harry Forbes. The captain was just talking about you, he was up at the symposium and heard your speech. You've got him all excited."
"I'm glad he was interested," Chan said sincerely.
"Well," Lt. Forbes said. "You want to talk to me?"
"A few moments of your time would be welcome," Chan said politely.
"Sure, sure! Come on in."
The short man led Chan back along the corridor to a cluttered private office. He closed the door, waved Chan to a chair, and sat back beaming at the famous detective.
"What can I do for you, Inspector Chan?"
"I have come concerning the death of Benny Chan."
"Benny Chan?" Forbes frowned. "Oh, yeah, the handyman over at The Temple Of The Golden Horde. Drowned, a lousy accident. Chan, yeah? Was he a relative of yours?" Forbes asked.
"Perhaps distant, but unknown to me. Yet all Chans are of the same family, and Benny Chan's sister has requested my assistance. Purely unofficial, of course, but I would appreciate -"
Forbes shook his head. "She was here, too. The sister says Benny was murdered, but we've got absolutely no evidence of murder. Who would want to kill Benny?"
"You knew him well?"
"Everyone around Half Moon Bay knew Benny. He was always in town on errands for The Temple people. About the only one from The Temple we saw much of. The rest of them out there keep pretty much to themselves. Some of the local parents didn't like Benny around, but he was harmless. We checked him out years ago. He was never in any trouble, shy and always helpful."
"What can you tell me of the Temple and its people?"
"Not much. Some sort of Oriental cult, and a kind of rest home and training center. Like I said, they keep to themselves, the place is fenced, no one gets in without an invitation. It's run by a Chinese named Li Po, calls himself The Khan, and his wife. Don't know her real name - calls herself The Snow Princess. A lawyer named Sedgwick runs their business affairs, and they never caused any trouble, either."
"The members of this cult are not local? Do they live there?"
"Some do, sort of like a Catholic 'retreat house' it seems, but most come from all over, mostly San Francisco. On weekends." Forbes lit a battered pipe, blew thick smoke. "Benny Chan's been here maybe five years, we knew him. That sister was never here before as far as I know, doesn't belong to the cult. I figure we know Benny maybe better than she does and if he was murdered, I can't see any reason."
"She was close to her retarded brother in spirit if not in locality."
"Well, maybe," Forbes said, "but she couldn't give us any motive - or she wouldn't."