CHAPTER XII

There was no difficulty in getting the sampan back. The cool efficiency of Mr. Moto, which seemed to make him at home in any situation, made everything move perfectly without any sense of effort.

“Thank you so much for being so polite,” Mr. Moto said. “Yes, I can do many, many things. I can mix drinks and wait on table, and I am a very good valet. I can navigate and manage small boats. I have studied at two foreign universities. I also know carpentry and surveying and five Chinese dialects. So very many things come in useful. Ah, there are the lights in line. You steer so very nicely, Mr. Hitchings.”

“Thanks,” said Wilson. “Yes, Mr. Moto, you are a useful man.”

“It is so very nice to have you say so,” Mr. Moto said. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I think I should go back to the engines, please.”

Everything ran smoothly except Wilson Hitchings’ thoughts and those made him hate himself because he had not been frank with Mr. Moto. He had not realized how much he had grown to like the man who was so different from himself in race and in tradition. He liked him for his courage. He liked him for his wit. And Mr. Moto trusted him—that was the worst of all. Eva Hitchings stood beside him near the wheel and her presence gave him an unexpected sense of security.

“I feel like Judas Iscariot,” Wilson Hitchings said.

“Yes,” she said. “I know the way you feel.”

“But you understand me, don’t you?” he asked.

He saw her face near his, white and shadowy in the dark.

“Do you care if I understand?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“I am glad of that,” she answered.

He was convinced that he should not feel about her the way he did. It complicated matters and had nothing to do with actuality, but it made no difference.

“Eva,” he whispered, “I am going to get you out of this. This isn’t any place for you.” She laughed very softly.

“You’re awfully nice,” she said. “It’s curious, I have just been thinking that I might have to look after you.”

He did not answer her because he heard Mr. Moto calling softly.

“Please, is everything all right?” Mr. Moto asked. “If you will give me the wheel, I know a dock where we can tie up. We should be alongside in a very few minutes. What a nice time we had.”

“Yes,” said Wilson. “Very nice. So interesting.”

“So very interesting,” Mr. Moto said. “Excuse me, there is one thing more I wish to ask. There is a man named Mr. Maddock. Did you see him this morning, Mr. Hitchings?”

The lights from the city rising up into the darkness of the hills came up from the harbor in a dim, faint light. Wilson hoped that the light would be faint enough so that Mr. Moto would not see him clearly.

“What makes you think I saw him?” Wilson asked.

“Please,” said Mr. Moto. “I saw him this morning going to your hotel. Could you tell me what he wanted, please?”

“He came to sell me information,” Wilson said. “He seemed very nervous. I didn’t buy the information because I knew it already.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Moto, “very much. I think you were very wise. He is not a very nice man but he is very, very capable. And now we shall be ashore in a few minutes. I can manage everything very nicely. I shall telephone you in the morning, Mr. Hitchings. Remember, keep away from the Plantation, please. You must not bother about anything. Kito will look after the men forward. Walk to the street and find an automobile and have a pleasant evening.”

There was no one at the dock where they landed but Mr. Moto was very careful. He stood for a full minute examining the shadows made by the street lights.

“Good-by,” whispered Mr. Moto, as he climbed up to the pier. “I must leave you now, please. It has been so very, very nice.”

“Good-by,” said Wilson. “Good luck, Mr. Moto.”

The three of them walked together to the street which ran by the waterfront. A closed car was standing waiting at the curb and the driver was opening the door.

“Good-by,” said Mr. Moto again. “I am so sorry I have so very much to do.”

He stepped into the car, the door slammed, and the car moved off, while Wilson and Eva Hitchings stood staring after him.

“Now what do you think of that?” said Wilson. “He has it all arranged. We must get to the Plantation as quickly as we can. There won’t be much time if he starts like that.”

There was no trouble in finding a taxicab and a driver; and Wilson told the driver to hurry. As the car moved through the city, he felt as if he were at the Plantation already. He hardly noticed that Eva Hitchings was holding his hand.

“We’ve got to hurry,” he said again.

“Yes, Wilson,” she said. “We’re hurrying.”

“I suppose Wilkie was playing the stock market,” he said. “That’s the way these things always happen.”

“Yes,” said Eva Hitchings. “I’m afraid he was. You mustn’t be too hard on him.”

“I can’t be,” Wilson told her. “I wish to Heaven I could.”

Her fingers tightened over his.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked. “I wish you wouldn’t look so far away.”

“I’m thinking about you,” he answered. “And I wish very much I wasn’t but I can’t help it.”

Although common sense told him it was incongruous, what he did seemed perfectly in keeping with the time and the place. Before he knew what he was doing, his arm was around her and her head was on his shoulder.

“Think about me some more,” she suggested. “Maybe it will do you good. It might make you less responsible.”

“Why do you like me?” Wilson asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Well, it’s the same here,” Wilson said. “I don’t know why I like you either. Eva, I want to tell you something.…”

It was true he felt less responsible. He did not seem to care much about Hitchings Brothers, or Mr. Maddock, or Mr. Chang, or Mr. Wilkie. He had an odd sense of being himself for the first time in his life. He did not lose that feeling until they were in the mountains, passing through the gateposts of the drive that was marked “Hitchings Plantation.”

“Well,” said Wilson, “we are coming home.”

“Yes,” she said. “I am coming home. It seems as though I had never been at home until just now.”