Two weeks passed before Grunya and Hall received instructions which were to lead to meeting Dragomiloff. The time had been spent in taking advantage of the car and driver to visit the lovely vistas of the tropical city. The driver had appeared at the Queen Anne Inn the morning after their arrival bearing a note which read:
“My children, This will introduce Chan, an old and trusted employee of S. Constantine & Co. He will drive you where you want and when you want, save for the few errands I shall require of him. Do not ask him any questions, for he will not answer them. I am well and happy, and will contact you when conditions are ripe. My love to my dear Grunya and a firm handclasp to my friend Hall.”
There had been no signature, but none was needed. Satisfied that Dragomiloff was safe, they were able to relax. Their time was spent in typical tourist fashion. They swam at Waikiki, and watched the intrepid surf-riders come sweeping down the foaming ridges of the ocean, racing bent-kneed for the palm-lined shore. They strolled the colorful streets of the city, marveling at the many sights. They enjoyed visiting the fish market on King Street with the vendors crying their wares in eight different languages, or sitting beside Kewolo Basin while the Japanese sampans came wallowing in, loaded to the rail with their catch. Chan, imperturbable, offered neither suggestions nor comment; he drove where he was told and nothing more.
Quite often their evenings were joined by Starkington, Hanover, and Lucoville. Grunya, despite herself, could not help but like the three. Their minds and their attitudes reminded her so much of her father. She was secretly ashamed of her scene aboard ship; she felt it had demonstrated a lack of faith in her father. Somehow, her camaraderie with the trio seemed to her partially to compensate for this failing. Too, each day that passed brought the end of the contract closer, and lessened the danger of the Bureau’s success.
One evening this time element had arisen in discussion with the three congenial assassins.
“There are less than two months remaining,” Hall mentioned as the five sat at dinner. He laughed. “Believe me, I do not object to your passing the days in this pleasant fashion. In fact, it pleases me to see the funds of the Bureau dissipated in this innocuous way. But I am curious. How does it happen that you are not searching for Dragomiloff?”
“But we are searching,” Starkington corrected him gently. “In our own manner. And our search will be successful. I cannot, of course, disclose our plan, but this much I can say: he spent two days at Nanakuli, and the following three days at Waianae. Lucoville investigated in one case, and Hanover in the other. But he had already left.”
Hall’s eyebrows lifted mockingly.
“You did not investigate yourself?”
“No.” There was no embarrassment in Starkington’s tone. “I was busy keeping an eye on you and Miss Constantine, although I am sure that you know no more about his whereabouts than we do.”
He lifted his glass.
“Let us drink a toast. To the end of this business.”
“I will be happy to drink to that,” Hall remarked evenly.
“Though we mean different things.”
“It is the difficulty of all language,” Starkington admitted with a rueful smile. “Definition.”
“It is not a difficulty,” Hanover objected. “Definition is the very basis of language. It is the skeleton upon which the sound-forms are hung that make a language.”
“You are speaking about the same language,” Lucoville stated solemnly, although his eyes were twinkling. “I am sure that Starkington and Hall are speaking about—or at least are speaking—different languages.”
“I thought I was speaking, not about language, but about a toast,” Starkington corrected mildly. He lifted his glass. “If there are no more interruptions . . .”
But there was one more.
“In my opinion,” Grunya said archly, her eyes reflecting her enjoyment of the repartee, “the important point is that each be true to his own definition.”
“I agree!” Lucoville cried.
“And I,” added Hanover.
“I . . .” Starkington, who had set down his glass, raised it once more. “I . . . am thirsty.” With no further ado he drank. With a laugh, the others joined him.
As they strolled homeward in the balmy night air beneath the giant hibiscus that lined their way, Hall took Grunya’s hand in his and felt her fingers tighten.
“How could they have known where Father has been?” she inquired worriedly. “Certainly these islands are too large and too numerous for them to have accidentally stumbled upon his trail.”
“They are very clever men,” Hall replied thoughtfully. “But your father is also clever. I do not think you need worry.”
They swung into the large entrance to the hotel. Beyond, in the bougainvillea-covered courtyard, a luau was being held and the soft music of guitars could be heard. At their entrance the receptionist moved away from the door where he had been watching the festivities and came forwards. With their keys, Hall received a sealed note; he tore it open and read it as Grunya waited.
“Dear Hall: My haven is ready at last; my haven and my trap. It has taken time but it has been worth it. Go to your rooms and then descend the rear staircase. Chan will be waiting behind the hotel. Your luggage can be picked up later, although where we shall be staying we shall require few of the symbols of so-called civilization.”
There was a strange postscript, underlined for emphasis:
“It is vital that your time-piece be exact when you meet me.”
Hall thanked the clerk politely and carelessly thrust the note into his pocket. A slight shake of his head discouraged Grunya from asking questions until they were on the upper floor away from prying eyes.
“What can Father mean by a haven and a trap?” Grunya asked anxiously. “Or by his request that your time-piece be exact when we meet?”
But Hall could offer no suggestion. They swiftly packed their suitcases and left them within the confines of their rooms. A telephone call to the island observatory confirmed the accuracy of Hall’s pocket-watch, and moments later they had descended the rear staircase and were peering through the darkness of the moonless night.
A deeper shadow delineated the car. They slid into the rear seat while Chan put the automobile into motion. Without lights they crept through the obscure alley until they came upon a cross-street. Chan flicked on the headlamps and swung into the deserted avenue. A mile or so from the beach he turned again, this time into a wide highway, maintaining his speed.
Until now Hall had remained silent. Now he leaned forwards, speaking quietly into the chauffeur’s ear.
“Where are we to meet Mr. Constantine?” he asked.
The Chinese shrugged. “My instructions are to take you beyond Nuuanu Pali pass,” he said in his clipped but accurate English. “There we will be met. Beyond this I can tell you nothing.”
Hall leaned back; Grunya clasped his hand, her eyes sparkling at the thought of seeing her father once again. The car rode smoothly along the deserted road, its headlamps cutting a wedge in the hazy darkness. Higher and higher they mounted into the hills as the lights of the city grew smaller in the distance below and then finally disappeared. A sharpness sprang into the air. Without warning Chan increased the speed of the car and they were flung back against the seats, the wind rushing against their faces.
“What . . . ?” Hall began.
“The car behind,” Chan explained calmly. “It has been following us since we left. Now is the time to increase our lead, I believe.”
Hall swung about. Below them, twisting and turning on the winding road, twin head-lamps marked the passage of a vehicle behind. There was sudden bumping as their car left the macadam; a swirl of dust blocked his vision.
“They will have marked our turn-off!” Hall cried.
“Of course,” Chan replied smoothly. “My instructions are not to lose them.”
He handled the automobile expertly along the winding dirt road. Dust swirled about them; Hall wished they had put the side-curtains in place. They had passed the ridge of the pass and were now descending. As their vehicle made sharp turns Hall could look back and note, higher on the mountain, the twin shafts of light that marked their pursuers.
Without warning Chan applied the brake; both Grunya and Hall were flung forwards. The car came to a stop; the door was thrown wide and a small figure sprang inside. Immediately they were in motion once again, accelerating through the darkness.
“Who . . . ?”
There was a low chuckle.
“Whom did you expect?” Dragomiloff inquired. He leaned over and flicked on a small lamp set in the back seat of the swaying car. Grunya gasped at his appearance. Dragomiloff was wearing a jersey and trousers, both once white, but now tattered and marked by the brush. On his feet were a pair of stained tennis-shoes. He kissed his daughter fondly and clasped Hall’s outstretched hand. Then, switching off the lamp, he leaned back smiling in the darkness.
“How do you like my costume?” he asked. “Away from the large cities there is no need for formal clothing. Once we are settled, we may even assume the native molo. Hall and I, that is. Grunya, you shall have your choice of a muumuu or a pa-u, as you wish.”
“Father,” Grunya exclaimed. “You should see yourself! You look like a beachcomber! Where is that dear old solemn Uncle Sergius that I used to tickle and fling pillows at?”
“He is dead, my dear,” replied Dragomiloff with a twinkle.
“Your Mr. Hall killed him with a few quiet thrusts of logic. The second deadliest weapon that I have ever encountered.”
“And the deadliest?” Hall inquired.
“You shall see.” Dragomiloff turned to his daughter. “Grunya, my dear, you had best sleep. Explanations can wait. We still have several hours until we reach our destination.”
Their car continued down the winding road, leading now towards the eastern shore of the island. The clouds had swept away; to the east the first faint strands of dawn began to appear. Hall leaned towards Dragomiloff.
“You know that we are being followed?”
“Of course. We shall allow them to keep us in sight until we pass the village of Haikuloa. From then on there are no more turn-offs and they cannot mistake our destination. After Haikuloa we can go our way.”
“I do not understand this.” Hall stared at the small man in frowning contemplation. “Are you the hare or the hound in this weird chase?”
“I am both. Throughout life, every man is both. The chase is constant; only a man’s control of the elements of the chase determines whether he be hare or hound.”
“And you feel that you control these elements?”
“Completely.”
“And yet, you know,” Hall said, “they knew you were in Nanakuli and Waianae.”
“I wished them to. I planted the evidence that led them there. I laid a trail to the west so they would follow when you and Grunya headed east.”
He laughed at the expression on Hall’s face.
“Logic comes in many degrees, my friend. If I hold a stone in one hand and you guess that hand correctly, the following time I may switch hands. Or I may retain it in the same hand, calculating you might think I would switch. Or I might switch hands on the basis that you would expect me to reason as I did. Or . . .”
“I know,” Hall acknowledged. “It is an old theory of the scales of intelligence. But I fail to see how it applies here.”
“I shall explain. First, as to how I marked my passage west to Starkington’s satisfaction. I simply ordered books in Russian from the largest bookstore in Honolulu with instructions to deliver them to me at certain small villages along the western coast. Starkington and the others know I would not forego my studies under any circumstances. Had I left a less subtle trail he might not have been taken in, but I knew he would consider this an unconscious gesture on my part.”
“But he claimed you had actually visited those places!”
“And I did. There is little bait in an empty hook. However, once he felt he had marked me traveling west, I was ready to lead him east. You and Grunya did this excellently; I am sure that you sneaked down the rear steps of the hotel quite dramatically. And I am equally sure that Starkington watched you do so.”
Hall stared at the smaller man.
“You are amazing!”
“Thank you.” There was no false modesty in the tone. Dragomiloff lapsed into silence.
The car had passed Haikuloa, and Chan was now intent upon losing those in the following car. The car raced along the narrow dirt road. Suddenly the ocean was just below them, spreading out to the horizon and the rising sun. With a swerve Chan swung off into the brush, drove for several hundred yards, and braked. The silence of the early morning surrounded them.
“One other thing . . .” Hall began.
“Hush! They will be passing soon!”
They waited in silence. Moments later the roar of a heavy car came to their ears. It passed their hiding place with a rush and disappeared on the road leading below. Dragomiloff descended from the car with Hall and led the way to the edge of the cliff upon which they had stopped. Below them a line of thatched huts marked a beach village. Dragomiloff pointed into the distance.
“There. Do you see it? That small island off shore? That is our haven.”
Hall stared across the narrow expanse of water that separated the island from the shore. The island was quite small, less than a mile in length and something less than half as much in width. Palm trees ringed the white sand beach; on a small hummock in the center lay a large thatched cottage. No sign of life could be discerned.
Dragomiloff’s finger shifted.
“That stretch of water between here and the island is called the Huhu Kai—the angry sea.”
“I have never seen water as calm,” Hall stated. “The name appears to be some sort of joke.”
“Do not think so. The floor of the ocean between the shore and the island has a very strange configuration.” He broke off this line of thought. “You remembered to check the accuracy of your watch?”
“I did. But why . . .”
“Good! What hour do you have now?”
Hall checked his watch.
“Six forty-three.”
Dragomiloff made a rapid calculation.
“There is about one hour yet. Well, we can relax for a bit.”
But he did not seem to be able to relax. He paced back and forth restlessly, and finally came to stand beside Hall, peering down at the small thatched village beneath them.
“It will take them some time to descend by car; the road is winding and often dangerous.” And then, apropos of nothing in their previous conversation, he murmured, “Righteousness. Morality and righteousness. It is all that we have, but it is enough. Do you know, Hall, that the motto of these islands is Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono? It means: ‘The life of the land is preserved in righteousness.’ ”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Oh, yes; many times. S. Constantine & Co. have been importing from Hawaii for many years. I had hoped . . .” He did not finish the thought but turned to Hall almost fiercely. He seemed to be in the grip of some sudden excitement.
“What is the hour?”
“Seven-oh-three.”
“We must start. We shall leave Grunya here with Chan; it is best. Leave your jacket, it will be warm. Come; we go by foot.”
Hall turned for one last glance at the sleeping girl curled in a corner of the car. Chan was sitting imperturbably in the front seat, his eyes staring straight ahead. With a sigh the tall young man wheeled and followed Dragomiloff through a narrow passage in the trees.