826








I


"The Baron is one of the most amusing detectives we
have encountered in a long, long time." n. y. times.
This book continues the adventures of that remarkable crea-
ture, the Baron von Kaz, who was introduced to an enthusi-
astic public in The Ticking Terror Murders.
Here we see the prodigious Baron with his conceit and
naivete, his old-world sophistication and foolhardy bravery,
and his great intuition, facing the "hissing death" in Hawaii.
It began with murder on a Honolulu-bound liner, but the truly
amazing aspects of the mystery did not become apparent un-
til after the debarkation. It was then that the Baron received
the Green Lion Jade and met the hissing death for the second
time. He also built castles in the sand, with almost fatal
results, was kidnaped and rescued only to find himself in a
worse predicament, and made the acquaintance of the thirty-
pound book with the lead corners. Finally he tapped a Japa-
nese agricultural inspector on the head with a champagne
botde, went for a wild ride on a Kona "nightingale," and
learned about the Rock of the Shining Water and the burial
place of Prince Puakini. And in the old lava tunnel the Baron
and Caryl Miquet, a lady of many parts, faced the hissing
death for the last time and only the presence of the Baron's
boon companion, his green umbrella, saved the day. Even so,
the Baron ended up in a hospital bed, but it was from this
same bed that he produced the astounding surprise that gives
this exciting story its dramatic ending.





THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS





The Feather Cloak
Murders: The Second Ad-
venture of the Baron von Kaz
By DARWIN and HILDEGARDE TEILHET

THE SUN DIAL PRESS
Garden City New York


minted at the Country Life Press, garden city, n. t., u. s. a.
COPYRIGHT, 1936
BY DARWIN L. TEILHET
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


To
JAMES W. POLING
as a poor substitute for a certain bottle
of brandy duly promised and lamentably
forgotten





CONTENTS
CHAPTER FAOB
I Sprouting Feathers i
II The First Green Lion 22
III Under the Yellow Umbrella 41
IV The Second Green Lion 61
i V Dancing Hibiscus 77
VI The Humble Man 96
£ VII And the Red Diamond 108
<i VIII Magic Island 128
IX Lahaina Visit 144
X Black Sand 167
XI Disturbed Charade 183
XII The Castle Gun 205
XIII Kona "Nightingale" 223
XIV The Shiny Water Rock 242
XV The Dark Cavern 253
XVI The Feather Cloak 273





THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS





CHAPTER I
SPROUTING FEATHERS
The MAN was saying something. The wind lifted tat-
tered sentences, torn fragments from his speech, and
hurled the words around the corner of the deck.
"I'm not double-crossing you. ... I'll prove it. The as-
sistant manager of the club's a friend of mine ... he sent
me the radio . . . this afternoon. He saw the letter from
... San Francisco. And they're mailing it to her in Hawaii.
That's God's truth. ... He didn't say, but it ought to
get there soon. We can watch her mail . . . know it's
coming and can wait and get it and . . ."
Then the man began to laugh. It was a heavy laugh.
The other person with the laughing man would speak in a
low voice and then this laugh would come, huge and
hearty, carrying over the rush of wind, over the wash of
waves, as the Kohala's streamlined prow cut through the
dark water.
It was past midnight. The great Pacific liner raised up
and down easily, like a luxuriously appointed lady with
one cocktail too many who still retains all her dignity. The
motion became a long, slow, rhythmic weaving into the
waves. It was warm. The clouds rolling across the moon
were thick and bluish, as though they had been rinsed


2
THE FEATHER CLOAK. MURDERS
in too much bluing and stuck up there to dry against the
soft, star-sprinkled velvet of the night.
Tomorrow morning the Kohala would be in Honolulu.
Down below, in the bar, in the ballroom, and in all the
cabins, from the expensive Lanai suites on B deck to
number six-twenty on D deck, into which the two chorus
girls had wangled the two evaporated milk salesmen, the
passengers were celebrating their last night before reach-
ing Hawaii.
They were happy, drinking, dancing, and the music
floated up through that powdery tropical night to the
sports deck.
The laughing man and his companion were standing on
the trap-shooting platform at the rear of the sports deck.
The platform projected several feet beyond the side of
the ship, a sheer drop of fifty some feet to the curling
streaks of water creased with shimmering strips of foam.
The man continued to laugh. The laugh sounded as
though a number of small paper bags were being exploded
in a series of three and four at a time.
The laughing man leaned on the railing. Behind him,
his hands rested on its salt-roughened wood. His head
was back. His big, wide, drunken mouth was opening and
closing and letting out the laughs, his eyes wrinkling when
they shut. When he laughed his whole body would move.
His coat would part. His stomach was big. His stomach
would contract as if the laughter were something hard and
solid which had to be shoved out, and then the stomach
would relax and flow over the belt again.
The other didn't speak very loudly. The other watched
the man's big stomach expand and contract and stepped
closer to this stomach and quickly, with a single motion,


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 3
drew an object from a holster placed flat against the chest
under his coat. The man was still laughing when he felt
that hard, shiny thing dig into his stomach, go creeping
upward to his heart.
All at once the laughter stopped.
It stopped with an odd fluttering squeak. The laughing
man wasn't drunk enough not to know what was in his
friend's hand. The night, and the hazy light from the
clouded moon and the stars, curiously exaggerated the
form of the revolver. The light touched" on the barrel of
the weapon. It was a long barrel. Twice as long as the
barrel of an ordinary revolver. The front half of the barrel
was slender. The latter half was swollen, bulbous in out-
line. The mouth which had been laughing was open, but
no sound issued forth, and the eyes sighted down at that
cold swollen thing pressing at his heart, and hazy
thoughts, clumsy ideas, flashed through the man's head.
From the steel barrel of the elongated revolver came a
hissing sound, as faint as any tremulous sigh of the night.
As the big body pitched forward, the barrel was rapidly
withdrawn.
The big man fell limply. He went down on his stomach.
A fraction of a second after the stomach squashed onto
the wood, the head smacked the deck hard.
One of the hands crumpled unnaturally under the soft,
bulgy stomach, as though in that instant before he had
finally gone off into death he had wished to feel that
feathered dart which had struck into the flesh covering
his heart.
The other arm had hit the deck, remaining there. His
body was rolled to one side. A hand plunged into his
inner pocket. A shadow passed along the body. And then


4 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
the body was alone on the port side of the deck, moving
sluggishly with the lift of the ship. . . .
Listening to those words whipped to him from the
other side of the deck, listening to them without paying
attention to them, the brave Baron Franz Maximilian
Karagoz von Kaz, formerly of Vienna, looked irritably
at his watch for the fifth time.
It was twelve twenty-eight. He had been on A deck
since midnight, expecting Caryl Miquet. He lit his sev-
enth cigarette, placed his elbows on the railing and mood-
ily gazed out into the night. Ach! he firmly decided; five
minutes longer shall I wait. Only five minutes.
He could hear the nostalgic refrain of the Viennese
waltz which the orchestra was playing below. It brought
him memories of Vienna. He had been away for three
years. Lieber Gott! In a few weeks he would be in
Vienna, and no longer would he hear this barbaric Ameri-
can language spoken; no longer would he have difficulty
in making it clear to stupid waiters that it was cham-
pagne he wished for breakfast and not curious fruit juice
concoctions. He sighed and looked at his watch again.
Twelve thirty-five. Perhaps it was that imbecile laughing
on the other side of the deck who had frightened her.
The music ceased. He lit another cigarette. He would
give her five minutes more. No one could say that he, the
great Von Kaz, cared whether she came or not. Miti
Klingefass was still in Vienna. The Baron lit the cigarette
as the laughing blown by the wind from the other side of
the deck stopped. The Baron flicked his cigarette over-
board. He was in vile humor. He would telephone Miti
Klingefass as soon as he arrived in Vienna. He would


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 5
keep her waiting. He would telephone Miti and Rachel
von Freiden and the Countess Polakj; then they all could
wait for him.
He took his watch out of his pocket and then, coming
to a firm decision, clapped it back into his pocket, pulled
his felt hat low on his forehead and, with the air of a
man who is far superior to the idiotic vagaries of women,
especially barbaric American women, walked around the
wireless cabin toward the trap-shooting platform. Half-
way around he stopped, peered hopefully down over the
railing toward the lower deck. He rubbed his nose, mut-
tered to himself. He glanced at his watch. It was eighteen
minutes to one. Also, he savagely promised himself, he
would telephone Vilma Hobraz and Clara Schonfeld, if
they were in Vienna. He would keep them all waiting.
Every one.
He passed the wireless cabin, wondering if it could be
possible that this American woman had misunderstood
the time. Ach, no. That could not be. There must be some
other excuse. Thus reassuring himself, he was so occupied
by anointing his grievously speared pride that it is con-
ceivable that he might have stridden the full length of the
ship and into the Pacific, such was his preoccupation, had
he not stumbled.
His foot struck a dark massive shape stretched on the
deck. The Baron pitched forward. He landed on his knees
and hands like a cat, jumped up, balancing on his toes.
All thoughts of the fickle Caryl Miquet vanished from
his mind. Head cocked to one side, for a moment he
stood over the body looking at the thing rolling back
and forth on the grilled wooden platform with every rise
and fall of the ship.


6
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron von Kaz had eyes which were remarkably
sharp, even at night. The upper deck, as far as he could
see, was empty, deserted. Suddenly he stooped, turning
the body on its back. By the flickering gleam of his ciga-
rette lighter he examined the face. Something puzzled
him about this death, and then he knew: He had heard
no shot. There were only two types of guns which could
kill noiselessly; the revolver with the silencer or the air
pistol. The revolver bullet left a clean hole when shot
close, always with powder marks. The silent air pistol shot
mushroom lead pellets which made jagged wounds, or
■lender tufted steel darts. He placed the cigarette lighter
near the small, bloody puncture above the heart. Then he
saw gleaming, in the bright blood, two hairlike bluish
strands.
He lifted the coat a few inches from the white shirt,
touched the blood, then placed the tip of his finger be-
neath the cigarette lighter. The blue shreds from the tufted
or feathered steel dart clung to his finger. The tufts or
threads or feathers placed in the darts to guide their flight
were often loosely inserted, easily detached and ripped
away. He wiped his fingers with his handkerchief. The
man, whose body was still warm, had been killed by an
air pistol. Not a toy pistol, but one of the German pistols,
because only in Germany were air pistols made with suffi-
cient power to be used for killing small game ... or
human game at close range.
He threw the handkerchief overboard, watched it flutter,
a pale white square, into the night and disappear. After
once more regarding the dead man he rapidly ran for-
ward. Amidships was a door which he opened. Entering
the stair hall he impatiently glanced at the elevator indi-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS J
cator, saw that the elevator was between B and C decks,
plunged down the stairs to B deck, where he found him-
self in the amidships hall, decorated with mirrors and
gold furnishings and two or three women sitting upon the
blue-and-gold chairs waiting for the elevator to rise, their
escorts in evening clothes smoking and commenting on
the fine weather you always have when you begin to near
the Islands.
The Baron von Kaz went right, turned, passed through
the library and smoking room, entered the corridor lead-
ing to the Lanai suites, the cabins de luxe of the Kohala.
Three times he rapped on the paneled door of suite num-
ber four, and he heard someone move softly inside, and a
suspicious voice came through the wood: "Yes?"
"Von Kaz."
The door opened slightly. For an instant before the door
swung sufficiently wide for him to squeeze in, a face
stared at him. The Baron shut the door behind him, lean-
ing against it, peering about the room. In impeccable din-
ner attire, Mr Hiroshita twirled the stubby little auto-
matic he had been holding in his right hand. "You have
greatly pleasing visit, Baron?"
Silently the Baron reached the door separating his state-
room from Mr Hiroshita's suite, opened the door and
peered into his own quarters. The cabin was empty. "If
you please, my dear sir," he asked casually, returning,
"did you enjoy the music of the dance?"
"From here one cannot listen to music."
"Ach!" The Baron showed his surprise. "But on such a
lovely night you did not go for a walk on deck, no?"
Mr Hiroshita sat down. "Not safe to do so." He watched
the Baron restlessly pacing the width of the stateroom.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS Q
Miquet's name had never been pronounced, "Air pistol.
He was killed by an air pistol. The German Haenel pis-
tol employs feathered darts. That is why there was no
noise. 'Abyss us abyssum invocat.' That is Latin," he ex-
plained gravely. "It translates, 'One fault '"
But Mr Hiroshita was not properly impressed with this
display of superior erudition. While talking, the Baron
had lifted the telephone receiver, and the Japanese sharply
interrupted, "Who telephoning?"
"Hein?" Sadly the Baron dismissed his Latin, resignedly
explaining that it was wise to telephone the Captain, inas-
much as Mr Hiroshita apparently had not left his state-
room to kill Mr Kohler.
Mr Hiroshita accepted this stolidly, showed his teeth
again. "Must deny having pleasure to kill poor Mr Kohler.
Have suggestion, please. Greatly better to see Captain
Anderson in honorable person."
"So?"
"Who knows who listens with telephone? I remain here
with door well locked."
The Baron shrugged. "I will call the Captain."
"Greatly better to talk in person."
"But, my dear Mr Hiroshita, is it wise to leave you
alone again?"
"Wise?" Mr Hiroshita dropped his right hand to his
pocket. "Please to tell me what is 'wise'? You speak to
Captain, Baron. In fifteen minutes, if you are not returned,
Mr Hiroshita rings for kindly steward, inviting him for
game of poker which extends to your arrival."
"The steward will not play"
The Japanese made motions of counting out money.


10
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron smiled, unlocked the door. "With someone
in the cabin you should be safe."
"Honest man always safe," softly stated Mr Hiroshita.
The Baron believed that he knew all there was to know
concerning boats. Had he not crossed the Atlantic, pene-
trated through the canal to the Pacific? Accordingly,
when he approached a steward in the B deck lounge and
demanded where the Captain could be located and the
steward said somewhere in the stern, the Baron marched
forward.
The steward ran after the Baron. 'In the stern, sir"
"Exactly," said the Baron. "I understand both the
American and English languages perfectly, my dear man."
The steward mumbled protestingly, but the Baron was
already out of hearing.
Approximately fifteen minutes later the brave Baron
again passed through the B deck lounge and in passing
the steward remarked in a saber-edged voice that the Cap-
tain was supposed to be in the bar and consequently was
not in the stern.
Captain Anderson was sitting with three other men at a
table in a deserted corner of the bar. An elderly and liber-
ally rouged woman was rattling the slot machine while
three or four girls and their mildly drunken escorts were
cheering her on.
Captain Anderson put down his glass of lemonade as,
back stiff, feet clicking, the Baron bowed. "Pardon me,
my dear sir. I wish to speak to you."
"Sure," said the Captain genially. "Pull up a chair. Feel-
ing better?"
Neither the brave Baron von Kaz nor Mr Hiroshita had
departed from their staterooms for more than a few min-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS II
utes at a time during the entire voyage. Both had ex-
plained to their stewards that they were very ill. Inasmuch
as the Kohala rocked in normal seas about as little as an
express train over a ballasted track, when the Captain
had heard of the preposterous behavior of the two pas-
sengers in the exclusive Lanai section he had dropped in
upon them to assure them that a brisk walk around the
deck was all that they required to feel fit. He had found
them playing cards, surrounded by a choice collection of
brandy and whisky bottles and determined not to brave
the elements.
As a result, the Captain had decided that these ill-
assorted travelers—a Japanese and an Austrian—were
merely utilizing the trip to drink themselves to death.
While the Captain didn't mind a drink now and then, he
disliked sots who preferred to drink in their staterooms
and to issue calumnies concerning the seaworthiness of
his ship.
"Thank you," replied the Baron. "I am better. I wish
to"
"Fine." This was the last night, and the Captain felt fine
himself. "Baron von Kaz," he waved to the three men,
"Mr Preacher, Mr Sargent and"
The third one, sitting at the end of the table, said, "Bol-
ton." Jeffrey Preacher, next to the Captain, was thin and
youthful, about twenty-seven, with wheat-colored hair.
John Sargent was stockier, with broad shoulders and a
tanned face. "Bolton," concluded the Captain. "This is Mr
Bolton."
Despite his haste, formally the Baron bowed to each
one in turn. The Baron had been reared in a land of rigid
rules and manners; in Austria, when you were introduced


12
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
to an individual, there was a proper way of acknowledg-
ing this introduction, a formula which must be gravely
followed through even though it might be necessary to
make death wait. . . .
Jeffrey Preacher raised his glass. "Aloha! Better have
one with us."
John Sargent folded his arms on the table. "My fiancee's
cousin, Miss Miquet, has mentioned you, I believe."
And Bolton's thick colorless lips rolled into a grimace.
The hps remained pressed together during the smile. Bol-
ton was fat, but the fat was hard and solid. Above his
pudgy cherubic face pale brownish hair was brushed for-
ward to hide the bald spot.
The Baron's glance passed over John Sargent as he
again turned to the Captain. "If you will permit me, my
dear sir?"
"Oh," grunted the Captain. "Want to see me alone?"
He addressed the three men: "You'll excuse me?"
He and the Baron withdrew to one side. The Baron
whispered.
The others saw the Captain frown, shake his head, then
give a forced laugh. "See here, my friend," he stated, for-
getting to lower his voice, "no one's shot. Besides, you
can't shoot a person dead with an air gun." He clapped
the Baron on the arm. "I tell you what, you run off to
bed like a good fellow. You've had one too many."
The Baron again started to whisper.
"Yes, yes," said the Captain with an attempt at good-
nature. "Don't you worry now. Of course he's shot. No
doubt about it. Now you go on to bed and don't worry."
He gave the Baron another clap, walked away, and sat
down, looking wryly at his companions. The Baron stood


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 13
in the corner, philosophically reminding himself that in a
few weeks no longer would he have to suffer the com-
pany and the stupidities of the North American bar-
barians. . . .
"Who's shot?" John Sargent shoved the glass of lemon-
ade toward the Captain.
"Shot?" Nervously the Captain glanced around, uncom-
fortably aware of a darkly sardonic countenance regard-
ing him pityingly from the corner. "Nobody, Mr Sargent.
Forget it." He wiped his mustache after the drink, resist-
ing the temptation to look over his shoulder at the
foreigner. "See Carl Kohler this evening? You know him,
don't you?"
"Carl?" John replied vaguely. "Saw him early this eve-
ning. Said he was going to bed after a dance or so. Why?"
Captain Anderson nodded in satisfaction. "Sometimes
these passengers of mine get a little too much to drink.
The foreigner over there Don't notice him. He'll go
to bed in a minute. He thinks he saw Kohler up on A
deck. Says he was shot with an air gun." The Captain re-
placed the empty glass on the table. "An air gun. We'll
be having sea serpents next."
The people around the slot machine were already look-
ing curiously at the Captain's table, sensing that some-
thing unusual was taking place. The Captain left his chair
again and took the Baron by the arm. "Go on," he urged.
"You need your sleep, old fellow."
"Captain." Bolton had oozed out of his chair and was
facing the two. "The man may be so drunk that he's really
killed someone. Do you want me to go and see if anything
has happened to Mr Kohler?"
Bolton's face was more cherubic than ever.


14 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Those at the slot machine heard what Bolton had said.
Jeffrey Preacher and John Sargent stepped forward. "How
about all of us taking a look-see, Captain?" asked Jeffrey.
"This hasn't been such an awfully exciting trip so far."
"And it isn't going to be, if I can help it," stated the
Captain grimly. "I'll go, if it's necessary. Come on, Baron.
- The rest of you stay here. Baron von Kaz has—these
tropical nights are rather stimulating to the imagination."
He grasped the Baron's shoulder forcefully, gave him a
little jerk, not angrily, but indicating that he wasn't going
to tolerate any more nonsense.
"If you please, my dear Captain," murmured the Baron
politely as he lifted the other's hand from his shoulder.
He smiled pleasantly. "I am able to march without assist-
ance."
The Captain opened and shut his right hand until feel-
ing was restored into his fingers, staring at the foreigner
in bewildered surprise. The dark face smiled at him; the
eyes were uncommonly innocent of all malice.
At the same time a brown-haired girl in a flowered eve-
ning dress ran from the bar to the table. "John, who's
killed?" She pointed at the fat man who was lighting a
cigar. "I heard Mr Bolton say that Carl Kohler had
been"
"Come, come, Miss McKay," soothed the Captain. "No
one's been hurt."
But the damage was done. The old woman let loose a
scream. The girls with brightly painted lips clutched at
their escorts, and Bolton continued to puff the cigar, his
cherubic countenance as expressionless as a rubber doll's
with all the features worn away. The Baron wondered if
this Mr Bolton had deliberately spoken to the Captain in


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 15
a voice loud enough to reach the slot machine. And above
the questioning voices Jeffrey Preacher cried hotly, "I
won't, Bolton. I won't go to my room." He looked
ashamed, embarrassed by the quick silence. "Sorry to yell.
But Bolton's been ordering me about so long that he for-
gets I'm not fifteen years old now."
Bolton's thick lips twitched; the rest of his face was
stolid. The Captain, deciding on the only means by which
to calm his passengers, called to the Baron, "Let's go."
Jeffrey Preacher, John Sargent, and the brown-haired
girl in the flowered dress followed them along with sev-
eral others. At the entrance to the empty ballroom the
Captain instructed them to wait in the bar. "No one's
been hurt. I'll be right back. The Baron's probably been
dreaming of some child's popgun."
Ach, thought the Baron. A child's air gun. In Germany
he had seen the Haenel air pistol shoot through three
inches of seasoned oak.
Bolton was finishing his drink when the two men and
the girl returned. Jeffrey said cheerfully enough as he sat
down, "You are a fool, Bolton, shouting like that to the
Captain."
Bolton's slate-gray eyes raised, looked at the young man.
"And why the devil couldn't I have gone with the Cap-
tain?" Jeffrey dropped his elbows on the table. "I'm get-
ting tired of being ordered by you all the time."
Bolton stood up. Ignoring Jeffrey's rebellious complaint,
he removed the cigar to say quietly to the other young
man, "I don't like this, Mr Sargent. I think 111 go and see
what the trouble is." Jeffrey started to leave the table, saw
the expression on the pudgy face and sat down again.
"I'll go with you," decided John. "You two stay here."


l6 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Mary McKay shook the ice in Jeffrey's glass and after
a few minutes asked, "Why don't you get rid of Bolton?
Every time I look at him he gives me a funny feeling."
"Don't be silly. He's all right. Only he likes to boss me
as if I were still a kid."
"I don't like him."
"John seems to. What do you want to drink?"
"Chartreuse. He used to be a wrestler, didn't he?"
Jeffrey called the steward, ordered a Chartreuse and an-
other scotch-and-soda. "He told you?"
"He told John. I don't see why John likes him."
"Bolton's been with me so long, I wouldn't hardly know
how to tell him I didn't need him any more. That's the
trouble. Mother took me to Paris because she had a mania
about kidnapers. Bolton was physical instructor at an
American boys' school outside of Paris when she got him.
And since she died he's been so damned loyal I don't
know what the devil to do about him."
"Well," declared Mary decisively, "if John thinks he's
going to get Bolton to take charge of Billy, I won't have
it."
"Oh." Jeffrey opened wide his eyes. "You're not luring
him"
"Certainly not," Mary said. "And John's marrying me,
not Billy. Billy doesn't need anyone to look after him on
the ranch."
"How old's Billy?"
"Nine, and he's swell, Jeff, even if he is my brother...."
The Baron von Kaz and Captain Anderson had climbed
the outside stairs to A deck. Above them the tall slender


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS V]
masts swayed in the night, and ahead huge funnels jutted
toward the stars like massive cliffs. "This way," said the
Baron. "He was lying on the trap-shooting platform."
The Captain walked past the wireless cabin, reaching
in his pocket for his flashlight. The beam picked out the
grilled wooden floor of the trap-shooting platform, but
there was no body upon it.
Angrily the Captain swung his light on the grilled floor,
then up and down the deck. "Are you satisfied, Baron?"
he asked grimly. "There's no body here."
"So? However, Mr Kohler's body was here, my dear
sir."
The Captain sighed. It was part of his duty to be pa-
tient with his passengers, but mortal man has limits to
his endurance. "Come on, Baron. What you need is sleep.
I'll help you to your stateroom." The Captain silently told
himself what he thought of these drunks, these damned
drunks going and upsetting everyone in the bar by their
silly talk.
The Baron was on his knees. Assuming that the
foreigner had collapsed, the Captain resignedly reached
to haul the man to his feet when the Baron's voice came,
metallic, precise. "Here! If you please, your flashlight. He
was here. His body was here."
A white beam of light splashed on a small, reddish
stain. "See here, Baron, that's paint," explained the Cap-
tain. "Red paint."
The Captain even condescended to place a finger on the
stain to prove to this foreigner that it was red paint. "Cer-
tainly it is. You come along to bed and God Al-
mighty! It's blood l" He had put his finger to his tongue.


l8 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Now he choked, feeling a queer rush of nausea. Franti-
cally he wiped his fingers on the white dress coat, spat
over the railing.
"So?" The Baron stood.
"You're right." Only for a moment did the Captain hesi-
tate. Then he ran to the wireless cabin, knocked on the
door. "Baron," he called, "will you wait in the wireless
room?"
The Baron hadn't foreseen this. The Captain was issu-
ing orders to the two wireless operators. One stepped out,
hastily buttoning his coat. "He wants you in there, sir."
Realizing that if he refused he would cast suspicion upon
himself and thus risk involving his client, the Baron von
Kaz bowed slightly, entered the cabin where the Captain
had the chief purser on the telephone.
When John Sargent and Bolton, followed by several
other curious passengers, reached A deck, they were
stopped by a polite but firm wireless man.
"Sorry," he said. "There's been a slight accident. This
deck will be closed for at least half an hour."
The lights were shining through the wireless cabin win-
dows. At one of the windows Bolton saw the Baron's
head, nodding vigorously, as if explaining to the officers
in the room what might have occurred.
A few minutes later Bolton sat down next to Jeffrey.
"They've got the Baron up there, and they're closing the
deck for half an hour. Something's doing, all right. I think
you'd better go to your room." And as the younger man
didn't move Bolton's voice pitched higher, "Do you hear,
boy? Get to your stateroom."
"Don't be so excited, Bolton." John gave the fat man a
friendly glance. "Take it easy. I've managed too many


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 19
Mexicans doing geological work to get excited when I'm
giving orders."
"I'm never excited," contradicted Bolton flatly, unemo-
tionally. "I am a plain, humble man. Mr Sargent, my job
is to protect Mr Preacher. For fifteen years I've made that
my job"
"Oh Lord!" said Jeffrey wearily. "Let's not go into that
again. Who the hell's going to kidnap me on a boat? I'm
not going to my room. I'm staying here with Mary. And
John," he added as an afterthought.
Bolton pushed back his chair, his colorless lips twitch-
ing. He got up and walked out of the bar. There was a
long, awkward pause, and Jeffrey said finally, "He always
gets sore if I don't do what he says. I guess I'd better go
after him and tell him I'm sorry."
"I've got to go down for cigars," the geologist an-
nounced as Jeffrey stood. "They don't sell any decent ones
here at the bar. I'll go part way with you. Coming, Mary?"
"I'm staying. I'm finishing my drink."
"Good," he said, oblivious of her frown. "I'll be back
in a few minutes."
During the twenty-odd minutes that he was in the wire-
less cabin the Baron repeated his story, telling how he
had discovered Mr Kohler's body, to at least four ship's
officials. He did not mention Miss Miquet. He merely said
that he'd wandered to A deck to smoke a cigarette before
retiring.
During these twenty-odd minutes the stewards had
been notified by telephone unobtrusively to search the
Kohala for Mr Kohler. And Mr Kohler was not located.
Very little more could be done. There was some hope that


CHAPTER II
THE FIRST GREEN LION
THE HAWAIIAN WOMAN standing next to the band-
master in Aloha was singing, her brown friendly face,
shining like a well-oiled poi bowl, was raised to the pas-
sengers massed against the railings of the Kohala.
Two newspaper men finished taking photographs of a
congressman from Louisiana on his way to Japan to view
with alarm the yellow peril at first hand; the newspaper
men elbowed through the passengers squirming self-
consciously under masses of scented leis and grabbed Mr
Hiroshita.
"No, no, gentlemen," protested Mr Hiroshita. "No pic-
tures."
A dark-faced gentleman appeared from behind Mr
Hiroshita and accidentally bumped into the cameraman,
and somehow the cameraman slipped and fell. The Baron
von Kaz apologized for his clumsiness; butter would have
melted in his mouth. When the cameraman got to his feet
Mr Hiroshita was going down the gangplank, the hat
perched on his bandaged head. "To hell with him!" said
the cameraman.
In the cool vaulted arches of Aloha Tower, the Baron
and his client worked their way through a friendly peo-
22


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 23
pie. The Baron was aware of white faces, brown faces, and
those of various shades of yellow; a conglomerate of Ori-
ental and Caucasian races under one flag and under one
government and now for the moment united for the
single purpose of welcoming these travelers from a land
below the horizon.
The Baron was alert, watchful, suspicious. But the two
men safely gained the exit, crossed the street away from
Aloha Tower to the green park. Purple mountains lifted
jagged sharp peaks above the buildings, and from the sun,
hot, although it was only a few minutes after ten, poured
a white radiance which shimmered in a blue, an eternally
blue sky.
"This way, please," said Mr Hiroshita, leaving the park.
"I cabled automobile to wait for us at Bishop Street and
Alakea."
As they walked beneath arcades of the old buildings,
heavy, square, built of stone which had come from New
England, the Baron glanced behind. The two Japanese
sauntering half a block distant were examining the con-
tents of a shop window.
The Baron grasped his green umbrella more firmly, in-
creased his pace, but his client refused to be hurried. The
Baron was forced to slow down. At the corner of Bishop
and Alakea a man jumped out of a big car and stepped
in front of Mr Hiroshita. The Baron reacted instinctively.
Mr Hiroshita uttered, "Umph!" as a hand struck him on
the chest, shoved him to the stone wall. The umbrella
handle gently stopped just below the other man's chin.
"You wish?" asked the Baron with cold politeness.
Mr Hiroshita recovered, sidled between the two men,
laughing without humor. "Very sorry. This is George. Mr


24
THE.FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
George Tilling." Like a machine gun going into action,
Mr Hiroshita spoke in Japanese. George Tuung's mouth
opened, and teeth three times too large for his triangular
face shone brightly.
"How are you, Baron?" he inquired without the slight-
est trace of an accent. "Okay," he said as the Baron,
realizing his mistake, bowed stiffly. "Don't apologize. I
shouldn't have jumped at you so suddenly." Then he ad-
dressed Mr Hiroshita in Japanese as he opened the rear
door of the automobile.
"Only two?" For the first time Mr Hiroshita looked
over his shoulder. One of the men following them was
lighting a cigarette. His companion was gazing at the sky.
"Please." Mr Hiroshita dismissed the two men, hissed
liquidly at the Baron, "Please to get in, Baron."
For the first ten minutes of the ride the Baron said
nothing, thought a great deal. From time to time Mr
Hiroshita slyly glanced at the dark-faced Austrian. "Have
successfully evaded reporters, no?"
"Very successfully."
And abruptly changing the subject, "You thinking of
poor Mr Kohler? Body perhaps not rolled overboard?"
In the month he had been with Mr Hiroshita the Baron
had accustomed himself to the unpredictable leaps of the
little man's mind. From the back window he saw the yel-
low taxi trailing them, and even as he replied he placed
the green umbrella between his knees. "Ach, the great
Von Kaz can not answer that question, Mr Hiroshita. The
body could have rolled overboard. I was stupid. I should
have removed the body to a safer place, but I did not wish
to touch it."
Mr Hiroshita's eyes became half moons in a yellow


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 25
square. The Baron looked out of the window again,
placed his hand on his client's shoulder. "If you please, sit
lower in the cushions. Your head is exposed, my dear
sir."
The big automobile turned into a narrower street. Here
the houses were smaller, newer than those huge cool
buildings of stone in the center of Honolulu, but shab-
bier, dirtier. The sweet perfume of flowers, exotic and
fresh, had vanished. The Baron sniffed delicately. The
smells were sharp, sour. Dried fish hung in red strips
from shop windows, and rancid vegetables and pickled
beans; strange spices and condiments gave forth their
own particular odors. The people in this narrow street
were smaller. Old women clopped by in sandals. Their
heads were nearly bald, wrinkles tracing their faces as if
the flesh were covered with a coating of almond paste
which too soon had dried in the bright flood of sunlight.
The big automobile coasted to a halt in front of an
orange and purple painted store, three stories high. The
windows were dusty slits. Above the drab-colored door
was a sign: AKIA HIROSHITA, IMPORTER & GOODS
OF NOVELTY. George Tuung opened the door. The
Baron stepped out first. The yellow taxi slowly passed
them. In the back seat the two Japanese were lounging,
seemingly half asleep. George Tuung walked with the
Baron and Mr Hiroshita to the entrance of the building,
spoke to the latter in Japanese. Then he waved cheer-
fully to the Baron, said, "I'll be seeing you."
There were little nods and murmurs of greeting from
several yellow-faced men, who, almost as if by accident,
found themselves in front of Mr Hiroshita's store at the
exact moment of his return. Suspiciously the Baron


26 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
watched these people who were so small and suave, so
oblivious of . his own presence. And when Mr Hiroshita
had completed his hissing and his smiling and his bend-
ing up and down as though his head were attached to a
pump handle, he ushered the Baron into a long, musty
room with two counters on each side. In the greatest con-
fusion, toys, knickknacks, bolts of cloth, a heterogeneous
collection of objects, were piled upon the shelves and
along the counters.
An oldish person, resembling a polished stone Buddha
dressed in a dirty silk nightshirt, stepped over a rusty
child's tricycle and advanced, making sounds like a leaky
teakettle. When another stretch of Japanese backfiring
was ended, the two almond eyes of the Buddha turned
upon the Baron.
"Mr Ukio," presented Mr Hiroshita, "the Baron von
Kaz I have greatly honored you writing about."
"So happy, Baron von Kaz." The Buddha inclined, the
silken robes rustling at his arms.
Mr Hiroshita continued toward a door at the rear of the
store. The Baron regarded Mr Ukio, considered the con-
tents of the store and effectually concealed his enormous
surprise. He had understood that his client was a man of
great wealth. But this place—so shabby, so musty. . . .
He smiled cheerfully at the impassive Buddha, caught up
with Mr Hiroshita, his eyes roving restlessly from side to
side. This did not march so well, he concluded.
Beyond the door two flights of stairs led to a iarge
sunny room. Here were cool gray walls and bright yellow
mats on a polished floor, and waxy flowers waving on
slender stalks cunningly arranged in red and yellow por-
celain bowls. "Enter, please," said Mr Hiroshita, stepping


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 27
aside for the brave Baron, and this gentleman's umbrella
dropped to the floor. Mr Hiroshita leaned down to re-
trieve it, but the Baron said he was such a dolt and had
the umbrella between his fingers before the Japanese's
arm had reached the floor, and somehow, when all of this
was accomplished, it was the Baron who was behind his
client.
"Ach!" declared the Baron, obviously so entranced by
the room that in his eagerness to enter he pushed his
client into it ahead of him. "It is lovely!" The Baron, how-
ever, advanced in a slightly curious fashion; he came in
crabwise, sideways, rubbing the green umbrella between
his hands, and his eyes darting four ways at once, a great
feat but not impossible to a man spurred by the vivid
imagination of the Baron von Kaz. He was a brave man,
to be sure, but it was extremely easy for him to imagine
the paralyzing sensation of a feathered dart striking into
his back.
"Most beautiful," commented the Baron, proceeding in
his curious manner.
"Be seated, please," requested Mr Hiroshita, ignoring
the fine compliments. "No person here but us."
"My dear sir," protested the Baron, very pained, "I
assure you, you misjudge. I desire merely to examine this
admirable room. It is charming."
"Yes, yes," said Mr Hiroshita, sinking into a green
leather chair. He placed his hand on his bandaged head,
relaxing for a moment with the pain flaring in his eyes.
"Head persists in punishing poor Mr Hiroshita. So sorry;
have great deal to say, Baron. Please forgive if words
come not quickly in present state."
With this he appeared to withdraw into the tenuous


28
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
fastness of his own thoughts. The Baron sat down, con-
tinued to float a polite smile upon a foundation which
was not so unconcerned as it seemed to be.
In Mexico City, and until last night on the boat, the
Baron had believed that he was being paid one thousand
dollars to guard a wealthy Japanese importer who was
bringing a valuable jade piece to Hawaii. There were no
complexities in that task; it was a simple, straightforward
engagement.
Enormously confident of his abilities, the Baron had
convinced himself that this frightened Japanese could be
protected without complications which might interfere
with the voyage on to Austria. An opportunity to collect
a thousand dollars en route to Vienna does not come
every day; the Baron could not resist it. He had accepted
the engagement. But now the Baron felt a stir of annoy-
ance. It was as though he had been gazing over a calm
sea and suddenly sighted unsuspected depths from which
loomed treacherous and hidden reefs, dangerous and ob-
scure. . . .
As the silence began to stretch and wrap around the
Baron and squeeze into him he tried to relieve this un-
comfortable presentiment of future disaster by prodding
the man opposite him into conversation. "Do you know,
my dear sir," he asked with the most deceptive casual-
ness, "I reproach myself severely for not remaining last
night in your cabin with you?"
Mr Hiroshita stirred slightly. The eyes turned to the
Baron. "Happy to claim fault as mine. Insisted brave
Baron locate Captain in honorable person. When hear-
ing knock on door, made mistake to think my trusted
friend desires re-entrance. When door unlocked, unhappy


30 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Ach, so," murmured the Baron blandly. Whoever had
attacked Mr Hiroshita certainly would have examined the
man's pockets. The Baron raised his shoulders. "You are
here," he suggested delicately. "My duty is—uhm—ter-
minated, my dear sir." Mr Hiroshita merely blinked.
"You are aware that we were followed?"
The bandaged head inclined.
"I advise you to see the police at once." Mr Hiroshita
said nothing. The Baron's show of calmness appreciably
diminished.
When he had accepted Mr Hiroshita as his second
client in the Americas, the Baron had faithfully fulfilled
his obligations until the last night on board. Then his
client had been injured, but this was not the Baron's fault.
True, he had wished to see Miss Miquet at least once be-
fore the boat entered the harbor, but it had been his client
who had suggested that he telephone her and ask for a
midnight appointment. He was never guilty of mixing
business and affairs of the heart. . . .
Mr Hiroshita speculatively regarded him. "No, abso-
lute proof not seeking Green Lion." He opened his wal-
let, extracted a round stone piece approximately two
inches in circumference. It was greenly opaque. Upon one
side, delicately carved, was traced the outline of a crouch-
ing lion.
This was the first time the Baron had seen it. "So? It
is beautiful although I must admit I would not pay one
hundred thousand dollars to possess it."
Mr Hiroshita held the Green Lion to the light. "Not
pay one hundred thousand dollars to possess?" The Baron
wondered if there was a mildly ironic note in the inflec-
tion. "Note very cunning workmanship, Baron. Perhaps


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 31
brave Baron lacks artistic background to appreciate true
worth?"
"Artistic background? My dear sir! In Vienna, I inform
you, no one appreciated art as did the Baron von Kaz."
"Excellent." Mr Hiroshita tossed the carved stone to the
Baron, who was so astounded at the sight of one hundred
thousand dollars flying through the air that he almost failed
to catch it. "Can be nice neckpiece for lovely lady, no?"
The Baron didn't reply. He turned the Green Lion
around in his hands. On the rim were engraved the
words, not in Japanese or Chinese characters, but in Span-
ish: No Pidas De Grado Lo Que Puedes Tomar Por
Fuerza. As the Baron slowly translated the Spanish into
English his dark face grew perturbed:
"'Do not ask as a favor what you can take by force.'
Lieber Augustin! This is not at all Chinese jade!"
"Not Chinese jade?" Mr Hiroshita inserted a cigarette
into his long holder.
"It is soapstone! Ach, Mexican soapstone such as can
be purchased in any market place."
"Not market place, Baron."
The Baron placed the soapstone upon the table. "If you
please, why have you told me that you purchased a green
jade carving which you had negotiated to sell to a wealthy
American for one hundred thousand dollars? Did you not
tell me that you required a brave detective to guard you
in anticipation of being set upon en route to Honolulu?"
Mr Hiroshita closed his eyes. "One hundred thousand
dollars. Ach! One hundred dollars would be"
"One hundred twenty-four dollars, American money,"
said Mr Hiroshita, opening his eyes. "A humble gift to
brave Baron von Kaz. Ignore stone but study carving."


32 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"I have it? And my fee"
From the same wallet Mr Hiroshita counted ten one
hundred dollar bills, laid them on the table beside the
soapstone tablet. "One thousand dollars."
The Baron recounted the money.
"Do not forget Green Lion." Mr Hiroshita handed it to
the Baron. "Words are translated. But meaning? Maybe
then would value insignificant gift more." Mr Hiroshita's
pink fingernail touched the rim. "Please permit slight
demonstration." He took the Green Lion, held it between
the palms of his hands. He twisted it, showed his hands
with a round half of the ornament in each hand. The left
half had a small cavity. Mr Hiroshita screwed the two
parts together, returned the stone to the amazed Aus-
trian.
"When planning departure from Honolulu, please?"
The Baron said that he was taking next week's boat to
Australia and from there an English boat to Italy. Land-
ing at Naples, he would fly to Vienna. This did not please
Mr Hiroshita. He squeaked, "And Miss Miquet, please?
Miss Miquet accompanies brave Baron?"
The Baron leaned on his umbrella. After a second's
hesitation, while his face turned very dark, he said, "I do
not expect to see Miss Miquet."
"Not see her?" The little man left his chair to come
close to the Baron, squeaking a number of excited words
to the effect that the Baron had persuaded him to delay
departure from San Francisco by an entire week in order
to be on the same boat with her.
This was true. However, at the same time, the Baron
had been most casual in speaking of Miss Miquet, saying
that a friend of his was to sail on the Kohala, and, all


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 33
things considered, it might be wiser to cancel the reserva-
tions on the Lohaala and take the later boat instead.
Then, if Mr Kohler had heard they were departing on
the Lohaala, they might be able to escape him more suc-
cessfully.
But now Mr Hiroshita was greatly disturbed that the
Baron was not planning to see Miss Miquet. He explained
to the Baron how greatly his services had been appre-
ciated. Mr Hiroshita's teeth showed in a smile. "As indi-
cation of high regard engaged room for you at Imperial
Hawaiian, Baron. Gladly honored to pay fifteen dollars
each day for brave Baron to stay long as desires. One
week? No, please, two weeks. Three weeks, even. Three
weeks, yes-s-s." Mr Hiroshita hissed happily at the
thought of the Baron staying three weeks as his guest.
"Then must meet Miss Miquet. Will recount greatly
frightened client proved very large trouble on Kohala not
permitting brave Baron"
Above the door a bell rang. Mr Hiroshita lifted the
speaking tube, listened, replied rapidly in his native
tongue. When he was finished, he rubbed his hands, ad-
dressed the Baron. "Greatly disturbed, Baron. Greatly
sorry to state two police arrived here wishing to question
you. Greatly sorry. Have much of importance to say,
please. Tonight in Imperial Hawaiian at seven." He tit-
tered. "Police here very curious. Please do not mention
engaged by Mr Hiroshita."
Christian Jameson, chief of detectives of the Honolulu
Police Department, sat at a desk of kola wood, fumbling
with his silver-rimmed glasses while he examined the
sheaf of papers before him. "That's all, boys," he told the


34 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
two policemen who had escorted the Baron to the police
station.
The swinging doors shut. Above on the ceiling green
lizards scampered across the whitewashed surface, and
the Baron nervously moved his chair to the left, afraid
that they might fall upon him. Jameson was an old man.
He had a missionary mouth, puckered and dry as though
he had just bit into a green passion fruit. He raised his
head, speaking with the soft, archaic inflection of the
islander who has generations of New England ancestors
behind him:
"Baron, you've caused us a lot of trouble. We wanted
to question you about the murder—the presumed murder
—of Carl Kohler. But after we got done talking with Cap
Anderson and got the facts from him and tried to find
you, we discovered you'd already left the ship."
The Baron politely informed the chief of detectives that
he had been in a hurry.
"In a hurry, hey? Well, well. Let me see your passport."
The Baron showed it to Jameson.
"Been in Mexico City? Well, well. This is a new one,
ain't it? Dated February nineteenth. Lose your old one?"
Over three years ago the Baron had escaped from Aus-
tria. In Vienna he had been in charge of the special inves-
tigating division of the Viennese Police until he was
arrested along with others who had plotted for a return
of the monarchy. He had escaped to Switzerland, and
from there to the Northern States of America where he
had hoped to make his fortune.
After an experience in Carmel, California,* where he
•See The Tickling Terror Murders—The First American Adventure of
the Brave Baron von Km. Crime Club, Inc., Garden City, N. Y.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 35
had met Caryl Miquet, the immigration officials learned
that he had illegally entered the United States, and he
was forced to flee to Mexico. Here he had hidden a few
months with a compatriot, that Braunback who had origi-
nally introduced him to Mr Hiroshita at the Cosmopoli-
tan Club in Mexico City, until he learned that the former
socialistic government in Vienna had been wiped out.
With a new regime, the Baron's powerful friends, now
restored to power, arranged to bring him back, having a
need for him, and had issued a passport.
Something of this he told Jameson. When the Baron
was silent Jameson tapped several papers. "If we'd seen
you a couple of hours ago you'd have saved us a lot of
trouble, Baron. We wondered why you ran off, and while
the boys were tracing you I telephoned the San Fran-
cisco police. They got hold of your embassy in Washing-
ton. Guess you're a pretty important feller after all, eh?"
The Baron modestly stated that he was the greatest
detective in all Austria.
Jameson removed his spectacles. Without them his face
looked harder. The near-sighted eyes were small round
holes. "Well, well, Baron. We folks here don't think we
need much detective work. We don't have much crime.
Islands too far from any place for a criminal to escape."
He polished his glasses. "You cost us a lot of money with
all this telephoning. One of the reporters said you'd left
with Hiroshita, but we didn't think to look there until
we'd checked all the hotels. Wonder if your friends in
Austria know you're so companionable with a dope
smuggler, eh?"
The Baron grunted as though he had been kicked. His


36 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
head swung from right to left. The Baron was a vain man.
Accordingly it was his habit to conceal as far as possible
his prognathous jaw, his single heritage from that distin-
guished grandfather of his, by compressing his lips, thus
minimizing the major defect of a darkly aquiline profile.
But now, in his astonishment, the jaw and lower lip thrust
forward the full Hapsburgian length. "So?" he uttered
unbelievingly.
"Well, maybe I shouldn't say that right off. We haven't
had a complaint against Hiroshita for several years.
How'd you know him?"
The Baron, recovered from the first shock, explained
coldly that he had been introduced to the Japanese by a
mutual friend in Mexico City. Hearing that Mr Hiroshita
was to sail for Honolulu on the Kohala, and as he was
returning to Vienna via Hawaii, he had gone with him.
"Well, well," said Jameson. He handed the Baron a
radiogram. "This came half an hour ago. Maybe you'd
like to read it?"
JAMESON CHIEF DETECTIVES HONOLULU POLICE
CHECKED WITH OCEANIC NAVIGATION COMPANY STOP CLERK
DISTINCTLY RECALLS VON KAZ CAME IN DAY BEFORE KOHALA
SAILING STOP ASKED IF MISS MIQUET HAD RESERVATION
STOP CLERK POSITIVE WAS VON KAZ STOP REMEMBERS
PHOTOGRAPHS FROM CARMEL CASE WHEN IN PAPERS STOP
TELEPHONED AUSTRIAN EMBASSY AGAIN STOP THEY INSIST
BARON OKAY AND ON WAY HOME STOP WE HAVE NOTHING
AGAINST BARON HERE STOP ASSISTED US GREATLY IN CAR-
MEL CASE STOP EXTEND ALL COURTESIES TO HIM
LINN SAN FRANCISCO CHIEF POLICE


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 37
When the Baron returned the cable, Jameson didn't
refer to it. "Cap Anderson says you were the man who
found Carl Kohler dead. What d'you know?"
In five minutes the Baron had given all the details, say-
ing that he had gone to A deck to look at the stars, hap-
pened to stroll to the port side, stumbled upon the body,
went down in search of the Captain.
"You wanted to tell the Captain first?"
"Ach, my dear sir, he was the man in charge."
"Sure, and while you hunted him the body disap-
peared." Jameson lit a long dry cigar, purled it reflectively.
"You didn't know Carl, did you?"
"Mr Kohler? I saw him once or twice on the boat."
"You didn't get out of your stateroom very often, the
Captain says. Just happened to bump into Carl . hey, and
introduce yourself?"
"I am a poor sailor. However, every day I would leave
my cabin for a short walk on deck. I remember stopping
in the bar and noticing this Mr Kohler talking loudly. I
heard his friends call him 'Kohler.'"
"And you recognized him on A deck at night?"
"There was the moonlight." The Baron added care-
lessly, "And I have a phenomenal memory, my dear sir."
Jameson coughed and eyed the Baron sharply, but the
Baron was perfectly serious. He had a phenomenal
memory.
"Well well," said Jameson, biting hard on the cigar.
"You haven't any idea what could 've happened, hey?
Carl was a hard drinker. He could 've got drunk and
fallen overboard, but your talk of an air gun makes it
mighty confusing. Sure you weren't drunk too?"


38 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Pardon," the Baron informed him kindly. "Never does
the great Von Kaz become drunk." He smiled.
"The great "Jameson got up and went to the win-
dow. He took several deep breaths, walked back and sat
down again. "Excuse me, Baron. You haven't any ideas,
then?''
The Baron shook his head. "All right. Don't go around
talking about that air-gun business. We've arranged for
the papers to say Carl fell overboard. He fell overboard
all right. When we examined the trap-shooting platform
we found paint scratched away on the lower railing and
a shred that was torn from his tie. We'll find out who
killed him, but if there was an air gun we'd just as lief
let the murderer believe we think you're lying." He stood.
"As for you, Baron," he said unwillingly, "you're cleared,
I guess. But let me tell you something before you go: We
folks here like to have people visit us. We don't aim to
cause trouble to them as long as they behave themselves.
And this is what I'm getting at, Baron. Most of us on the
Islands sort of stick together. Maybe you don't know it,
but Caryl Miquet's got good friends here. Her uncle,
Louis McKay, came here fifty years ago from France; he
bought a ranch on the island of Hawaii and changed his
name from Miquet to McKay, so it'd be good American."
Jameson relit his cigar, purled at it while the Baron re-
mained silent. "He married a Lorring girl, and her family,
Baron, goes a hell of a ways back. Both are gone now.
But their daughter Mary McKay's well liked here. And
someday Billy McKay's going to grow up into a fine
young feller"
"Pardon!" The Baron leaned forward. "If you please,
who is Billy McKay?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 39
"Her brother. And as I was saying, Mary McKay and
her cousin Caryl Miquet've come here, and I'm not go-
ing to have anything cause either of those girls trouble.
You're to leave Caryl Miquet alone."
The Baron was on his feet now.
Jameson waved his hand. "No need of you looking like
you were wishing to put a knife in my throat, Baron.
You're not in Austria now. And I can lock you up so
damned quick if you start anything that you won't real-
ize what happened. There's a boat leaving tomorrow for
Australia. You take that boat and get to hell out of here."
The Baron bowed.
He left the building in a ferment of indecision. The un-
easy feeling which had first oppressed him last night, had
increased. Something, he knew, was not marching. Ach,
nol Whatever it was, he assured himself as he walked
down the steps, was none of his concern. He was out of
it. He had intended to depart from Honolulu without
ever seeing Miss Miquet. She was as nothing to him. He
had waited nearly an hour for her on the ship, and she
had failed him; she was merely another barbaric Ameri-
can. He stood on the curbing, clutching his umbrella,
absorbed and worried. Lieber Gott! why was it that Mr
Hiroshita had desired him to stay just to see her? And
now this American police official had brought her name
into the conversation. That was coincidence, perhaps.
Naturally.
Impatiently he started to cross the street, trying to rid
himself of that queer onerous feeling, and then someone
was shrieking behind him, and the long gray car lunged
forward, at him. It would have struck him and smashed


40 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
him senseless to the pavement had he not reacted entirely
by instinct.
Those muscular legs of his had not been inherited from
the Von Kaz side of his family; and now they lifted him
from the path of the car. They leaped, coiled springs sud-
denly released, and he landed on his shoulders in a most
undignified and disgraceful position.
Automatically he raised up and saw a face peer down
at him from the car. It was a rubbery, cherubic face. And
the face was already starting to pout in disappointment
as the automobile swept on, gathering speed. The Chinese
woman rushed to him. "You neahlly killed."
"Hein?"
"You neahlly killed. Velly neahlly killed."
"Ach, so? Nearly? I see." He smiled mechanically,
brushing his clothes. "Did you get the license number?"
She didn't understand. The man had been nearly run
over, and she was excitedly trying to tell him how close
had been his escape, and he didn't seem to care at all.
He wasn't listening to her.
He was peering down the street, but the gray car had
vanished and with it Mr Bolton.


CHAPTER HI
UNDER THE YELLOW UMBRELLA
As HE WALKED through the lobby of the Imperial
Hawaiian the Baron bought a copy of the afternoon
Honolulu Star-Bulletin, continued out to the terrace,
where he ordered lunch. Carl Kohler's death filled two
columns on the second page. Nothing in the story indi-
cated that he had been killed. Nor was there any men-
tion of the brave Baron von Kaz in the account, an over-
sight which caused this gentleman a slight amount of
irritation because he enjoyed seeing his name in the paper.
According to the circumspect narration, Carl Kohler
presumably had imbided too freely and in some undis-
closed way had fallen overboard. The police had investi-
gated, and found on the trap-shooting platform marks
where something heavy had passed under the lower rail-
ing. The police had also found blood spots on the wood,
but this was another fact that was withheld.
Mr Kohler's biography was short. He had been born
on the Islands, graduated from the University of Hawaii,
entered the plant research department of one of the pine-
apple companies. Nine years ago he had gone to the island
of Hawaii as manager of a sugarcane plantation. Five
years ago he had accepted a position as assistant manager


42 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
to the great Preacher Ranch in North Kona, three years
later went to the McKay Ranch, which was next to the
Preacher Ranch, as manager when old Louis McKay
died. He had stayed on the McKay Ranch about a year,
then had resigned, according to the Star-Bulletin to han-
dle his own affairs. During the past year he had taken
several trips to Mexico in an effort to start a pineapple
plantation there. That was the sum and total of Mr
Kohler's existence. The Baron folded the paper, com-
pleted his lunch. He looked at his watch. It was one-
thirty. In five and a half hours he would see Mr Hiro-
shita, and then he hoped to have the mystery of the soap-
stone Lion and how it involved Miss Miquet cleared. He
signed the chit, wandered over to the low wall separat-
ing the white sands of Waikiki from the green terrace of
the hotel.
Waikiki was disappointing in size. From what he had
heard the Baron had expected a beach practically as long
as the island of Oahu. But the green sea, translucent and
dazzling under the sun, with flying manes of white surf,
had such a regular lunge and roar that it made up for the
smallness of the beach. Far out brown bodies on surf-
boards were waiting for the next big swell. Diamond
Head loomed behind Waikiki, a backdrop for the bathers,
fringed along the base with palm trees half hiding white
and pink homes. The sand was covered with varicolored
beach umbrellas and men and women doing their utmost
to expose the legal limit of flesh to the rays of the tropic
sun.
All at once the Baron's mildly scornful expression
changed. Twenty feet or so away he noticed a bright
yellow beach umbrella. It was tilted so that part of the


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 43
rim rested on the sand. And extending from this umbrella
were two legs. They were bronzed legs, marvellously and
smoothly shaped. Even from where he was standing he
could see that they were uncommonly attractive legs.
Others also had discerned this fact. At frequent intervals
gentlemen passing by the yellow umbrella would pause
in complete and happy astonishment at the display. From
their undisguised admiration the Baron gathered that the
possessor of these legs was sleeping, unaware of the havoc
her property was creating.
And as the Baron stood there idly, enjoying the sheen
of water and the huge bulk of Diamond Head and the
two bronzed legs outstretched upon the white sand, he
saw a man and a boy walk toward the yellow umbrella.
The man was fully dressed, his face cherubic, and from
the thick colorless lips protruded a large black cigar. The
boy was in a bathing suit, black haired, with a smudge of
freckles across a small tilted nose. The boy would run
ahead, bouncing a rubber ball, and then wait for the man.
The man sat down on the sand, a few yards from the
yellow umbrella, glanced once without interest at the two
bronzed legs near him while the boy began to dig.
The Baron circled back to the terrace, approached the
sea wall in another direction. After a time he noticed that
Bolton's gaze was directed to one particular stretch of
water. Far out were three black spots, and when a green
rush of surf flowed in from around Diamond Head these
three black spots, along with others, were picked up. A
little later Jeffrey Preacher, Mary McKay and John Sar-
gent floated in upon their surfboards. Jeffrey's wheat-
colored hair was glistening. Mary stood in the water,
snatching off her red bathing cap, shook the brown curly


44 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
hair, laughing. John Sargent pulled the surfboards high on
the beach, waved to the fat man sitting there so quietly
with his back to the wall.
The Baron hurried to his room, changed into a black
bathing suit.
Ten minutes later the boy disgustedly destroyed the
sand walls and commenced again to build. A shadow
passed on the sand, and a voice above him asked amiably,
"What is that, please?"
The boy frowned importantly. "A castle, can't you see
anything?"
The man in the black bathing suit and striped bathrobe
dropped to the sand. "Ach so, a castle? But it is a very
poor castle, no?"
The boy's great gray eyes scornfully contemplated this
intruder. The boy decided to ignore the man. But the man
imperturbably rubbed his nose for a second, then poked
his finger into the sand. "Now I should have a barbican
here, and here will be the fosse defended by two guard-
rooms. So?" He smiled.
In amazement the boy watched the man swiftly pat a
small mound of sand, poke windows and doors into it,
then efficiently mark off a large square.
"What's—what's a "The boy pointed. 'That thing
you said."
"Ach—a barbican?" The Baron nodded. "The ante-
mural. That comes from Latin. When I was your age I
had to study Latin very much. It means in your language,
'the place before the wall.'" He said seriously, "I think*
for this castle we shall have five hundred soldiers, no?"
"Why, you know all about castles!"
"I lived in one many years ago," the Baron said as he


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 45
scooped out the center of a pile of sand. "Here will be
the inner bailey. Do you understand what that is?"
The boy shook his head.
"The courtyard. What is your name?"
"Billy."
"So? Billy what?"
"Billy McKay. Do you have soldiers in the—the ante-
mural too?"
"Fifty, my dear Billy."
"What's your name?"
"Franz." He stood. "It is very simple, no? Now if I had
a knife I would carve a portcullis."
"I've got a knife upstairs!" exclaimed Billy excitedly.
"What's a porkillis?"
"Boy!" Bolton came up from behind. "It is too hot. Go
to your room"
"Gee, Mr Bolton, Mary said I could stay"
"Do you hear "Bolton removed his cigar when he
saw the face of the man in the striped bathrobe; it was a
dark face with a projected jaw. The man's hair was dark
brown, cropped short in the manner favored by German
officers whom Bolton had seen in prison camps during
the war. No emotion appeared upon the cherubic coun-
tenance of Bolton. He said, "Hello, Baron. I've been look-
ing for you," and turned to Billy, absently caressed the
boy's bare shoulders. "Get to your room, Billy."
"Aw gee, Mr Bolton "Entranced, Billy stared at the
castle builder; a baron, Bolton had said! It was almost like
feeing a prince. Or a king.
"We'll construct a better castle some other day," smiled
the Baron.
Reluctantly Billy started toward the hotel, paused, asked


46 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
shyly, "You're a real baron? Have you killed people? My
tutor told me how the robber barons killed hundreds of
people."
"Ach, my dear Billy. I have killed thousands," said the
Baron.
Billy's gray eyes opened their widest, and Bolton looked
furiously at the Baron, reminding the boy that he was
supposed to be on his way to his room.
After the boy had vanished, Bolton said, as though
there had been no interruption, "I've been looking for
you, Baron. I've been so shaken."
"So?"
"I can't tell you how I feel, Baron. I was driving down
King Street on an errand for Miss McKay. I was driving,
and I'm afraid I was in a hurry, and then when you
stepped in front of the car I lost my head completely."
Bolton shuddered. "What if I should have killed you? It
would have been terrible. I could never have forgiven my-
self for such a terrible tragedy. Never!" His eyes watered
at the thought. "By the time I had collected myself and
returned you were gone."
"My dear Mr Bolton." The Baron was frank and candid
and puzzled. "Ach, I do not comprehend. I have not seen
you since last night."
"You have not seen me?"
The Baron smiled. "I assure you, no. I have been in no
accident."
"You I've made a mistake. I'm sorry. But I thought
it was you, and I wanted to see you to apologize."
"You are most kind, my dear sir. However, your near
victim was not me." The Baron took his cigarette lighter


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 47
from his bathrobe, lifted it to Bolton's cigar tip. "Permit
me. Your cigar is out."
Bolton sucked on the cigar. "Thanks. Nice day, isn't
it?"
"Marvelous, my dear sir." The Baron dropped the ciga-
rette lighter into his pocket. "I see that the Star-Bulletin
states that poor Mr Kohler was so inebriated last night
that he fell overboard."
"That's what I read. You thought he was killed, didn't
you?"
The Baron lifted his shoulders. "It is so easy to be mis-
taken."
"I thought that silent air-gun story of yours sounded
funny, Baron. I'm just a plain, ordinary man, but last
night I couldn't figure how an air gun could kill some-
one." Bolton puffed impassively on his cigar.
"Ach, on the last night it is so easy to drink in excess."
The Baron winked, but Bolton's face didn't change.
"When I read that he had worked on Mr Preacher's ranch
I felt that I should offer my condolences to Mr Preacher,
no?"
"Mr Preacher didn't know him." Bolton flicked the ashes
from his cigar. "Neither did I."
"So?" The Baron ,vas surprised. "You didn't meet him
on the boat?"
"I never permit Mr Preacher to meet strangers on a boat
or elsewhere," said Bolton in his hard, flat voice.
"Then Mr Sargent had met Mr Preacher before embark-
ing on the Kohala?"
Bolton looked at the Baron, took the cigar from his
mouth. "Glad I didn't run over you, Baron," he said,


48 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
shoved himself to his feet and walked off, his shoes
crunching in the soft sand. . . .
Under the yellow umbrella, about twenty minutes later,
Caryl Miquet awoke. She yawned, stretched, then frowned
severely at two male creatures who were staring at her.
When they were immediately possessed of the desire to
dive into the limpid Pacific she smiled to herself with
satisfaction, unscrewed the top of a bottle of oil and com-
menced to rub her legs.
Her skin was very brown, and there was little of it un-
exposed. A white bandeau, tied beneath her arms and at
her neck, was divided from the white shorts by an expanse
of rippling skin. Her hair was midnight black, darker
than the long eyes which maliciously followed the two
males who were so hastily plunging into the ocean. She
was a well-designed piece, even for Waikiki, and what's
more, in her arrogant way she knew it.
"Damn!" she said when she accidentally upset the bot-
tle, and as she moved lazily to retrieve it, her hand en-
countered another. The gentleman bowed, offered her the
bottle.
"Good-afternoon," announced the Baron in what he
hoped was a gallant and yet casual fashion. "Ah—good
afternoon, my dear Miss Miquet. Ah, I cannot tell you
how charmed I"
"Please don't bow again." She applied the oil to her legs.
The Baron sat down. "I assure you, Miss Miquet, that
my manners"
"Your manners?" She rubbed vigorously. "Your man-
ners. I know all about your manners, Baron von Kaz."
Her legs shone.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 49
"If you please," he suggested mildly, "you will remove
all the skin."
"Oh!" She faced him. "I don't want to talk to you. I
don't want to see you. Considering what took place in
Carmel, I should think you could understand that!" The
scarlet hps closed firmly.
He nodded humbly.
"Go away, then."
"But you consented to meet me last night."
"I consented to meet you?" Her voice was low but
furious. "I was curious to know what you'd have to say. I
wanted to know why you followed me. What are you
doing here? Fortunately, I told John—my cousin's fiance.
He advised me not to see you—not to let myself be
troubled by you."
"So?" He stood, bowed formally. In the bathing suit
such a bow was somewhat ridiculous, but the Baron was
entirely too vain to believe that anything he could do
would be ridiculous. "I only wished to offer my deep re-
grets, Miss Miquet. I only wished to tell you . . ." What
could he tell her? Against that flamboyant pink back-
ground of the hotel, here among her friends, where she
was known, secure, his fears of this morning were out of
place, unreasonable, the grotesque worries of a man who
is so accustomed to intrigue that in any occurrence he
reads danger. And was he to admit to this scornful crea-
ture that he, the great Von Kaz, beloved of the ladies of
Vienna, was in love with her, an American nobody? Was
that his message? He could see her eyes, ironic and
amused as they regarded his discomfort.
He was not inured to this treatment. His back stiffened.
"Tomorrow I depart for Austria. I bid you good-by."


50 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"One question before you leave, Baron." She was im-
perious. She stood, tall and slim. She wasn't afraid of him.
She wasn't afraid of anything any more, she had assured
herself. "Before you go, Baron, will you tell me just why
you opened my mail this morning?"
"Hein?"
"Why did you open my mail? What right had you to
open my mail?"
"Mail?" he stammered. "Mail?"
"When they brought the letters to my room this morn-
ing, at the hotel, I found that all the envelopes had been
obviously opened and clumsily restuck together."
"Please," said the Baron and put his hand on her bare
shoulder, and under the weight of that firm hand she was
forced to the sand. "Not so loudly. Excuse me, but I must
comprehend." He crossed his legs, said very deliberately,
"My dear Miss Miquet, this I do not ask you to believe.
Nevertheless, I can prove it. This morning I left the boat
with a friend—an acquaintance. I have reliable witnesses
that will testify that not until after twelve o'clock did I
enter the Imperial Hawaiian."
"Who else would open my mail?" she asked angrily,
because she did believe him. "You've followed me. The
man who made my reservations on the Kohala told me
that you had asked about me. What have I done to you?"
"Attention!" The Baron smiled and began to tell her
how beautiful it was and how pleasant Waikiki was, and
then Mary McKay reached the yellow umbrella, dripping
wet and a little out of breath.
"Hello, Caryl. You're awake at last." She glanced at
Caryl and then at the dark-faced man, thinking she had
seen him before somewhere.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 51
"This is the Baron von Kaz—my cousin, Miss McKay,"
Caryl heard herself saying.
Chivalrously the Baron bowed over Mary's hand, kissed
it, and as he did so Mary winked at Caryl. Mary's grimace
unaccountably irritated Caryl. When the Baron turned to
her she gave him her hand very gracefully.
"The dancing commences at nine tonight," he mur-
mured. "I hope I may be honored." His back was to Mary.
"I'm sorry." Caryl was aloof. Then some quality, some-
thing in his expression, caused her to add lightly, "But we
can have a cocktail together at seven, if you like."
"At seven," he said, inclined slightly to Mary and de-
parted. Caryl watched him go, wondering why she had
ever mentioned cocktails at seven. She hadn't intended to.
She had said it impulsively, without thinking.
"Did I hear you invite him?" Mary helped herself to
the bottle of oil.
"He's impossible. I don't know why I even introduced
him to you."
"So that's the way you feel?" asked Mary shrewdly, and
they were both laughing when Jeffrey and John joined
them a few minutes later.
Jeffrey sat next to Mary. "Stick your legs in my direc-
tion," he ordered, "and I'll show you how to put oil on
them. Not too much. I learned that trick on the Riviera."
John Sargent took the bottle of oil, said gruffly, "You're
not on the Riviera now, Jeff."
Jeffrey grinned. "You know sometimes, John, I forget
you and Mary are engaged. How the devil did a cantanker-
ous geologist like John ever get you to give in, Mary?"
Mary laughed, tossed her pretty head. Caryl looked at
the two men. "John," she said quietly, "don't spill all the


52 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
oil over her legs. I need a little. Jeff, you can be my man-
servant."
"If you put more oil on those legs of yours they'll take
you for a Hawaiian," said Jeffrey.
John poured oil in his hand. "With that yellow hair of
yours, Jeff, no one'd think you"
"John!" Caryl interrupted quickly.
"Hell, don't mind John," Jeffrey said easily, stretching
full length on the sand, his bare arm touching Mary's.
"I'm a royalist. I've got just enough Hawaiian blood in me
to wish I were a king sometimes." His head moved lazily
toward John. "If I were king, do you know what I'd do?
I'd cancel your engagement to Mary and send you back
to Mexico. Then you'd be good and sore, wouldn't you?"
The Baron found Mr Hiroshita's name in the telephone
directory. He was finally put through to this gentleman,
informing him that a most important engagement pre-
vented him from seeing Mr Hiroshita at seven o'clock.
Nine o'clock would be more convenient. Mr Hiroshita
protested. The Baron was firm. Mr Hiroshita agreed to
be at the Imperial Hawaiian at nine o'clock sharp and
clicked the receiver. There was a ripe pineapple on the
table. It was the custom of the Imperial Hawaiian to wel-
come their guests with this traditional fruit of hospitality.
The Baron tasted the pineapple, approved of it. When he
had finished it he took a hot bath followed by a cold
shower.
Then he shaved and changed to immaculate gray flan-
nels. He wondered if he should wire his friends in Vienna
and inform them that he might be delayed a few days. He
had promised to be in Vienna by the middle of May. The


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 53
government in power officially was neither friendly or un-
friendly to the monarchist element. It was a stopgap
affair, containing Nazis, monarchists, and those who be-
lieved that Austria would be better off without an emperor
or a Nazi dictator. The Baron's friends had scheduled
their monarchistic attempt for the end of May, and the
Baron was to help them. Despite his faults, they needed
him. They were well aware of his pride, now so prodded
by his supersensitiveness to his dubious ancestry that it
had grown almost to demoniacal dimensions. He was a
baron, to be sure; but that meant little to the august class
in Vienna who still recalled the scandal resulting when
his grandfather fell in love with a gypsy dancer . . . who
in due course of time became his grandmother. And his
friends deplored his impulsiveness, his erratic methods,
his colossal assurance, and above all his volatile imagina-
tion. However, they admitted that no one else in all
Vienna had his peculiar ability, amounting in fact to
genius, in ferreting through an involved intrigue or coun-
terplot. With him in Vienna, they believed they could
proceed without being tripped up unknowingly by the
opposition.
With his usual optimistic confidence the Baron decided
that there would be no need to cable, that fjy tonight he
would pierce through this mystery: He would discover
why Mr Hiroshita was so interested in Miss Miquet; he
would learn why her mail was being intercepted.
He went to the elevator, already anticipating his meet-
ing with Miss Miquet. He would be most firm with her;
he would demand an apology from her for permitting
him to wait on A deck. That was exactly what he would
do, he had determined by the time the elevator deposited


54 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
him on the lobby floor; he would suffer no more non-
sense from her. She would know with whom she had to
deal. . . .
When it was necessary to his own ends the Baron could
be damnably engaging; he knew how to smile, his blue
eyes would become candid and guileless, and he could
listen in a way that indicated that no one else in the world
could say such interesting and amusing things. Now he
listened to the desk clerk, his head cocked attentively to
one side, the two lines on each side of his lean face deep-
ening in his swarthy skin as he nodded with utmost amia-
bility.
The majority of the guests in the hotel were either nap-
ping or on the beach. The lobby was deserted. The clerk
had been bored until this distinguished foreigner had
questioned him regarding the island sights. The afternoon
drowsed by. Butterflies alighted on the yellow coconut
fronds arranged on the big table. The Filipino boys
squatted behind the folding doors and nodded. And the
clerk leaned on his elbows and told the Baron about the
burial caves on the island of Hawaii, the blue clouds at
night, the half-million-dollar feather cloak worn by King
Kamehameha I which could be seen in the Bishop Mu-
seum, about the night-blooming cereus, the crater of
Kaleakala in Maui, and when the clerk at last paused for
breath the Baron thanked him politely.
The clerk had only just started. However, the Baron's
attention had been drawn to the cluster of mail boxes
behind the desk. "No," informed the clerk, "no, you
haven't any mail, Baron. The Kohala's mail was sent in
this morning, and we don't expect more from 'outside' for
three days."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 55
The Baron frowned. Now this was strange, was his mild
complaint, because he had been given to understand that
one of his shipboard friends was writing to him here an
address of considerable importance.
"We sent all letters to the guests' rooms between ten-
thirty and eleven," insisted the clerk.
"Ach!" The Baron pondered. "No one then is permitted
to take it from the desk?"
"Sure, if you're here."
"Perhaps one of your other guests would have taken my
mail by mistake?"
"Hardly." The clerk pointed to the boxes. "We keep
the letters sorted for the various rooms. This is wing
seven B. We couldn't make a mistake. There are only six
rooms in this section"
"And you delivered all the mail to my wing, my dear
sir?"
"Sure. I handled it myself. No, wait a minute." The
clerk hurried to the door at his left, stuck his head through
the doorway. "Say, Chuck. Didn't someone in Miss
McKay's party call for the mail this morning?"
The clerk returned. "I'm sorry, Baron. Mr Bolton
stopped by for the mail. There are five of them with rooms
near yours, Miss McKay and her friends. Mr. Bolton got
the mail for them. He might've taken yours too. I'll see
if he's in his room."
"Ach! Donnergott!" The Baron struck his temple. "My
dear sir, I am so stupid. I am most stupid."
The clerk dropped the room telephone.
"Do you know, my dear sir, I now have just remem-
bered? My friend, he has promised tomorrow to mail me
the address. One thousand pardons!" In his agitation the


56 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Baron retreated, and the clerk sat down again to his maga-
zine. All these foreigners were nuts.
Upstairs again, the Baron stopped in front of seven
thirty-two, the room next to his own. Each room was
closed by two doors, one copper screened, and a second
one of wood. The locks were simple. It would be a mat-
ter of a few minutes to open both doors. He was greatly
tempted, but the three elevators passing up and down his
floor every minute or so made the act too risky. The
elevator boys might know what room he should be in.
Or one of the other guests in this wing might appear. No,
he thought, not now. It is not worth it. He entered his
room, locked the door with the screen and left the wooden
one partly open to keep the room cool. It would have been
cooler to leave it wide open, but the door shielded his bed.
The brave Baron had not forgotten the silent air gun. He
took out his watch. It was three forty-five. He threw him-
self on the bed and in five minutes was asleep. He awoke
at six-thirty, verified the time by his watch, complimented
himself on his faculty for awakening at any time he so de-
sired, as if such a miracle were usual only to the Baron
von Kaz. ...
"You are charming." He bowed over her hand. She was
one American woman who could give her hand graciously,
casually, as though she were accustomed to homage.
The ash-rose taffeta emphasized the warm olive color in
her cheeks. She did look charming; unfortunately she also
looked perfectly possessed, entirely too assured. She scru-
tinized him from under those level brows of hers, think-
ing that he would appear very creditable indeed if he
would only let his hair grow long instead of cutting it


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 57
short in that ridiculous fashion. And so they faced each
other at the small table, with the perfumed breeze blow-
ing in from the terrace, and the parrots contributing clat-
tering noises, and the oiled Filipino boys pattering on the
woven mats.
"Well?" There wasn't any need for her gesture of
brushing her hair back from the wide olive forehead. The
black hair was perfectly arranged, parted in the middle,
the comb marks glistening. He told himself that this was
the time to be firm. This woman was but another North
American barbarian. He was doing her a favor, ach! a
great favor. He called one of the boys. Caryl requested a
long cool drink. Something with rum in it, please. He
ordered a brandy-and-soda. Two of brandy instead of one.
"My dear Miss Miquet," he cleared his throat, sitting
very erect, "I wished to see you."
"So I gathered." She was equally impersonal. "And /
wished to see you to inform you, Baron von Kaz, that I
don't ever care to see you again."
"Excellent." He nodded. Women were always difficult,
and he had handled those who were more difficult than
this young person with the deep black eyes. "Tomorrow
I will be on my way to Australia, thence to Austria. And
so I desired to tell you that I did not touch your mail."
"You didn't?" The long smooth fingers tapped nerv-
ously on the table. "Who did, then?"
"Were all the letters opened?"
"No." Then she closed her Hps firmly as though she had
decided not to speak. He waited. She said, "Only two."
"Ach so. Small or large?"
"What difference does that make?"
He shrugged.


58 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"They were large ones. They were on the door waiting
for me. Mr Bolton brought them up. I asked who had.
John—Mr Sargent said that Mr Bolton had brought up all
our mail."
"On the door?"
"Attached to the clip on the outside. Oh," she declared
angrily, "you think you're very clever, getting me to talk!"
The Baron wondered what she would do if he took one
of those firm brown hands of hers. He relinquished the
thought after looking at her face.
"Then anyone passing by could have taken them?"
"Any Good evening, Mr Bolton. I didn't see you."
She glanced at the man and, beneath the table, kicked at
the Baron's shin for stepping on her toes and warning
her as though she were a conspirator.
Bolton hadn't changed for dinner. He was in a colorless,
formless business suit. "I'm not interrupting, Miss Miquet?
Miss McKay was asking for you. The Rogers' are on the
beach in their new sail canoe, and Miss McKay says
they're all going in for a quick swim and for you to hurry,
please." He thrust out his hand affably. "Glad to see you,
Baron." It was soft and pulpy, and thick black hair grew
on the wrist, creeping over the back of the hand.
When Bolton had departed Caryl uttered, "Damn!
After I've changed, too."
The Baron smiled sympathetically. With a wistful air he
suggested that she remain long enough to finish her drink,
and he told her how he had waited on A deck for her.
Instead of being sorry, she said that it served him right
for delaying his invitation until the last night.
The Baron swallowed, recovered, and with some acidity


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 59
asked her if she had been dancing while he was catching
cold on A deck.
"Don't be silly. It was too warm for anyone to catch
cold last night."
"So?" he asked quietly. "You were dancing while
I"
"Not at all, my dear sir," she mimicked him. "This
cross-examining as to my actions last night can hardly
have a bearing on my mail"
Bolton was beside her again, hoping they would for-
give a plain, humble man for intruding, but the others
were on the beach, and they wanted Miss Miquet to come
at once. They were going to sail toward Diamond Head
in the new canoe. It wouldn't take over fifteen minutes,
and Miss Miquet would have ample time to dress again
for dinner. "All right," he said, and Bolton smiled.
The ash-rose dress rustled as Caryl stood. The Baron
informed her that he would go upstairs with her; his
room was on the same floor. In the elevator she remarked
that it was quite a coincidence, wasn't it? The Baron an-
swered that it was, undoubtedly.
He bowed, pressed his lips to her hand as she impa-
tiently stood by her door. "Ach," he exclaimed, as an
afterthought. "An acquaintance of mine on the boat said
he had met you, a Mr Hiroshita. I had"
"Mr Hiroshita? I don't know him."
"He is an importer. I had hoped tomorrow we could go
to his establishment."
"Sorry." She shook her head. "Don't forget where you're
going tomorrow. Run along to Vienna and have a nice
time."
Her door closed.


CHAPTER IV
THE SECOND GREE'N LION
HaLF AN HOUR LATER, when the Baron ascended
to the seventh floor, lights showed in other rooms. He
paused at his door. There were voices and laughter com-
ing from the room next to his, and one of the voices was
Caryl's. The door at the far end of the hall opened. John
Sargent came out, the white monkey jacket making his
shoulders appear even broader.
If he recognized the Baron, John didn't give any indi-
cation; he knocked on the door next to the Baron's. "You
can't come in," called a girl's voice. "Caryl isn't ready yet.
We'll be down in ten minutes."
The Baron closed and locked both his doors. He
switched off the light in his room and went to the balcony.
Dusk had not yet vanished. The horizon was tinged with
vermilion, shading into pinks and then into purples, and
the endless surge and ebb of the surf came to the balcony.
Below on the terrace colored lights twinkled around the
wooden platform for the dancing, and people were being
seated for dinner. He wasn't hungry. He didn't wish to
eat alone. How pleasant it would be if Miss Caryl Miquet
enjoyed dancing and had accepted his invitation this
afternoon. He sighed; in a few weeks he would be in
Vienna. There, hundreds, achl thousands of lovely ladies
61


62
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
would offer to dine and dance with the great and brave
Baron Franz Maximilian Karagoz von Kaz.
He leaned on the railing of his balcony. The balcony to
the adjoining room was separated from his by a scant five
feet. A huge mass of bougainvillea obscured most of Caryl
Miquet's balcony. However, he considered, it would not
be difficult for him to swing out and grasp the vines and
climb over her railing. He would rap at the door. She
would be there. "Dear Miss Caryl," he would inform her,
"tonight is my last night in Honolulu." And she would
open her arms. "No, my dear Miss Caryl. Not after such
abominable treatment. No!" He would sternly fold his
arms. She would cry. He would relent.
And then from the bathroom window, above and be-
tween the two balconies came her voice, "Mary, be a dar-
ling and hand me a dry bathing cap."
And Mary McKay replied, "For heaven's sake, take a
quick shower." And, with this second voice the Baron
sighed again, his dreams punctured. How could he cap-
ture the lovely Miss Caryl Miquet with her cousin in the
same room? Lieber Gott! And this was his last night.
Sadly he shook his head. The blind was drawn in the bath-
room window, and a dull yellow glow penetrated the
blind. He could hear water splashing as Caryl took her
quick shower, while that cousin of hers from time to time
would unfeelingly cry, "Caryl! Will you hurry?"
He shut his eyes, and the soft fragrance of Hawaii was
in his nostrils, and he could visualize that cool slender
bronzed body with the water dashing on it, and it was
quite too much for him. He pushed into his own room,
turning his thoughts upon all those charming women he
had loved in Vienna: Magdi Klei, and red-headed Herecia


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 63
von Buhl, and the little opera singer, Fraulein—what was
her name?
At eight forty-five he called himself a quadruple dolt
for the eighteenth time. Caryl and her cousin long since
had departed. He washed his face in cold water, went
downstairs into the lobby to wait for the arrival of Mr
Hiroshita.
As he was lighting a cigarette, standing near the en-
trance by the public telephone booths, someone said,
"Hello," and he saw Mary McKay sitting on one of the
big wicker chairs.
He approached her, bowed formally. She informed him
that she was waiting for her fiance, who was telephoning,
and then said, "You made quite a hit with my brother
this afternoon."
"Pardon. Your brother?"
"Billy. The boy you built a sand castle for." Mary smiled.
"However, you really shouldn't tell him you've killed a
thousand men, Baron. He's just at the age where he be-
lieves everything you say."
"A thousand?" The Baron's attention returned to this
pretty little cousin of Caryl's after glancing to be certain
that Mr Hiroshita wasn't in the lobby. "But, my dear Miss
McKay," he stated blandly, "as a matter of fact, I have
killed two thousand men. I simply did not wish to
frighten him by the truth." He peered toward the terrace.
"It is so lovely this evening, dear Miss McKay, that it is
a pity your cousin does not indulge in dancing."
Mary didn't understand. She said that Caryl did dance;
and right now she was probably dancing with that Rogers
man. "Want me to tell her that you'd like a dance when
John and I go back to the table? Or don't you dance?"


64 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron informed her that he had been taught the
most intricate steps by the greatest of French masters in
the cadet school in Vienna; he coldly informed her that
Mitti Schlossfeld, the loveliest danseuse in all Europe,
always desired to dance with the great Von Kaz. How-
ever, he explained, tonight he did not have the inclination
to dance with an American woman; besides, he had an
important engagement with a prominent Honolulu busi-
ness man, a powerful political figure, a descendant of one
of the finest families. With that he bowed and left Miss
McKay sitting there, and a little later, when she saw him
greet the Japanese gentleman with whom he had traveled
on the ship, she giggled. She was still giggling when John
emerged from the telephone booth; and she told John, and
at the table that night she had to tell them all how the
funny Baron had tried to impress her with Hiroshita. A
little later, during an intermission, Caryl glanced up
toward her own room, and outlined in the French doors
of the room next to hers she saw two men drinking, and
her conscience hurt her a little that she had refused the
Baron. ...
Mr Hiroshita wanted to go for a ride and to talk in his
car. The Baron explained that it would be perfectly safe
to discuss matters in his room: the others in the wing were
eating and dancing.
The Baron locked both doors into the corridor. It was
still warm, and the two men sat near the half-opened
French window with the brandy and soda water on a
table between them. Palm trees scraped gently together
below the Baron's room. The orchestra was playing softly,
and the faint scent of the night-blooming cereus was
wafted in by a languorous breeze from the ocean. The


66
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Why inquiring, please?"
"You had the opportunity in the afternoon when you
suggested that I take a nap or go for a walk. Or when I
was dressing. If," the Baron said slowly, "you telephoned
Mr Kohler, or established contact with him, that might
explain his death and why you were anxious to have me
out of your stateroom at midnight. My dear sir, you must
have spoken to Mr Kohler."
Mr Hiroshita touched the tips of his fingers to his
cheeks, patting the skin softly, sucking in his breath.
Finally he got the smile back on his face. "Baron clever
man. Very clever man. Most astute. Now poor Mr Hiro-
shita speaks only truth. Yesterday afternoon while Baron
sleeps very soundly Mr Kohler telephones. Asking ap-
pointment at midnight. Unfortunate Mr Kohler states ur>
earthed matter greatest importance. Claims approached by
person determined to possess Green Lion"
"If you please, I will not"
"Two Green Lions, Baron. Explain at once. Being
greatly fearful for own life, Mr Kohler offers name of per-
son seeking Green Lion. Arranged to deliver name at mid-
night. Necessary brave Baron absent from cabin at mid-
night, Mr Hiroshita thinks of beautiful Miss Miquet."
The Baron stood, glanced out of the French window at
the couples on the dance platform, the colored lights
blending the couples into whirling particles of a musical
kaleidoscope. He turned to Mr Hiroshita. "Ach, Mr
Kohler was careless. He permits himself to be overheard
or is intercepted going to your room. And this unknown
person takes him to A deck because it is deserted. And
he is shot. My dear Mr Hiroshita, Mr Jameson told me
that you are suspected of dealing in dope. So!" He lifted


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 69
"Police?" Mr Hiroshita almost screamed. "Mexican
police would demand map for own use. Appealing to
American police, what answer would be received to such
a story? Baron von Kaz sees very misjudged man. Because
wear face that is Japanese no one trusts poor Mr Hiro-
shita." His voice was breaking with self-pity. "Once, twice,
procuring opium for very sick friend, find character per-
manently blackened. No, Baron, cannot go to police. Here
in Honolulu in Police Department also many bad men. For
personal gain willingly steal map." Mr Hiroshita nodded
violently.
"Most deplorably bad fix, Baron. When Mr Braunbach
introduces the brave Baron von Kaz, showing great wis-
dom Mr Hiroshita accepts proffered services. Studies char-
acter to find Baron very honest, most honest man"
The Baron bowed.
"—but reputation not good," said Mr Hiroshita with
the candid air of one who tells all. "No, reputation not
good. Forever quarrelsome. However, very honest deal-
ing with client. When cabled to Europe, that is what
learned."
"Cabled? My dear sir, did you cable to Europe"
Mr Hiroshita poured himself a third drink. "Taking no
chances, please. In Mexico City, while awaiting news con-
cerning brave Baron von Kaz, cautiously remain in club
where most safe. But very long voyage from Mexico to
Honolulu, Baron. Mr Kohler most determined man. On
voyage greatly fearing attempted theft of map. While
anticipating pleasing responses to cables, brave Baron sug-
gests to poor Mr Hiroshita very clever idea. Brave Baron
recounts ingenuous exploits in Carmel where met beauti-
ful Miss Miquet. Displaying love for Miss"


70 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The table rattled as the Baron's fist dropped upon it. He
roared like a stuck bull, "Mr Hiroshita, never have I
said"
"Please," Mr Hiroshita hissed, and the Baron sank back
in his chair, ashamed at his outburst.
"Please, brave Baron never admits love. But most obvi-
ous so much talking of charming Miss Miquet. Reading
in San Francisco paper Miss Miquet sailing to Honolulu,
brave Baron respectfully requests changing ships. Then
Mr Hiroshita conceives very simple plan. Knowing jeweler
in Mexico City who cuts very cunning soapstone plaques,
order two. In one insert map. Folded, map requires very
little space. Second Green Lion plaque with map safely
deposited in club vault. In San Francisco, write Mr Her-
dazo, honorable manager of club, instructing withdrawal
of Green Lion to mail to Miss Miquet."
"So?" said the Baron. Slowly he lit a cigarette, then
asked abruptly, "Did the unfortunate Mr Kohler know
Mr Sargent in Mexico?"
"Mr Sargent? Very possible. In Mexico all white men
friendly."
"How did Miss McKay meet Mr Sargent?"
Mr Hiroshita pondered over this question. "Have heard
last year Mr Sargent has business in San Francisco. Same
time, Miss McKay visits Carmel staying with cousin, Miss
Miquet. Not inconceivable mutual friends introduce. Can-
not say."
"Mr Kohler worked both for Miss McKay and for Mr
Preacher on their ranches. You knew that?"
Mr Hiroshita blinked. "Yes."
"You cannot say why Mr Kohler departed from Miss
McKay's ranch?"
s


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 71
"Have heard Mr Kohler buy three thousand acres from
Preacher Ranch without permission. Miss McKay most
angry. Mr Kohler loses position."
"Did Mr Kohler ever see Mr Preacher?"
"Mr Preacher resided always in Paris. Think unlikely
Mr Kohler traveled to Paris. Preacher Ranch managed by
very clever Scotchman who engaged poor Mr Kohler be-
fore hired by Miss McKay."
"Why did Mr Kohler purchase three thousand acres
from the Preacher Ranch?"
"So sorry. Have not heard."
"Mr Hiroshita, you do not appear to be A moment,
if you please!" Hearing voices in the hall, the Baron
silently went to the doors, unlocked and pushed the
wooden one ajar.
The five were back again, gathering around Caryl's
door. "I don't call two dances much of an evening," Mary
McKay was saying petulantly while Caryl opened the door.
"Well, I'm tired," came a man's voice. It wasn't Bolton's.
It was either Mr Sargent's or Mr Preacher's, decided the
Baron.
"I'm certainly not going to bed at this hour."
"We'll have drinks sent up here, Mary, and rest awhile
and go down later. The floor's so crowded now you can't
move, and when people start leaving . . ." The door
closed.
When the Baron turned, Mr Hiroshita was at his shoul-
der. Mr Hiroshita was nodding and smiling, pointing to
the next door. "Very great trouble, Baron, arranging room
beside beautiful Miss Miquet." He sat on the bed, pleased
with himself.
The Baron wasn't pleased with Mr Hiroshita, himself


72 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
or anyone else. "And this second soapstone plaque with
the—ach!—the map? Where is it now?"
Mr Hiroshita tittered. "Directions for sending to Miss
Miquet written at San Francisco. Mails more private than
wireless. Very clever, please? Miss Miquet boasts many
friends on Islands. No matter where staying, postoffice
here will know where to deliver package. Should be ar-
riving in ten days." And as the Baron remained silent Mr
Hiroshita again tittered. "See how simple? When package
reaches destination, Miss Miquet reads note: 'From Ad-
mirer.' Who is admirer, please? The brave Baron von
Kaz! One day brave Baron inquires concerning plaque.
Miss Miquet graciously shows present. Baron substitutes
for plaque received by mail plaque given by Mr Hiroshita.
And then poor Mr Hiroshita safe. Duty to friends com-
pleted. Mr George Tuung comes to hotel. Baron presents
plaque with map. Mr Tuung gratefully presents one thou-
sand dollars. When lost city found by expedition headed
by Mr Tuung, unworthy Mr Hiroshita has one eighth
share. Is not simple?" All of Mr Hiroshita's teeth shone.
Then he asked, unable to conceal his anxiety, "Now un-
derstanding why brave Baron stops here ten days, two
weeks, please?"
From the other room came the sound of the radio and
laughter and voices. The plaster walls were too thick to
permit distinguishable sentences to pass through. The
Baron realized that not one of the five in room seven
thirty-two could hear what either Mr Hiroshita or he had
to say. But he had an uncomfortable feeling. He was too
worried by what he had been told even to become angry
with the little Japanese for so callously, so thoughtlessly,
doing this to Miss Miquet. The little man apparently was


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 73
unconscious of the danger in which he had placed her.
As far as he was concerned, his plan was ideal. It was
simple, practical. Mr Hiroshita stood smiling, his hat in
his hand.
The Baron lit another cigarette, blew out the tiny flame
of his lighter. "Mr Hiroshita, what would you say if I
informed you that this afternoon I discovered Miss
Miquet's mail had been opened before she received it?"
Mr Hiroshita's hat dropped to the floor. Mr Hiroshita
picked it up, looked at the Baron, the shock of this an-
nouncement sticking out on his face, his lips stretching
against his teeth. His hat again slipped from his hands.
This time he didn't reach for it. "Mail is opened?" he
squeaked.
Although the Baron didn't believe that a map of a fabu-
lous city had been inserted in the second Green Lion, he
willingly accepted the fact that something of utmost value
had been placed in it. And that it was being sent to Miss
Miquet. And someone, someone perhaps among the four
who were with her, knew itl
He felt as though a sharp piece of ice were being drawn
along his spine. Accordingly he said very gently to the
frightened little man, "If Mr Kohler had friends assisting
him in Mexico City, could they not learn that you ordered
a second plaque constructed?"
"No." Mr Hiroshita shook his head, and his voice shook
also. "Not possible. No."
"Suppose, my dear Mr Hiroshita, that someone had
asked about the package and the hotel manager "The
Baron halted with a stupefied expression. "Not the man-
ager," he said slowly, "the assistant manager. Du lieber
Himmel! Mr Hiroshita, if you please, was not the assist-


74 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
ant manager of the Cosmopolitan Club in Mexico City a
friend of Mr Kohler?"
Mr Hiroshita said he believed so, but why. Why Baron
ask?
Like an underexposed negative forming its picture by
the action of strong chemicals, that faint recollection of
words whipped to the Baron by the wind on the Kohala
returned, became more distinct, as his trained memory
forced itself to recapture that message; the words the
murdered man had spoken: "I'm not double-crossing you.
I'll prove it. The assistant manager of the club's a friend
of mine. ..."
"Ach!" exclaimed the Baron, his eyes lighting. The one
who murdered Mr Kohler had learned that the map—if
it was a map—had been mailed to Miss Miquet. But evi-
dently that evil someone didn't know the exact date when
it was mailed, or whether it was concealed in a package
or an envelope; otherwise Miss Miquet's letter wouldn't
have been tampered with so soon. The Baron's jaw shoved
forward. "My dear Mr Hiroshita, what if this unknown
murderer discovered that Mr Kohler planned to sell his
information to you? Have you thought of that?" Mr Hiro-
shita's breath was whistling between his teeth, and from
the terrace they could hear the merry strains of "A Little
Grass Shack."
When the door knob rattled, both men jumped.
After reaching in his closet for his green umbrella, the
Baron opened the two doors. Jameson entered, looked
around the big room. "Good evening, my dear Mr Jame-
son." The Baron bowed.
"Where's Hiroshita?"
"If you please, my dear sir?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 75
"Where is he? The clerk downstairs said he was with
you. Thought I'd drop up and ask both of you if you'd
mind coming to my office for a little chat."
Mr Hiroshita stepped out from the closet, rubbing his
hands nervously. "So happy to see Mr Jameson. Always
pleased to accompany."
"Get your hat, Baron." Jameson picked up Mr Hiro-
shita's hat, tossed it to the little man. "The car's waiting."
The Baron glanced once at Mr Hiroshita, shrugged
faintly, then went to the closet for his hat. Jameson kicked
the doors open, put his finger on the electric light switch,
paused. "You don't need an umbrella in this climate,
Baron."
The Baron hooked the green umbrella over his left arm.
"But, my dear sir, how can one be certain? This after-
noon it rained"
"Rains every afternoon. It's liquid sunshine." The elec-
tric switch clicked; the room was in darkness. The Baron
passed into the hall as Jameson ordered impatiently,
"Hurry, Hiroshita. Nothing to get scared about. I only
want you both on a small matter. No dope this time."
But Mr Hiroshita said nothing at all.
"See here, Hiroshita." Jameson clicked the light on
again, and the yellow light came down upon Mr Hiro-
shita standing by the bed, his left hand on the bedpost
where the wood was carved in the shape of a pineapple.
He was staring fixedly at Jameson, and his body wavered
slightly.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" demanded
Jameson irritably. He walked over to the little man,
placed his hand on Mr Hiroshita's shoulder and was going


7o THE FEATHER CLQiVRV ^URDERS
gun is silent. Slight hiss of air. Refers us to Mutzmann's
Abhandlung iiber dit Feuerwaffie, whatever that is. It isn't
in the library."
Jameson thanked him, clicked the receiver, asked the
Baron if he'd ever heard of a feller Mussman or Mustman
who wrote in German on air guns.
"Mutzmann? Mutzmann's Treatise on Guns." The
Baron nodded. "But it is out of date, my dear Mr Jame-
son. Three years ago I saw one of the new Haenel air pis-
tols. It shot a small two-and-one-half-inch steel dart. Mutz-
mann's book was published ten years ago."
Jameson walked back and forth behind the moon-
shaped desk. "Oquat says the damned dart has rifle marks
on it 2fid that it looks like a Haenel in our catalogue. He
paid twelve dollars for that gun catalogue just six months
ago, so the catalogue should be right. By Jesus! I still can't
figure an air gun shooting that hard. And you say Kohler
was killed with the same kind of a gun?"
The Baron agreed.
"Well?" Jameson sat on the desk, holding his knee
between his hands, his old leathery face bent toward the
Baron. "You've said you're a smart feller. What do you
think?"
"Think?" The Baron shrugged, smiled.
"Hiroshita hid when he heard me coming. That shows
the feller was scared of somebody, don't it? But how the
bloody thunder did they get the pot at him unless some-
body in the next room jumped across from the other bal-
cony? That don't make sense." The telephone whirred in
the brightly lit room, and Jameson jumped quickly,
grabbed it. "Jameson. . . Hello! It's you, Cobb. Well? All
right." Looking like an old pelican under the bluish light,


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 79
he jerked his head at the Baron. "Hand me that pencil,
will you?"
Jameson wrote the names of all those who were in the
wing where Hiroshita was murdered. This took five min-
utes. When he had finished he said, "What do I care if*
Berenday is stinking sore? Tell him I said no one could
leave that wing until you're through. Hey?" Berenday was
the manager of the Imperial Hawaiian. While Jameson
listened he helped himself to a thin brown cigar. The blu-
ish light struck the cigar, and the long shadow jerked
from side to side across his weathered cheeks. "All in
seven thirty-two have alibis? No, guess you'd better let
'em go. Mary McKay's got too much influence. You're
sure about the feller Poling in seven thirty-one? Let 'em
go then. Hey?"
As a pelican who has swallowed a fish too large for its
gullet, Jameson choked when his assistant Cobb, who had
taken charge at the hotel after his chief and the Baron had
departed for the police station, said something.
"You do, hey? Well, let me tell you he didn't. That's
final. The Baron stepped out of the room before / did.
I and Hiroshita were the only ones in it when he was
shot, and the Doc said Hiroshita couldn't 've lived with
that dart in his neck more'n a minute or so. No," shouted
Jameson angrily. "The Doc knows what the hell he's talk-
ing about, don't he? Besides, I was there, and I searched
the Baron afterwards to make sure. He didn't have a gun.
Let the others go. Search the grounds again. Beneath all
the windows. See if anybody's tried to climb up from the
room below. . . . Oh, you did? Locked and empty. Well,
do something man. How do I know?"
He slammed the receiver hard, faced the Baron. "That


80 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
feller Cobb thinks you did it." He lit his cigar, the wise
old eyes shrewdly watching the Baron. "You didn't, did
you, while my eyes were closed maybe, or when I was
hiding my head under the bed?"
"You joke, my dear sir."
"Joke hell. Lucky for you I was there." He showed the
Baron the piece of paper. "Here's the list and how they
were in the rooms."
The Baron was in room seven-thirty; opposite him in
seven-thirty-one was a man, James Poling; next to the
Baron's room on the left side of the corridor, room seven-
thirty-two were listed Miss Caryl Miquet and Miss Mary
McKay; opposite in seven-thirty-three was Mr Harry Bol-
ton; at the end in seven-thirty-four, Mr John Sargent; and
opposite him in seven-thirty-five, Mr Jeffrey Preacher.
"The hell of it is," explained Jameson dryly, "five of 'em
were in seven-thirty-two: Mary McKay, her cousin Caryl
Miquet, her fiance Sargent, Jeff Preacher, and the fat feller
Bolton. All of 'em stick by each other and are ready to
swear none left the room. No, wait a minute." He glanced
at the paper. "Caryl Miquet said that Bolton got sore"
He looked up. "Cobb says she didn't say 'sore' but that's
what she meant. She and Jeff were discussing mixing
drinks, and Bolton decided Jeff shouldn't hear such talk
or something like that. Bolton's a nut, I guess. So when
Jeff wouldn't leave—I don't blame him not wanting to
leave a pretty girl like Caryl—Bolton walks out."
"At what time, please?"
"Jeff told Cobb around nine-thirty, but Caryl says it
was a few minutes later." Jameson wrote on the paper:
"Check Bolton's time." He shifted in his seat. "Anyway,
Bolton came back a few minutes later, and that should


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 81
alibi him. Besides, I know his kind. Those fat fellers aren't
dangerous. John Sargent and Mary McKay were moon-
ing on the balcony most all the time. Jeff said he and
Mary went out together to join Sargent, but Jeff realized
three wasn't company, so he went back to Caryl and the
drinks. And there you are. They alibi each other. Sargent
claims it's ridiculous that anyone from the girls' room
could 've got to your balcony, and, by Jesus, Baron, it
seems like he's right. I can't arrest one of them."
"But Mr Bolton?"
"Forget him. If Jeff Preacher's as hot-tempered as his
dad was, he might go after Hiroshita if the two had been
arguing. Or Sargent might. Those two girls could take
care of themselves, too, but this fat feller couldn't step
on his own shadow. And the hell of it is, there ain't any
motive for any of them to kill Hiroshita. Or Kohler
either."
"What room, if you please, is the boy in?"
"What boy?"
"The young brother."
"Billy? Billy McKay?" And when the Baron nodded,
Jameson demanded, "Billy's staying at the hotel?" He
reached for the telephone, told the operator to check
through to Cobb and ask how he'd missed Billy McKay's
room. "How'd you know Billy was here?"
The Baron told him and then said blandly, "In Vienna
there was a case where a small boy killed three men for his
mother, and I assumed that it would be interesting to"
"What 're you talking about? Billy's a good kid. Where
were we? The feller opposite your door? Poling. He was
taking a bath and drinking brandy. How the hell do I
know why he was drinking brandy in his bath? Anyway,


82 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
when Cobb opened the door he was in the bath, hadn't
heard anything, and there were no marks on the floor his
feet might've made. He could 've wiped his feet dry, but
if he did it how could he've gone to the window in the
elevator corridor, jumped to your balcony, shot Hiroshita,
and got back without me seeing him? Hey?"
The Baron shrugged.
"What was Hiroshita afraid of?" quickly cried the old
man. "Why'd he hide in the closet when I knocked?
Why'd he come to see you in the first place?"
The Baron's dark face showed regret. "I do not know,
my dear sir. Otherwise, assuredly I would tell you."
"Assuredly, hey? Look here, Baron, I've played fair with
you and given you the facts. Now suppose you come
clean. Why'd Hiroshita want to see you?"
"I had met him in Mexico. We traveled on the boat to-
gether. I invited him to my room for a drink."
"Baron," said Jameson, "I think you're lying like helL
Yes?"
A stalwart man in plain clothes who had knocked
entered. "Busy, Chief?"
"This is the Baron von Kaz, David Kaniela. What d'you
want?"
"Cobb sent me to see if the Advertiser had pictures or
interviews with Poling. While I was there I got all the
photographs they took this morning of the others on the
floor where Hiroshita was bumped off." He handed Jame-
son a list of names, a newspaper, four photographs, and
several sheets of yellow newspaper copy paper.
"Thanks, Dave." Jameson sorted the photographs on his
desk. "You better stick at the Imperial tonight and see if


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 83
anything funny turns up. I'll have you relieved at one."
Kaniela went out.
"Know this girl, Baron?" Jameson slid the glossy print
along the desk.
Moving the desk lamp so that the light wouldn't shine
into his eyes, the Baron took the photograph taken that
morning. It showed a round-cheeked, smiling girl. He
studied the caption written in long hand:
Miss Mary McKay, owner of the McKay Ranch in
Hawaii, whose engagement to Mr John Sargent was an-
nounced four weeks ago. Accompanied by her cousin.
Miss Caryl Miquet, and her fiance", Miss McKay arrived
in Honolulu yesterday on the Kohala. She plans to take
her guests to her ranch for a month before departing for
New York, where the wedding is planned early this fall.
Jameson unnecessarily observed, "The picture's for to-
morrow's paper. That's why they've got the 'arrived yes-
terday.'"
"I saw her once on the boat, again this afternoon at
Waikiki and in the lobby of the hotel tonight. I can tell
you nothing else concerning her."
"Take a glance at the others."
The Baron discarded the photograph of an uncomfort-
able-looking gentleman staring dazedly from the picture
with his hand supporting a thick clump of leis circling
his neck. This was: "James Poling, New York business
man on vacation trip." The Baron was not interested in
tourists.
The third photograph held the Baron's attention. The
tall young man was caught in the position of restraining


84 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
a short fat man who was lunging toward the camera as
though he were trying to stop the picture from being
taken. The caption read:
Mr Jeffrey Preacher, owner of the famous Preacher
Ranch, returns to the Islands after twenty years abroad.
Mr. Harry Bolton (right), a friend of Mr Preacher.
Underneath this caption in red ink was written: "Scrap
this picture, Mike, and get a decent one of Preacher to-
morrow without his friend."
The final photograph was one of John Sargent and
Caryl Miquet, both loaded with leis, both amused and
smiling. The caption:
Miss Caryl Miquet and Mr John Sargent of New Yor\
and Mexico City.
"Well?"
The Baron dropped the photographs on the desk. "I
have met all five," he replied blandly. "But except—" the
hesitation was slight—"except for Miss Miquet, the others
I have not known before."
Jameson adjusted the lamplight so that it would again
shine in the Baron's face. He leaned on the desk. "You
don't know why Hiroshita was frightened, Baron?"
"No, my dear sir, as I have said"
"Forget what you've said. You don't know why Kohler
was murdered, hey?"
"'Tedium vitae,'" suggested the Baron pontifically. "In
other words, translating from the Latin"
"Hey?" shouted Jameson.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 85
"Perhaps he was disgusted with life. That is the English
translation."
Whatever Jameson was about to say concerning the
value of translations from the Latin in a murder case un-
fortunately was interrupted by the telephone whirring. He
listened, hung up, said briefly, "Billy McKay isn't at the
hotel. He's staying with one of his playmates, the Hall
boy, overnight. Now see here, Baron . . ."
And then followed an hour's questioning. Jameson
wasn't ugly or threatening. His questions were dry,
caustic. He had the Baron repeat how he had first met
Hiroshita. The old man was persistent. And he had a
tenacious memory. And he sat there leaning on the desk
with his head nodding pelican fashion and the little
shrewd eyes boring in at the Baron, chewing on his unlit
cigar, taking his time, not hurrying the Baron. But where
other suspects had crumpled under the impact of the tire-
less question after question, had grown angry, had bluffed
and then had been caught in their bluffing, or had
screamed and shouted, this one followed none of these
procedures. He was quiet. He was bland. Despite himself,
Jameson found he was becoming exasperated. The clock
had struck midnight.
The man opposite was like a damned graven rock worn
too bloody smooth. The Baron was infinitely polite. As
the old man's voice edged with sarcasm, the Baron's can-
did blue eyes seemed to show his hurt by such suspicion.
Jameson got up, stalked across the room, swung suddenly
at the Baron, "By Jesus! I tell you HIROSHITA WAS
FRIGHTENED!"
"Ach, so. If you insist, my dear sir."
Jameson was prepared to go on. He would take all


86
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
morning as well as night. All the next day, too, by Jesus.
And then, just as he turned, he caught a glimpse of the
Baron's face. On that impassive darkness, the lips had cut
a fine, faint smile, ironic; and it passed as quickly as it
had appeared, and again the Baron was sympathetic and
puzzled.
Jameson wasn't a fool. He had a queer feeling. There
was something in that instant smile as though for a mo-
ment the feller's conceit had been too much for that
bland, helpful mask and had broken through it. Jameson
wagged his head, watched the Baron dourly. "Yes?" asked
the Baron pleasantly.
"You're a smart feller, hey?"
"My dear sir," said the Baron simply, "I am a great de-
tective."
"You think I'm a fool, hey?"
"Ach, my dear Mr Jameson." And then the full lower
lip thrust forward a little, and lines imperceptibly deep-
ened at the corners of the guileless eyes. "Let us say you
are handicapped, no? In your North American countries
not yet have you the experience." The Baron's eyes flicked
up at the old man, dropped again as he fit a cigarette.
"I'll admit," said the old man, "that I thought you were
lying about Kohler's death being caused by an air gun.
But what did Kohler and Hiroshita have in common that
got them both killed the same way? You tell me that."
"I wish I could, my dear sir. Do you know why Mr
Kohler went to Mexico?"
"Do I know? He had business there."
"In the paper I read that he worked for Miss McKay."
"So you read it, hey?" Jameson squinted at the Baron.
"She let him go. That Scotchman who runs Preacher's


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 87
ranch had three thousand acres that wasn't much good
and Kohler buys the three thousand acres without telling
Mary. That's why she let him go. Does that interest a
smart feller like you? Does that explain why Hiroshita
got shot with an air gun?"
"It could," answered the Baron politely. "Why did Mr
Kohler purchase the three thousand acres?"
"Because he was probably DRUNK!" shouted Jameson.
"He was drunk most of the time, and I heard before he
was fired he was claiming every time he got drunk that
he was going to make hisself a million dollars." Jameson
snorted. "When Kohler got drunk he'd think he was an
old Hawaiian. Kohler was a damn fool."
"I do not understand," said the Baron.
"I said Kohler was a DAMN fool," declared Jameson.
"See here, Baron," continued Jameson, dismissing Kohler.
"These islands are a paradise. The loveliest place mortal
man's ever seen. We don't have much crime here. I'm
an old man, Baron, but let me tell you this: As long as
I'm alive there ain't going to be crimes nor murderers on
this paradise to spoil it. I'm an old man, Baron. But I can
hang on." Jameson went to his chair and sat down heavily.
"That's all. You can go now. You're a smart feller, and
I've got nothing against you, and you've got powerful
friends in Washington. And you've sat here telling me a
lot of lies and thinking you're smart and clever, and may-
be you are." Jameson's long New England jaws dropped
wearily. He took his pen between his fingers. "When you
leaving, Baron?"
"Leaving?" When was he leaving? he wondered. To-
morrow? With Hiroshita shot and Miss Miquet soon to
receive a package that already had led to two deaths? He


88
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
couldn't leave until he knew whether he could safely tell
this old man all that Hiroshita had said and trust the old
man to protect Miss Miquet or not. And first he must
learn what Caryl Miquet wished him to do. He smiled.
"Ach, leaving? You had suggested tomorrow, my dear
sir?"
"You leave tomorrow, and I'll have you brought back
and thrown into jail as a suspect," declared Jameson
fiercely. "We checked on you late this afternoon by ca-
bling Mexico City. That's why I went after you tonight.
The manager of the Cosmopolitan Club's told the Mexico
City police that he heard you got yourself hired by Hiro-
shita as a bodyguard. What was Hiroshita afraid of that
he had to have a bodyguard?"
"I will tell you," said the Baron amiably.
"You'll tell me. You think it over tonight and decide if
you're going to tell the truth or not. Meanwhile, if you
try to leave the Islands, all the Austrians in Washington,
and the Democrats too, won't get you out of jail. That's
all. I'll ring you tomorrow at the hotel when I want you.
Good night."
"Do you wish a little advice, my dear sir?"
"Do I wish God almighty, Baron, all I want from
you are facts."
"I suggest that you cable the Mexico City police and
have them ascertain whether Mr Kohler ever met Mr
Sargent or Mr Preacher or"
"I've already cabled," said Jameson dryly. "Also to New
York and to San Francisco. Good night." He took the
telephone. "Give me the laboratory again, Sis."
"Good night to you, my dear sir," said the Baron as he
closed the door.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 89
Jameson swore, then explained into the telephone that
he'd burnt his finger lighting a cigar.
The Baron started down Merchant Street, a block away
from the docks. Long ago tight-lipped missionaries from
Boston had walked this street, and swaggering sailors
from all nations, and gaudily dressed Hawaiians in red
vests with dreams of a Pacific kingdom floating crazily
through their heads.
The stone buildings threw scented shadows upon the
flagstone walk which had so many years ago been trans-
ported to Honolulu in the holds of sailing ships. He
turned into King Street, a broad boulevard plowing ruth-
lessly through the older part of the city toward the
modern residential section erected on the cool and per-
fumed heights of Moiliili, two and a half miles east.
At the corner of King and Fort streets he paused, con-
sidering if he should hail one of the taxis drawn up in
front of the rococo structure of the territorial capital,
formerly the home of Hawaiian kings and queens, or
attempt the three-mile walk to Waikiki and the Imperial
Hawaiian. In the three miles of walking he would have
time to think, to decide upon a course to follow.
After Hiroshita's murder Jameson had instructed the
Baron to remain in his room with the dead man. The
manager and others had arrived, unwillingly complied
with the Honolulu detective's incisive instructions to pa-
trol the wing to prevent any guest in the six rooms from
getting away. Jameson had telephoned for his assistant
Cobb, and four plainclothes men had arrived in less than
fifteen minutes with the cameraman, fingerprint man and
the doctor. Jameson then, after instructing Cobb to ques-


90 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
tion every guest in the wing, had departed for the police
station, taking the Baron with him.
As a result, the Baron had had little time to organize
his thoughts. And when Jameson had commenced firing
his questions the great Baron von Kaz was too distrust-
ful to risk giving facts to the Honolulu detective. There-
fore, as he stood there at King and Fort streets, he was
puzzled. What part was Caryl Miquet playing? Was she
unknowingly caught in this chain of events? That was
something he must learn. What right had he to tell Jame-
son Mr Hiroshita's story? And if he did, would that, after
all, protect Miss Miquet? And why should he worry about
protecting her? And could a lost Aztec city be the real
story of the two Green Lions? Ach! he sighed patheti-
cally. He was sorry for himself. The poor brave Baron; he
who had promised so faithfully to be in Austria by the
middle of May, now delayed by the idiocies of these bar-
baric North Americans! And even as he commiserated
with himself, he felt a warm glow at the expectation of
seeing Caryl Miquet again.
Tomorrow he would converse with the obstinate young
woman, and this time he would let no one interrupt
them. Then he would know what to do, act quickly, and,
conscience clear, depart for Austria. For Vienna! As he
started down King Street he could even imagine that he
heard those familiar noises of Vienna, the music from the
beer halls, faint and gay and happy.
"Good evening, Baron."
The Baron spun on his toes, and as he spun, the green
umbrella slid from his arm to his right hand with the
point sticking outwards. "So?"
"Glad to see you, Baron." George Tuung, the Japanese,


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 93
safer to close the safety lock, at least. He observed kindly
that you never could tell what might happen to the
weapon. Tuung was quite nasty. He said he was capable
of handling an automatic, and if the Baron didn't stop
shoving the umbrella at the automatic it was liable to go
off. The Baron sighed. He was apprehensive that he'd
made a serious error. Soapstone plaque or no soapstone
plaque, it would have been more convenient if this Mr
Tuung had been killed, or at least seriously disabled.
For the first five minutes or more the Baron was too in-
tent upon the automatic to realize what the three men
had already discovered: They were being followed.
Tuung was growing nervous. The three men would let
loose a series of rapid-fire, staccato Japanese at each other;
Tuung would glance through the rear window; the driver
had the Lincoln traveling seventy miles an hour now, but
those bright lights behind them continued to creep closer.
They were past the Imperial Hawaiian, skirting Waikiki
beach.
Honolulu goes to sleep at midnight. The long street
was empty except for the two cars rushing upon Dia-
mond Head with the stars bright and icy above them, and
the surf thundering its crash and slide and crash at the
right of the road, the thudding rumble of the waves lift-
ing and joining with the strained baying of the motors.
When the Baron glanced back for the second time, Tuung
viciously prodded his side with the automatic.
"I'll let you have it," he said and then gave an order in
Japanese to the driver. Tires shrieked, and the sound filled
the car; the car tilted and the centrifugal force lifted
Tuung and flung him against the Baron. The car
groaned. Ahead the straight road slithered. Under the


94 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
harsh glare of the headlights the road twisted and curved,
melted into huge black trees, into a wall which streaked
past as though it were painted on a revolving panorama.
The lights picked out the great hibiscus flowers on the
wall, and the flowers seemed to dance madly as the Lin-
coln's tires spun in the soft red earth away from the
macadam. In turn the dancing flowers were jerked off the
panorama, the lights spun down a tunneled earth road
and the road became steady. When the Lincoln had
lurched heavily, George Tuung's chin had gone upward
from the impact of the umbrella's weighted handle ap-
plied during the swerve into the side road.
The Lincoln started out anew. The driver, glancing
briefly into the gloom of the rear of the sedan, caught
a glimpse only of the Baron. He spoke in Japanese to the
man sitting next to him. This man also looked to the
rear. As near as he could discern Tuung had gone crazy.
He was sitting on the Baron's lap.
"If you please," requested the Baron, "will you stop the
car?"
The Baron had Tuung's automatic. The automatic was
pointed at the driver's head. And the Baron was shielded
by Tuung. The car stopped. Holding Tuung by the scruff
of the neck the Baron backed out of the Lincoln. He was
holding Tuung in front of him, facing the two men who
had descended from the car, their hands held above their
heads, when the dull monotone behind him became a
roar, and the roar merged into brakes squealing.
The Buick stopped ten feet behind the Lincoln. A fat
man left the Buick, approached the other car. He didn't
walk with his body facing the Lincoln. He walked very
carefully, as though the road were covered with eggs, and


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 95
he had both hands in his pockets, and these pockets were
shoved out from his body. He came to them, sidewise,
looking as if he were about to lift his skirts and go into
a ballet dance.
He was five or six feet away from the Baron when he
stood still. The creases at his neck wrinkled and slid over
his wilted collar as he nodded at the Baron, his face all
filled with that cherubic expression. "I've got them cov-
ered, Baron," Bolton said. "Drop the Jap and get into my
car. I've saved you."
The wind swayed the feathery boughs of a Kiawe tree
across the moon, and the slim sharp leaves broke the dull
light into little triangles and squares; Bolton's head and
shoulders were speckled with the tiny blotches of yellow
and blackness. In that soft, sticky darkness the Baron
watched the moon speckles jump and quiver when Bol-
ton's body moved.
The Baron dropped Tuung. The Japanese went down
into the thick volcanic dust and put his hands into the
dust, recovering from the sock the umbrella had given
him on the chin. Bolton's shoe caught Tuung right above
the ear. Tuung didn't stir after that. "Poor fellow." Bol-
ton's shoe rolled Tuung onto his back. "The poor fellow.
I do abhor violence." Then he waved his gun at the other
Japanese and ordered in his flat voice, "Scram!" The Japa-
nese looked at the gun. Then they fled into the night.
Bolton slipped his hand through the Baron's arm. "I
don't like Japs," he said.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS <#
that this Hiroshita was involved with a Jap gang. How-
ever, I know so little about Jap gangs that my opinion is
worth very little." The man's head revolved toward the
Baron. "You, of course, a great detective, undoubtedly
have your ideas."
"Ach so. You are most astute my dear sir. I met Mr
Hiroshita in Mexico City. I also believe he was involved
in a gang feud."
"Think so?" The Buick was slowing as it approached
the crest of the grade. "Lucky for you that I left the po-
lice station only a few minutes after you departed. I saw
you go down the street and called to you. I was going to
drive you back to the hotel." Bolton applied the brakes,
the Buick swerving to the left upon a rocky promontory
overlooking the Pacific. Mr Bolton sighed. "It's pretty
here."
"Beautiful, my dear sir." The Baron slipped his hand
along the edge of the door until he had the door handle
between his fingers. He braced his feet, ready to jump.
"I think we're safe after all."
"Ach so. No one seems to be behind us, my dear Mr
Bolton."
"My car was parked a block from the police station. By
the time I got it, you'd disappeared. Then when I drove
up Fort Street I saw you getting into the other car. It
struck me that you were being forced in. I hadn't time to
call for the police. So I followed."
The Baron gravely thanked dear Mr Bolton.
"Maybe, because Hiroshita visited you, the gang thought
you were mixed up in his affairs?"
"Possibly." The Baron wondered if it would be safe to
light a cigarette. He decided not to. He wanted to keep


98 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
his hands free. "From what they said, I assume that they
mistook me for another person."
Bolton digested this information. "It's nice here. If
you're not in a hurry to get to the hotel I guess I'll have
a look at the ocean. I like oceans."
"I too enjoy beauty, Mr Bolton."
"You do? If you're not too shaken up, have a look with
me. The air'll do you good, Baron."
The two men walked toward the rocks. There the
Baron leaned against one of the stunted pine trees with
every visible sign of casualness while Bolton ambled over
the rocks.
The Baron was watching Bolton all the time. The Baron
had seen men before who were dangerous and ruthless,
but not one of them ever gave him the feeling that he
had now, watching Bolton. There was something unreal
about the man. Despite his fatness, he was nimble. He sat
on one of the rocks, the moon reflecting a cold light from
that round cherubic face of his, and it was as if the face
were molded of butter with the nose and the eyes and
the soft smile there, and the Baron could imagine that
oily sluggish softness oozing out and creeping, covering
him.
Bolton was saying in his toneless voice how nice it was
here, but it was time to get back to the hotel, and the
Baron had the sensation of waiting for something. But
that something didn't come. It was like watching a man
blow air in a balloon. The balloon expands, and you know
it has to explode but it doesn't, and the waiting tightens
all your nerves. Bolton got off the rock and came toward
the Baron, his colorless lips rolled into a meaningless
smile, and his eyes as bright and hard as the light from


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 99
the moon. When it did happen it didn't happen suddenly.
Bolton stumbled. He went down on his face, twisted, and
was silent.
That was all.
The Baron had the gun he had taken from George
Tuung. But Bolton's arms were splayed on each side of
his body. The man groaned. He tried to rise, fell again,
rubbing his legs. When he turned his head, his eyes were
full of tears. "I've sprained my leg," he said. He didn't
ask the Baron to help him up. He said, "You'd better drive
to the hotel for a doctor, Baron." Then his head dropped,
and he was silent. If he'd seen the gun in the Baron's
hand he gave no indication of it. The Baron came close to
Bolton.
"Mr Bolton," said the Baron.
But Bolton didn't reply. He was stretched out on the
rocky gravel a foot or so away from the cliff. The waves
beating on the rocks below gave a low thunder. A white
moth flew by in zigzags and paused on Bolton's head
where the hair was brushed across the bald spot, and Bol-
ton didn't move. The Baron changed his gun to his left
hand, walked around the fat man spread on the rocky
soil like a great fat slug, motionless.
"If you please, Mr Bolton, are you hurt?"
When the Baron rolled him over Bolton didn't open his
eyes. The Baron removed Bolton's gun from his pocket,
threw it over the cliff. He searched Bolton's other pockets,
made certain the man was unarmed.
If the man had stumbled and in falling had lost con-
sciousness, the only thing to do was to return with him
to the hotel. After all, he had rescued the Baron.
Nevertheless, the Baron was distrustful. He flicked his


IOO THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
cigarette lighter. And cautiously, because in order to em-
ploy both hands it was necessary to drop the gun in his
pocket, he knelt and opened Bolton's eyelid. With his
right hand the Baron held open the eyelid; with his left
he brought the tiny flame close to the staring eye. When
the lighter was less than half an inch from the lid the eye-
lid spasmodically jerked. Bolton opened the other eye,
smiling like an evil child, and as the Baron's hand plunged
toward the gun in his pocket two huge soft arms whipped
around the Baron's arms, pinning them helpless to his
sides.
The Baron was more amazed that the fat man, un-
armed, would dare attack him, the great Von Kaz, than
disturbed. The Baron had been pinned before. He knew
what to do. With lightninglike rapidity, the Baron's knees
came up where they would strike into Bolton's groin, and
then, as other foolish men had done before, Bolton would
groan with pain and release the Baron. And the Baron
would get up and bow ironically and say, "My dear sir,
you should be more careful." It was most dramatic to
smile at a vanquished adversary, and the Baron relished
these little moments of triumph.
So, automatically, he doubled his knees. But huge soft
legs had split wide apart and clamped around the Baron's
waist. The Baron's knees found no groin to strike. The
Baron felt himself trapped in that sickening embrace,
and when the legs and arms pressed he was forced against
Bolton's yielding stomach, and panic overcame him. Bol-
ton's mass seemed to be enfolding him. The man's legs
tightened. The Baron jerked, writhed, heard himself cry-
ing out as the shocking pain cracked into his ribs. With
all his force the Baron tried to pull from that embrace.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 101
After the first cry the Baron had clamped his mouth shut.
He would bite off his tongue before crying aloud again.
Great stifling waves of pain flowed through him, and he
turned his head from side to side, his face pale and
strained above the placid, moonlike thing below him.
Cutting the sodden haze the Baron heard Bolton's flat
voice, "How do you like it?" Bolton squeezed harder.
The Baron squirmed futilely. "I used to be Middle-
Western champ," said Bolton, as if that were an impor-
tant piece of information. "I'm going to throw you over
the cliff."
The Baron gasped, "You are ... a dolt."
Without realizing it, Bolton relaxed the pressure.
"Think so? I'm giving it to you easy. In a minute you
won't feel much."
"Preacher will." The Baron went limp. "When they
hang him."
Bolton shook the Baron as a monstrous snail tries to
crumple a particularly tough and thorny blade of grass.
"You're lying." He rolled on the Baron.
"So?"
Bolton loosened his grip.
Bolton was bewildered. He took the gun from the
Baron's pocket and slowly got off his body. He pointed
the gun at the Baron. "Explain," he said without emotion.
"If you're trying for time you'll wish you hadn't when it
starts over again."
The Baron lay on the ground without moving. "I wrote
a letter."
"You're lying."
"My dear sir"
"Cut it."
■


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS IO3
"Every time you turn your head," the Baron purred
softly, "I shall do that. I am quicker than you, my dear
sir. You cannot catch the gun." The Baron gripped the
gun tighter, trying to forget the pain which was splinter-
ing into his sides. "Where was Miss Miquet when Mr
Hiroshita was shot?"
Bolton thrust up in the seat, at the same time twisting
toward the Baron, arms outstretched, fingers grasping at
the gun. But the muzzle streaked down upon Bolton's
head again. Bolton's arms dropped. He slumped into the
seat.
The Baron smoked a cigarette. After a time he flicked it
away, then methodically began to slap Bolton's face. Bol-
ton's body trembled, his eyes opened. "Can you hear me,
my dear sir?" gently inquired the Baron.
Bolton managed to get out his handkerchief, wiped the
blood from his head. "Miss Miquet was sitting on the
bed." He folded the handkerchief, wiped his nose. "I'm
not afraid of you. Someday, Baron von Kaz"
"Someday, my dear Mr Bolton, you will wish you were
afraid of me. Where were the others?"
There was a long pause. When the muzzle hit Bolton
for the third time, he groaned softly.
"Did you hear, my dear sir?"
"I don't know. That's the truth. The girls had rigged a
screen between their beds and the balcony doors. They
had their breakfast on the balcony. Miss McKay said she
didn't like to eat breakfast and see messy beds."
"The screen prevented them from noticing you climb
from your balcony to mine, no?"
"No," said Bolton. "Mr Sargent joined me on the bal-
cony. Then I returned into the room behind the screen


104 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
where the girls and Jeff—Mr Preacher were talking near
the radio and drinks."
"Ach, so? Leaving Mr Sargent on the balcony alone?"
"Not exactly. I think you cracked my skull. My head
hurts." The man wasn't excited. It was a statement of fact
in the same soft, flat voice. "He called Miss McKay to
come and look at the moon."
"She went?"
Bolton felt his head. "She and Mr Preacher went."
"How long was Mr Sargent alone?"
"Not long enough to get to your balcony. Five minutes
at the most." Bolton started to turn his head, remem-
bered, gazed stolidly in front.
"What was the time?"
"Nine o'clock. Nine-fifteen."
The Baron recalled that Mr Hiroshita had been killed
a few minutes before or after nine forty-five. "That is too
early," he said. "The five of you had barely entered Miss
Miquet's room by then."
"How should I know when it was?"
"No?" The Baron frowned. "And you and Miss Miquet
were by yourselves while the three were on the balcony?"
"For a few minutes. Then I called Mr Preacher."
"And he complied, my dear sir?"
Bolton hesitated. "Miss McKay," he answered stolidly,
"has a bad influence upon him. When I ordered him to
come, he came."
"Good. And so Miss McKay and her fiance were on the
balcony. And you were with Miss Miquet and Mr
Preacher by the radio?"
"Most of the time."
The Baron's patience began to crack as the pain in his


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 105
ribs increased. "That is when you became angry and left
the room?"
"Mr Preacher refused to go to bed. His mother always
wanted him to be in bed by ten unless it was a special
occasion. I have tried to follow her rules. But lately he
has grown very rebellious, Baron von Kaz. I've tried tq
follow her rules, and when he refused and said he was
going to dance with Miss McKay later, I walked out,
hoping he would come."
"You went to your own room?"
Bolton nodded and then put his hand to his head again.
"For only a few minutes. When Mr Preacher did not
come, I returned and was talking to him and the others
when the police pounded on the door."
The moon was floating in that deep blue sky of night,
and the Baron took a breath and held his lips tight until
the pain ebbed away and then asked, "Why did you
attempt to run over me, Mr Bolton?"
"It was you, wasn't it?" Bolton's voice was a flat ribbon
stretching into the night. "I thought you were lying. I'm
a plain man. And I know my place. Don't think you're
clever just because you fool a simple man like me."
"Why did you attempt to kill me twice?" When there
was no reply the Baron wondered aloud if dear Mr Bol-
ton would enjoy the bite of the steel muzzle again.
"It was a joke. Mr Sargent hired me to frighten you.
I wasn't going to kill you, Baron. That was part of the
joke. I wouldn't really kill anyone. I wasn't going to
throw you from the cliff. I was just going to knock you
out and get you put on board a ship for Australia."
"Australia?"
This time Bolton turned, and although the Baron had


106 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
the gun ready, the muzzle didn't come down. Bolton
laughed shortly. "Honest, Baron. Mr Sargent didn't want
you troubling Miss Miquet. He thought if I could get you
on a ship and off the Islands it 'd be better for Miss
Miquet. Don't you see?"
"So? He does not wish me to 'trouble' Miss Miquet?"
"Sure," said Bolton earnestly. "I was only trying to scare
you. Why, you don't imagine I'd really want to throw
you off the cliff, do you?"
The Baron eyed Bolton's neck. "My dear sir," he replied
evenly, "of course not."
"I'm the most tender-hearted fellow in the world,
Baron."
The Baron sank into the rear seat. "If you please, Mr
Bolton, drive to the hotel. I am weary."
Halfway to the hotel the Baron leaned over and asked
softly, "If you please, my dear sir. You were planning to
ship me off the Islands tonight?"
"That's right," replied Bolton. "I don't know what Mr
Sargent '11 say now. I suppose you'll go and complain to
the police?"
"And what boat leaves tonight at this hour?"
"Oh," said Bolton uneasily, "there's always some boat.
To tell the truth, Baron, after I knocked you out, I'd prob-
ably have had to keep you till tomorrow. A boat leaves to-
morrow."
"I see."
"I'm just a simple, humble man. You've been too clever
for me, and I expect you'll send me to jail, won't you?"
"Jail?" protested the Baron. "My dear sir, how can I
blame you if Mr Sargent has been only doing what he
considers his duty? However, if you would be so kind


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 107
as to explain to him that I have no intention of troubling
Miss Miquet, or Miss McKay, I would count it as a favor
and think no more about tonight's occurrences. After all,
how bravely you saved me from the Japanese gang! I owe
that to you."
"Thanks, Baron. Those Japs might've really hurt you,
too."
Upstairs in his room the Baron stripped to his waist.
His body was marked with purple-colored bruises, and a
welt was swelling on his forehead. He frowned blackly
at the sight, and the mirror returned the frown, remind-
ing him of the dangers of overconfidence. He drew on his
shirt slowly. Every time he moved, new aches came. He
thought his ribs weren't broken. If they were cracked,
that was unfortunate, because he had a great deal to do
before dawn.
He fortified himself with several stiff glasses of brandy,
sat down, grunting, wondering what specks of truth were
floating in Mr Bolton's fantastic explanation, smiled
grimly at the thought of Mr Bolton and the appearance
of this gentleman's face and throat, and slowly and with
an effort reached for the telephone.


CHAPTER VII
AND THE RED DIAMOND
XwO O'CLOCK in the morning.
The orchestra on top of the roof of the Alexander
Bishop Hotel had finished playing the song concerning
the tourist who's mixed up in the Hawaiian language and
rubs his big opu, or something like that, which wasn't
his stomach at all but the moon. The cool early morning
breeze was blowing in the open windows. The majority
of the dancers had departed. A few were still hanging
around the bar, old-timers, mixing oke and soda water
and being quiet about their drinking. The drummer was
yawning, half asleep: the musicians were calling it a
night; pau, through.
The Baron had a small table near the door. The aqua
and silver-leaf walls and the blossoms in relief of the
night-blooming cereus gave the roof garden an exotic,
tropical atmosphere. Several women were looking at
themselves in the mirrored panels, inserted the entire
width of the oblong dance floor; and one of them in
shimmering green which displayed a lot of tanned shoul-
ders, and considerably more underneath the shoulders
where they begin to swell out and mean something if you
liked them that way, stopped in front of the table. When
108


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 109
the handkerchief floated from her hand to the floor she
uttered sweetly, "Oh dear," and gazed soulfully at the
Baron. This gentleman recovered the square of fabric,
and as he raised his body it stopped at an angle of ap-
proximately ten degrees from horizontal. "Ach Gott!" he
muttered, placed his left hand tenderly over his ribs and
regarded the surprised woman with concentrated male-
volence, as if it were her fault.
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt?" He thrust the handkerchief into her hand,
glared at her, waved her away as though she were a stray
alley cat, sitting very erect in the chair until the pain
subsided. The lady flounced off indignantly. She swept
angrily through the mirrored doors, narrowly escaping a
collision with George Tuung. There was cork-plaster
bandage stuck on his chin. He came direct to the Baron's
table, sat down nervously. He took the glass of brandy-
and-soda, downed it. "What do you want?"
"My dear sir, you have caused me much trouble. Do
you "The Baron made a wry face and put his hand
to his side and then smiled unconcernedly.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Tuung suspi-
ciously.
"Gout," said the Baron promptly. "Do you realize that
it was necessary for me to telephone Mr Hiroshita's estab-
lishment four times before I could persuade the gentle-
man there to listen to what I had to say?"
"You don't have gout in your ribs. Gout's in your feet."
Tuung's hands were on the table, preparatory to getting
up. "What's the matter with you? No funny stuff."
"It is German gout," cheerfully explained the Baron.
"What do you want with me?"


110 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Not until I assured him that I would send the police
for you would the dolt promise to try to get in touch with
you."
"I didn't mean any rough stuff, Baron." The man lifted
the glass to his lips with both hands. "How was I to know
you had a friend following you? All we wanted was to
talk to you alone. My gun wasn't loaded."
"Hein?" The Baron gave a start.
"I wouldn't carry a loaded gun, Baron."
Under the table the Baron examined George Tuung's
gun. It wasn't loaded. "Ach," he stated agreeably, thrust-
ing it beneath the table onto George Tuung's lap, "I knew
it all the time. I am not like your friends, I am far too
clever a man, Mr Tuung, to be frightened by an unloaded
weapon."
Tuung, feeling the gun, quickly shoved it in his pocket.
"You kjietv it wasn't loaded?" he asked admiringly.
"Hiroshita said you were a pretty wise detective. Seems
he was right."
"Naturally." The Baron nodded and then wiped his
forehead with his handkerchief. So the gun with which he
had threatened Mr Bolton, to say nothing of George
Tuung's accomplices, had not been loaded? Ach, Gott!
This stupid Oriental should have been more careful. As
he appreciated the horrible risk he had taken the Baron
said acidly, "Next time, I inform you, when you use a
gun, make positive it is loaded."
"Maybe you're right, Baron," agreed George Tuung.
"But that gun's so old"
"I assure you, I have no interest in your gun." The
Baron folded his handkerchief, reinserted it in his breast


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
III
coat pocket. "I have matters of more importance to dis-
cuss with you. That is why, immediately upon reaching
the hotel, I telephoned for you, my dear Mr Tuung. The
desk clerk at the Imperial said the Paradise roof garden
would be open until two-thirty. We can talk here com-
fortably. And so what is it you wished to tell me before
we were—ach! disturbed?"
It took a few minutes before Tuung fully realized that
this wasn't a trap, that the Baron actually had come here
to see him, and then Tuung forgot the ache in his jaw
and said in a businesslike fashion:
"It's this way, Baron. Hiroshita hired you"
"Hired?" The Baron frowned. "So?"
"Engaged you, I mean," corrected the Japanese hastily.
"Now he's murdered. He was scared of being murdered.
That's why he cabled us from the boat to meet him. But
when he went to see you at the Imperial he wouldn't let
us go with him; he was afraid the police would think it
funny if he was tailed. He said he was going to take you
for a ride. It's funny," commented Tuung pathetically,
"but since that bust on the jaw by your friend I can't
seem to get a kick out of this." He held up his empty
glass. "Maybe it's watered. I don't like brandy. What
about some Hawaiian okolehau?"
The Baron promptly ordered a bottle of okolehau, that
fiery concoction from rice and tii leaves and sugar cane.
"It's this way, Baron. We had a proposition to offer you.
I don't know all that Hiroshita told you, Baron. There are
six of us left now. We haven't much money. Most of us
own shops or are in business. I'm a lawyer. I'm not going
to give the names of the other five: that isn't necessary.


112 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
You saw two of them tonight before that friend of yours
chased them away. God damn!" He rubbed his jaw. "I
thought they'd never return after you went."
"Uhm," murmured the Baron.
"I'm telling you the truth. Hiroshita was the only one
who ever busted the law, and he didn't ever do anything
on a big scale. Then he came to us, and we've borrowed
and mortgaged and called on our friends for all the
money we could get. I'm telling you the truth. We man-
aged to raise a total of ten thousand dollars. Hiroshita
didn't put in a cent. Including your fee, he spent more
than five thousand dollars, so we've got less than five
thousand dollars remaining. If you'll handle this for us
I'm prepared to offer you twenty-five hundred dollars
now. And twenty-five hundred more when you obtain
that soapstone plaque Hiroshita had mailed to Miss
Miquet. That's the whole story, Baron. Short and sweet.
Hiroshita told us about you. If he could trust you, we
can.
George Tuung drew out his wallet, slipped a thick enve-
lope under the table onto the Baron's lap. "Count it when
you get back to the hotel. I put twenty-five one hundred
dollar bills in it half an hour after I heard Hiroshita was
killed."
"You wish me to determine who shot Mr Hiroshita
and"
"No sir," declared George Tuung. "Leave that to the
police. All we want is the plaque."
"If you please, what is in the plaque?"
"In the plaque?" asked Tuung suspiciously. "Hiroshita
told you."
"Unfortunately Mr Hiroshita was killed before he could


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 113
divulge that point. And I can give no promises until I am
told what is hidden in the second soapstone plaque."
George Tuung gulped down another glass of oke with-
out turning a hair. Glibly he explained that concealed in
the plaque was the only red diamond in the world. It was
a freak. It weighed fifty-seven carats. It was absolutely
perfect.
"So?" murmured the Baron, sipping his second glass of
oke and wondering if it really were liquid fire.
Tuung nodded. Absolutely perfect. And during one of
his trips into the interior of Mexico Hiroshita had hap-
pened upon a Japanese who had formerly lived in Hawaii.
The Baron snapped, "His name?"
"Aleale," said Tuung promptly, then realized this wasn't
a Japanese name, hesitated, and went on to say that the
man's real name was Sako Okyo but that when he'd
worked for Mr McKay they'd called him "Aleale." The
Baron didn't wink an eye. He sat in his chair, fingering
that envelope with the money, smiling politely, and said,
"Please continue, my dear sir."
Tuung swallowed. This Aleale—he repeated the name
several times to make sure the Baron would get it prop-
erly—this Aleale had taken it from one of those old Aztec
idols. Aleale didn't suspect the stone was valuable. He
thought it was red glass, at the most a ruby. But Hiro-
shita had been a jeweler. The red stone was a diamond
and, because it was unique, was worth an incredible for-
tune.
Hiroshita returned by the next boat to Honolulu,
formed a society among his six friends to purchase the
stone. And on his next trip to Mexico had easily per-
suaded Aleale to part with it for five hundred dollars.


114 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"And," concluded Tuung seriously, "that red diamond is
legally ours. Already we've spent five thousand dollars
for it. We can't afford to lose it now, it's too much
money. It 'd ruin us. I've mortgaged all my property to
pay my share." His voice trembled, and it wasn't the oke
that made it tremble, either. "Besides, Baron, the red dia-
mond will bring us a fortune 1"
"Ach, so?" The Baron decided that another glass of
oke wouldn't burn quite so fiercely. "How do I know that
Mr Hiroshita was not shot by one of his"
"We can prove we didn't! I was expecting that ques-
tion. All six of us were waiting upstairs in his store for
him to return. Besides the six as witnesses, there is his
clerk and perhaps half-a-dozen people in the near-by
shops who saw us enter."
"No," muttered the Baron thickly, after a long pause.
He stroked the envelope. Ach, that money inside of it
would be good to have. But no, he could not do it. He
could not wait here. In Austria they required him. And
the Baron von Kaz had promised . . .
"No, my dear sir, I cannot. You must go to the police,
to that good Mr Jameson"
"The police?" shrilled Tuung. "And suppose the red
diamond Hiroshita bought from Aleale didn't belong to
Aleale? What would the police do then? If Aleale stole
it, and the police are informed, our money is lost."
The Baron stood in a thickening haze composed of sil-
ver cereus blossoms, threw some money on the table and
wavered out of the door, followed by Tuung. Outside, in
the street, the shadows pressed toward him, and far-away
bells were striking the hour of three. Tuung grasped the
Baron's arm. "Baron," whispered Tuung's voice, coming


Il6 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Don't you 'good morning' me, Baron. What's the idea
of putting this in the paper?" He thrust the paper at the
Baron. "Scaring our tourists with all that damned non-
sense."
Jameson pointed to the second page:
ATTEMPTED KIDNAPING THWARTED
Late last night, Baron Franz Maximilian Karagoz
von Kaz was the victim of an attempted kidnap-
ing by a gang of Japanese criminals. Baron von
Kaz is a guest of the Imperial Hawaiian, having
arrived yesterday on the Kohala.
Fortunately for the Baron, Mr Harry Bolton, also
a tourist, happened to be driving past King and
Fort streets and saw the Baron being ordered into
the kidnapers' car. Mr Bolton bravely pursued
the would-be kidnapers, catching up with them
on the outskirts of Kapiolani Park . . .
Then followed a brief account of the Baron's rescue,
With the comment that this kidnaping gang undoubtedly
belonged to the group responsible for the death of Mr
Hiroshita. The Baron gazed innocently at the wrathful
Jameson and then returned to the page. Below was a
short news item saying that Hiroshita, a former dope
smuggler, had been shot last night under mysterious cir-
cumstances at one of the local hotels where he was visit-
ing with a tourist.
"Here I try to keep Hiroshita's death out of the papers,
and then you tell them that stuff. Smart feller, hey?"
Jameson sat down in a chair, bit off the end of one of his


Il8 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
into the shower, leaving the door open. Jameson didn't
move from the seat he had resumed. While the Baron
shaved, Jameson continued:
"Bolton said he left the police station right after you
walked out. Bolton got into his car planning to pick you
up and drive you to the hotel but he saw you being kid-
naped."
"Ach, so?" The Baron dried his razor. He went to the
closet, selected the white linen suit he'd bought in San
Francisco, commenced to dress.
"You're pretty cool about it, aren't you?" drawled
Jameson. "You know, I'm beginning to think this Bol-
ton's a mighty shrewd feller. I checked on his time when
he was away from the room last night. He says it was at
least fifteen minutes before Hiroshita was killed. He
wouldn't say that if it wasn't true, because, even if Jeff
might lie for him, Caryl Miquet wouldn't. And then I got
to talking to him, and he offered the theory that Hiro-
shita and Kohler might both be mixed up in some Japa-
nese gang." Jameson chewed on the dry brown cigar. "He
pretended to get the theory just one second after I told
him Hiroshita was supposed to be a dope smuggler. What
do you think, hey?"
The Baron inspected himself in the mirror. "Perhaps
so.
"You're a lot of help, Baron. You look real nice in that
suit, too. Bolton thinks maybe this same gang suspected
you knew who they were and that's why they wanted to
kidnap you. What do you think of that now?
"Ah, my dear sir, it is all most mysterious. Perhaps this
gang thought I was someone else. Mr Bolton was very
kind to rescue me."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 119
"Then he did rescue you?"
"Assuredly, my dear sir."
Jameson got up. "I had a feeling maybe Bolton was
lying. Seems he's a hero after all. Just wanted to check on
it. Sorry I woke you. Next time you want newspaper pub-
licity, see me before telephoning the papers, hey?"
The Baron rubbed his nose, cocked his head to one side
in that infantile manner of his when amused or puzzled.
"Ach, so. I will do that, Mr Jameson."
"Smart feller, aren't you?" asked Jameson sourly. "Bol-
ton telephoned the papers, and you knew it, and I know it
because I checked the city desks." He was at the door.
Instead of opening it he stood there, hitting the wooden
panels lightly with his clenched fist. He turned. "Who
were your friends who let you out dead drunk this morn-
ing"
"My dear sir," the Baron protested affably but firmly,
"once before I informed you that the great Von Kaz is
never drunk. You will understand, please?"
Jameson regarded the Baron, and there was something
so arrogant and compelling in the Austrian's attitude,
despite the fine veneer of courtesy, that the Honolulu de-
tective uneasily found himself saying, "The clerk said a
couple of Japs brought you into the lobby this morning.
Where'd you go after you and Bolton entered?"
Unhurriedly the Baron went into the closet again, re-
turned with his white panama hat and the heavy green
umbrella. He murmured that he had desired fresh air and
had stopped in one of the little bars for a drink, and he
didn't really remember who had accompanied him to the
hotel for the second time. "After you, my dear sir," he


120 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
said politely, holding the door for Jameson. "I go down
for breakfast."
Jameson walked into the corridor, drawling, "I've not
forgotten about getting the truth out of you "and
then somehow the green umbrella slid from the Baron's
hand, became entangled in the other's feet, and Jameson
sprawled across the corridor.
"Ach!" apologized the Baron. "One thousand pardons."
He lifted Jameson to his feet, brushed off his coat with
malicious little side swipes which stung through the thin
linen. "I am so stupid. I shall never forgive myself. Are
you hurt?"
"That's enough, Baron." Jameson eyed the dark-faced
smiling man. "That makes us even. Got the handle
weighted, haven't you?"
"Weighted?" The Baron shook his head. Jameson was
limping slightly, and because the old man hadn't com-
plained or lost his temper the Baron illogically regretted
his action, felt ashamed of himself. "Yes," he contradicted
brusquely, suddenly, while they were waiting for the ele-
vator. "It is weighted. With lead. If I wished I could have
broken your leg. But I did not wish to." He folded his
arms, defiantly stared at the old man.
Jameson lifted the umbrella which the Baron was hold-
ing. "You don't say."
"I could have killed you with it." The Baron was in-
ordinately proud of this green umbrella. "Walking ahead
of you, I can throw it over my shoulder."
"You don't say," repeated Jameson dryly.
"You do not believe it?" demanded the Baron fiercely.
An alabaster bowl filled with sand rested in one corner.
The alabaster bowl was behind the Baron; he was facing


122 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
smile wasn't easy to resist. "I have a phenomenal mem-
ory." The way he said it didn't exasperate Jameson this
time. Jameson realized the man wasn't boasting. He
probably did have a phenomenal memory.
"Was this Okyo an old feller? And old Jap?"
The Baron's momentary cordiality froze. "Ach, so." His
head nodded stiffly. "Exactly."
"Well, well." Jameson continued easy and careless. "Did
he talk English with a funny accent? That is, did he talk
like he'd learned the language in England or from an Eng-
lish feller in Japan?"
"That is the man. Can you tell me where I can reach
him? He was so kind"
"Reach him?" Jameson slowly climbed into the Ford.
His ankle still hurt. He glanced at the heavy umbrella
hanging so innocently from the Baron's arm. "I reckon
you can't exactly reach him any more. I used to know him
real well. He was an archaeologist out at the University,
specializing in Hawaiian things. But he went and died.
Yes sir, died all of eight years ago. He had a son, a big
feller, but you didn't meet his son, Baron." The old man's
eyes were uncommonly bright as he leaned on the edge
of the door. "No, you didn't meet young Saka. He quit
working for Miss McKay over a year ago. He got into a
fight with Kohler, knifed Kohler, I believe. Kohler never
had him arrested, and Saka left for the mainland. That
was just after Kohler was fired by Miss McKay."
The Baron reflectively touched his nose. "Miss McKay,
then, has complete charge of her ranch?"
"Hey? She doesn't run it, if that's what you mean. She
had to hire another manager."
"But she owns her ranch, if you please?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 123
"She inherited it along with Billy."
"The ranch is—uhm—valuable?"
"What 're you getting at? It's worth a couple of hun-
dred thousand dollars. Billy's due to get the major share
when he's of age. Old man McKay was French and
thought the boy should carry on. But Mary's got plenty
to live on."
"And," asked the Baron softly, "if Billy should die?"
Jameson took a long time to answer this question. He
choked the engine, stepped on the starter. Then he replied
with a peculiar quietness, "If Billy died, she'd get it all,
of course."
"Thank you. I was merely curious. Good morning to
you, my dear sir."
"Wait a minute!" The words cracked like a whip. The
Baron returned. Jameson glared at him. "Look here, d'you
know that she and Billy and all her friends have taken
the airplane to Maui? On the eight o'clock this morning.
That feller Bolton went along too. Damn near missed the
plane, he was so busy talking to me. Well, Baron, enjoy
yourself. And don't forget I expect to see you damn
soon."
The Ford chugged down the gravel driveway to the
first bend, where it suddenly stopped and rapidly backed.
Jameson threw his long legs over the sides and called to
the Baron as this gentleman was climbing the steps to the
lobby.
"Say, Baron, I just happened to think. Ever hear of
Haleakala?"
The Baron had never heard of it.
"It's the biggest extinct crater I guess there is in the
world."


124 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"So?" The Baron found this most interesting; or, at
least, from the expression on his face you might have as-
sumed that was in his mind.
"It's on Maui," the old man said. "As long as you've
got to stick around here for a few weeks you might like
to run over and see it. We've got some wonderful scenery
in these islands. I don't want you to believe you have to
stay cooped up in this hotel." And when the Austrian
showed that he had no intention of responding to the
Honolulu detective's suggestion, "Baron, you're in deeper
water than either of us may realize. I've got to force the
truth out of you. I don't want to put you in jail. By God,
I don't. I need your help. I've tried being tough with you,
and you won't tell me."
"Give me one day," requested the Baron. "In one day I
may be able to discover something to tell you."
"You mean in the next twenty-four hours you'll decide
whether you want to tell me or not, hey?"
The Baron shrugged.
Jameson thought a minute, started the car. He leaned
over, whispered confidentially, "Did the Japs give you a
bad beating, Baron?"
"Hein?" And after a second or so the Baron shook his
head. "Would you permit a question?"
"Sure."
"Did Mr Kohler meet"
"I was wondering when you'd ask. Mexico City police
said Kohler and Sargent both lived at the Cosmopolitan
Club, but that doesn't mean much. And when they went
North, they both stayed at the Cliff Hotel before taking
the boat. But so did you, Baron."
"Ach, so?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 125
"However, those are coincidences. I've checked on Sar-
gent. He's a fine, straightforward feller. Got a good name
as a geologist in Mexico. Met Mary McKay last year in
San Francisco when she was visiting her cousin. He's all
right, Baron. What I'm thinking is that old man Preacher
had a hell of a temper. Jeff Preacher might have one too,
and maybe he somehow got sore at Hiroshita"
"Mr Hiroshita did not meet Mr Preacher on the Ko-
hala."
"Positive, hey?"
"Otherwise I would not say so," replied the Baron.
"Don't get riled. I've checked on Jeff. He and Bolton
landed in New York a month ago and visited with a
friend of Jeffs on Long Island and then took the airplane
for San Francisco. We talked with the purser on board
the Kohala. He claims that Mary introduced herself to
Jeff on the boat against that fat feller's wishes. Guess Bol-
ton was afraid Jeff might meet a pretty girl. Mary's folks
were right neighborly with old man Preacher." Jameson
frowned, releasing the brake. "What you said about Billy's
kind of got me worried, Baron. You don't imagine any-
thing could happen to that boy, do you?"
"What / said, if you please?"
"Have it your own way. Only take care of yourself,
Baron, and remember, if you don't write or wire me by
tomorrow, I'm going to have to lock you up. I mean it
too."
On the way to the elevators the Baron was called by
the desk clerk. "Here's a note for you, Baron von Kaz. Miss
Miquet left it for you this morning. I was to deliver it
personally, but I've been so busy with the tourists com-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS \TJ
and intelligent woman would have been able to write such
a note which, while apparently giving him up for good, in
pure reality made it absolutely impossible for him to do
otherwise than pack in great speed and rush from the
hotel like a demon to catch the next airplane for Maui.


CHAPTER VIII

MAGIC ISLAND
Climbing in the still blue atmosphere to five thou-
sand feet, the ten-passenger Sikorsky amphibian leveled
off above Honolulu, passed over the Imperial Hawaiian, a
pinkish dot in a cluster of green, swooped over Diamond
Head at one hundred and ten miles an hour headed for
Molokai, the next island forty minutes by air south of
Oahu.
The noon plane was nearly empty. In the front left seat
a Chinese woman was nursing a sick baby. Two seats be-
hind her was an American with a leather sample bag
stamped, "G. Murray, Paper Products, Ltd.," which was
resting on his knees. The Baron had taken the rear right
seat just below the trapdoor opening into the roof of the
twin-motored amphibian. The Pacific spread out far be-
low, tranquil and blue. Close to the horizon was a ring
of dense white clouds extending hundreds of miles above
the water and encircling the eight islands in the Hawaiian
group.
As the motors were synchronized and their uneven mut-
tering vanished into a steady pulsating muttering, the
Baron eased back into his wicker seat, took out a small
1
128


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 129
leather notebook and stared determinedly at the empty
pages as though, from their blankness, would materialize
the face of that person who already had killed Mr Kohler
and Mr Hiroshita with the silent air pistol.
The Baron was in a quandary. Nothing marched as
it should march. Two men had been murdered by the
same gun. But Mr Hiroshita had been afraid of Mr Kohler,
and it was Mr Kohler who first was killed. The order of
the deaths was not logical. And Mr Hiroshita had cer-
tainly been shot by one of the men or women in the next
room.
Until now the Baron had worked upon cases where his
duties were defined, where he was given an objective. At
present he was upon uncharted seas, in charge of no case
whatsoever. It was as if formless phantoms were moving
stealthily toward a certain point, converging, grinning,
mocking at the brave Baron from Austria. There were so
many apparently unrelated parts to this growing night-
mare: What was the connection leading from the death of
Mr Hiroshita to Caryl Miquet's hotel room to that death
on the ship? What place did Saka Okyo, the countryman
of Mr Hiroshita, have in this miasma? And was Caryl
Miquet being drawn into this case in any other way than
that of the involuntary, the innocent recipient of Mr
Hiroshita's second plaque? Then he thought of the note
she had written him and considered if something besides
the fact that her mail was being opened was not frighten-
ing her.
And through this tenuous drift of evil the Baron seemed
to perceive a figure looming up, still nameless, to be sure,
but with a blurred distorted embodiment of elemental
evil. Within himself grew a presentment of events press-


130 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
ing into a catastrophic pattern; and, unable to pierce to
the true significance of what had taken place, his dark
face grew blacker.
He was so engrossed in this tangle of fears and mount-
ing doubts that not until the air felt uncomfortable in
his eardrums did he raise his head to find that the Sikor-
sky was losing altitude, circling down to the pitted Hoo-
lehua airport of Molokai. He swallowed, relieving the
pressure. The big wheels were lowered, and a few min-
utes later they bounced along the ground. He would con-
tinue to Maui, he decided irritably; he would see Caryl
Miquet alone. He would tell her what little he knew,
warn her of possible danger, and then he would wash his
hands of the entire conundrum. Ach, certainly. That was
what he would do whether Mr Jameson liked it or not. He
had his own affairs to attend to in Vienna. . . .
The Chjnese woman in the front seat hugged her baby,
who wailed loudly. The Sikorsky stopped with a rumbling
jerk as the pilot applied air brakes. The assistant pilot
jumped out, opened the door in the roof. The gentleman
selling mulch paper departed with his bag. The door was
closed. The Chinese woman gave the baby a stick of gin-
ger. From the narrow windows the Baron had a glimpse
of Filipino boys with slicked hair and bell-bottomed trou-
sers waving grimy hands which reminded him of monkey
paws he had seen in the Vienna Zoo. In spite of the mut-
tered complaint of the two motors the Baron heard the
tiny sound of a voice coming from the radio, and the
assistant pilot's lips moved as he told the radio man in
Oahu that everything was okay, visibility good.
Green cliffs trembled from the heights as the Sikorsky
climbed, and the clouds still lay rounding the horizon.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 131
The wings flickered in the sunlight, wires vibrating and
humming monotonously against the roar of the motors.
To his right, directly below, was the leper settlement,
checkered squares dotted with white and pink houses;
and far away, low in the distance, under the cotton clouds,
was a brownish-green blob. That was Lanai, one of the
smaller islands. The wind buffeted the amphibian as it
flew between Molokai and Lanai. To the Hawaiians in
the fishing boat rocking up and down in the channel, the
airplane was a yellow speck in a blue and endless sky.
It was merely a larger bird with a brazen throat flying like
an arrow toward Maui, half a day from Molokai by steam-
boat, three days by the sailing vessels the missionaries
formerly employed.
Great war canoes each manned by a hundred Hawaiians
had passed through these waters. Along the twenty-mile
channel separating Molokai and Lanai the little brigs of
Captain Vancouver must have sailed in seventeen ninety-
two. He also had seen these great crest mountains, sharp
and forbidding; and he had seen the dense forests, the
huge brown men six and seven feet tall. And perhaps he
was the first white man to appreciate the strange beauty
of these islands, emerged lonely and mysteriously from
the Pacific, a place of secrets and hidden legends which
continued to haunt the imagination of men long after he
was killed by a war spear eighteen feet in length.
Missionaries with milk cows and hens on board to pro-
vide nourishment had laboured through the oily blue
swells. And merchants had come, Chinese, Portuguese,
Russian, Spanish, English, and long-jawed Americans, buy-
ing sandalwood and spices; hewing down precious trees
with iron axes; killing with their vices and diseases men


132 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
who had grown taller and stronger than any other race
time has known. . . . And far up, high in that eternal
blue, a Chinese mother was comforting a frightened child.
A man from Austria was bending over a column of dates
he had written in his leather notebook.
Today was the eighth of April.
Unless he prevented it, Miss Miquet should receive a
plaque from Mexico on April seventeenth. Nine days!
Exactly nine days before April seventeenth; and every
day after this date increased the danger to Miss Miquet.
Because, he felt, whosoever desired the plaque would
have to obtain it from her without arousing question or
suspicion upon her part, providing, of course, that she was
unaware of the importance of the plaque. Unless this
transfer of the plaque were accomplished without acci-
dent by the murderer, the moment she refused, whether
by sheer whim or contrariness, or any other reason, she
placed her life in jeopardy from then on. . . .
And although the Baron was inclined to disregard
George Tuung's threat regarding Miss Miquet, the fact
remained that George Tuung was an excitable person.
And the Baron had the envelope with the twenty-five
hundred dollars. That was an annoyance. Twenty-five
hundred dollars was an imposing sum for the Baron; the
thought of returning it filled him with anguish. And
should he return it—ach, du lieber Gott! He for the first
time appreciated that by returning it he was not only
forfeiting another twenty-five hundred dollars but was
informing Mr Tuung that he would have nothing to do
with retrieving the plaque. And it was quite possible that
Mr Tuung would believe without great difficulty that the
Baron, on refusing the job, had informed the police in


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 133
order to protect Miss Miquet. This did not march at all
well.
He closed the leather book, glancing out the window.
On his left hand he could see the sheer cliffs of Maui as
the Sikorsky rounded Lahaina, rocking violently in the
gusts of air. The outline of Maui resembles the head and
shoulders of one of those old Hawaiian warriors. The head
points west and north toward the islands of Oahu and
Molokai. Connecting the head with what corresponds to
the shoulders is a narrow neck of land, a green and fer-
tile valley rising toward the east to Haleakala, the majes-
tic extinct volcano whose peak is ten thousand feet and
more above the Pacific.
And through this narrow neck of land, hemmed in on
both sides by mountains and the crater, rushed the wind,
lifting the Sikorsky as it would a yellow-tipped feather, as
small up there in that blue sky as one of those yellow
feathers plucked from the Mamo bird which in ancient
times had been woven into the magnificent feather cloaks
worn only by the Hawaiian chieftains. Now the Mamo
bird had disappeared into the grayness of past ages. The
few remaining feather cloaks were priceless, and pine-
apple and sugar-cane fields covered old battle
grounds. . . .
The Sikorsky slanted downward toward the little Hana
airport, halfway between Wailuku on the north side of
the neck and Maalaea on the south. Reddish earth soared
upward, and the wheels struck the dusty ground, rolled
a thousand feet or more and stopped. The door in the
top was opened. A man in a white cap greeted the Baron
as he climbed out, received the pigskin bag.
"You're Baron von Kaz?"


134 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron bowed.
"My name's Blakely." He looked at the Baron's green
umbrella in mild astonishment. No one ever carried um-
brellas in this Pacific paradise. He nodded at the white
stucco airport building on the edge of a dusty red pine-
apple field. "I got a telegram saying to expect you. And
about fifteen minutes ago a radio telephone call came in
from Chris Jameson of the Honolulu police. He said to
have you call him back as soon as the plane landed."
"So?"
In the telephone booth it was hot, stuffy. Outside, the
manager of Inter-Island Airways' Maui station read an
adventure story and wished to God something exciting
would happen to him and break the monotony. In the
receiver flowed the rush and roaring of endless waves, and
these waves broke upon loose sand and then formed the
dry voice of Jameson hurtling the ninety miles:
"Hello, Baron von Kaz? This is Christian Jameson."
"Christian Jameson?" thought the Baron. "Good after-
noon, Mr Christian Jameson," he said with the utmost
courtesy.
"Don't be funny. Listen, this is important. We've just
got word from the Maui police that Mary McKay and her
party have made reservations at the Wailuku Hotel in
Wailuku. If we have the Maui police question Mary,
either she or her friends '11 wonder what the hell business
it is of ours. I want you to see"
"My dear Mr Christian Jameson," shouted the Baron
—it seemed necessary to shout to make his voice arc all
those ninety miles of empty space—"I wish to see no
one."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 135
"If you want to leave these islands, then you've got to
help. You're in this mess already."
"I informed you in twenty-four hours I would decide
whether"
"Damn it, I can't wait twenty-four hours. Listen, I've
just been talking with the North Kona police on the
island of Hawaii. They say the reason why Mary fired
Carl Kohler was not so much because he bought that
three thousand acres as because he was trying to marry
her. The North Kona police say that it's old gossip on the
big island that she was stuck on him for a time, but I
didn't know. Now, look here:
"Suppose she met Kohler on the boat and maybe they
started making up again and John Sargent got sore?
After all, Mary's got quite a little money in her own
name, and Sargent isn't wealthy. You know Caryl Miquet.
And if you're smart you can manage those two girls bet-
ter'n we can, Baron. You've got to see one of them and
learn where John Sargent was from eleven o'clock to one
o'clock on the night when Kohler was killed. While you're
at it, check on Jeff too."
"And Mr Sargent, then, killed Mr Hiroshita too? Was
Miss McKay also in love with Mr Hiroshita?" inquired
the Baron sarcastically.
"How the hell do / know? I'm working on Kohler's
death now."
"Suppose," suggested the Baron, "that Miss McKay was
forced to kill Mr Kohler and Mr Hiroshita? Both of them
had dealings with this Saka Okyo, I believe. They may
have learned of something concerning Miss McKay that,
now she is engaged to be married, she would have"
Jameson exploded. "Don't be a Goddamn fool, Baron.


136 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Mary McKay wouldn't kill anyone, and you know it."
The Baron hung up.
When, three minutes later, an exasperated Christian
Jameson again was connected with Hana, the Honolulu
detective ungraciously admitted that he didn't mean the
Baron was a Goddamn fool, but he should realize that
Mary had nothing to do with the murders.
"Not even to gain the entire ranch?" innocently offered
the Baron.
Jameson had to pause to cool off, then said sharply,
"You do what I told you, Baron, and I'll get you started
for Austria by the end of this week. And look: I'm char-
tering a plane tonight. I can't leave until eleven because
of a Goddamn governor's ball. I'm flying to Lahaina.
Lahaina," he repeated. "That's on the other side from
Wailuku. I'll be waiting for you at the Pioneer Inn."
"You may wait," declared the Baron, "for a month, but
I shall not"
"Oh yes you will," said Jameson. "You'll be there. And
you'll have the facts I want. G'-by, Baron. And take care
of yourself for at least twenty-four hours, hey? I'm seri-
ous."
Jameson hung up first this time.
The Baron climbed into the airport bus for Wailuku.
The bright glare of the sun had been absent for some
time. A quick shower fell, a fine soft mist of rain touched
with the luminous gold of the sun. To his right, fifty
miles distant, the great extinct crater of Haleakala pushed
heavenward into tumbling masses of gold and purple
clouds. Sugar cane succeeded the pineapple fields. Grace-
ful, light green Kiawe trees flashed by as the road wound
along the floor of the valley in long, easy curves.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS I37
Wailuku was a town of twenty or thirty thousand peo-
ple: Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Hawaiians, mixed
races and Americans. At first glance Wailuku resembled
some of the little California cities in which the Baron had
been during his few months in the barbaric Northern
States of America, but this was only a superficial resem-
blance. The streets and the buildings were American, per-
haps, but silvery Kukui trees draped their clustered pink
flowers over old walls, giant ferns and strange violet and
crimson flowers were massed in every vacant lot, and life
itself took on more riotous colors and expressions, and as
the autobus proceeded toward the center of the town, the
Baron found himself in a country devoid of all American
harshness and drabness. Near the Wailuku Hotel, a mon-
key pod tree formed a canopy for an old Chinese woman
smoking a silver pipe, the thick leaves shielding her from
the warm drizzle. She nodded at the Baron as he des-
cended, and he bowed courteously in return before fol-
lowing the driver into the damp lobby.
A Japanese girl gave him the hotel register. He signed
his name under that of "Harry Bolton, Paris." The other
four names were above Bolton's.
After he was escorted to his room on the second floor
he gave the Japanese girl fifty cents. "I see Miss McKay
and her friends have already arrived."
The girl took the money dubiously. It was such a large
tip. "They came this morning."
He had opened the windows and was admiring the
view. Green and golden fields extended to an incredible
horizon of purple spires. The girl was waiting at the door.
He turned, tilting his head to the left, an inquiring ex-
pression on his dark features.


138 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"You're really the Baron von Kaz?"
He bowed, his lower lip thrusting forward. It might be
that she had never seen a baron before. At least, not an
Austrian baron. She was a quaint little creature.
The quaint little creature, however, did not appear im-
pressed. "Miss Miquet said to tell you that they'd gone to
Ioa Valley for a picnic lunch. They took a blue Packard.
They were going to picnic near the Ioa Needle where the
river turns right."
She was out in the hall before the Baron had recovered.
The Baron, who firmly believed that nothing in the world
could astound him, recovered, grabbed his green um-
brella, wished he had time to wash, ran down to the desk.
"Now tell me again," he demanded, first being sure that
no one was near enough to overhear. "What caused
her"
The girl looked at him steadily. "What caused what,
sir?"
"Miss Miquet to tell you"
She opened the cash register, removed a stick of chew-
ing gum, inserted it in her mouth. "I really don't under-
stand what you're talking about, sir."
A man came up and asked for the key to room sixty-
four, and she gave it to him and then casually regarded
the Baron, who was absently rubbing his nose in the most
idiotic manner possible, as though temporarily his mind
were so absorbed that his fingers were continuing me-
chanically a process which his brain had ordered and for-
gotten to halt.
Then suddenly the Baron grinned, and lights seemed
to go on in the girl's eyes, but her face remained expres-
sionless. "Ach, so," said the Baron formally. "I am a


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 139
tourist here. I am a stranger. What scenery is particularly
suitable in this lovely island to see between one o'clock
and nightfall?"
The girl recommended the crater Haleakala. However,
that would take at least six hours. If the gentleman
wished a shorter trip he could go to the Ioa Valley. The
valley was only thirteen miles from Wailuku. And the
Ioa Needle rock and the river were very, very pretty. The
Baron asked if it would be possible for him to rent a car.
They had cars for hire in the hotel garage. Twelve dollars
an afternoon. The Baron counted fifteen dollars and with
a grandiloquent gesture refused the change. The Portu-
guese gentleman in the garage took twenty minutes to
show the Baron on the map just how to drive into Ioa
Valley and where the Needle rock was.
The drizzle had expended itself by the time the brave
Baron had passed the outskirts of Wailuku, and the sun
was sliding out from behind a cloud that resembled a
torn, soggy gray blotter floating in a liquid blue lake.
Precipitous peaks towered on either side of the road.
The vegetation was rank, tropical and humid. His four-
cylinder roadster bumbled along the winding narrow
road. Now and then where the heavy grass sloped to the
Ioa River, the Baron would see a shambling house, roof
covered with mats or grass, with little brown children
playing naked in the mud. There were few automobiles
on this road. For this the Baron was thankful, as his road-
ster had a lamentable tendency to shudder over the slight-
est bump, the front wheels swerving wildly.
Far ahead the green shadowed into misty grays as the
cliffs on each side narrowed into a V-shaped gorge. The
river tumbled down brilliantly colored rocks, and here


140 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
the air had the cloying fragrance found in a hothouse
filled with precious flowers and luxuriant plants. Bottle-
shaped tree ferns extended along the road, their peculiar
trunks mottled and half rotten, the whitish-green fronds
waving softly in the sticky breeze.
"Du lieber Augustin!" swore the Baron uncomfortably,
this was a strange country. It was beautiful, yes. But in
those hidden clefts above him, in that wild carpet of
foliage which spread over the volcanic peaks, there ap-
peared something unnatural to Austrian eyes accustomed
to the cooler mountains of his country. Here there was
too much of everything. The ferns he had seen in Europe
were of a size to ornament little flower pots. But these
Hawaiian ferns were as large as small trees! And the huge
flowers spread beneath that bright brassy sun as if here
they belonged, and not man at all.
Ages ago, by some giant cataclysm of nature, this land
had been lifted up from the depths of the sea, shudder-
ing from the effort, with hot lava pouring into the water.
As centuries had slipped away, like the seconds of a
clock, the grass and the trees and the flowers had sunk
their tendrils into the crumbling lava, and strange birds
had developed, and the air turned blue, less frequently
disturbed by outpourings of lava. Finally a race of men had
come from the North in their long canoes. These men
and women had grown taller, just as the plants increased
in size. And over these islands a veil of mystery had
seemed to hang for all the centuries; and if the Hawaiians
had lived here for a time and were sheltered, the time
had come when their race was choked off by the smaller
whites. After the whites now followed even smaller yellow
people. But the lava land remained. And when, after a


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 141
few years or a few decades, a field was permitted to lie
fallow, a house deserted, the vegetation crept covering
these man-made wounds, and the green carpet, studded
with strange flowers, again spread the red earth as it had
been when man was not here. And as it would be when
man was gone, wiped out. . . .
Insensibly, as the antique roadster penetrated into the
narrow valley proper, the Baron lessened the pressure on
the accelerator. It was silent here for a man all his life
accustomed to the sounds of cities. And when at last he
saw the Ioa Needle he turned to the side of the road to
stop and marvel at it. The Needle was a grotesque freak
of nature, a gigantic sliver of volcanic rock pointing up-
ward, hundreds of feet, as if it were a dagger planted by
a once worshiped Hawaiian god as an eternal threat to
the blue sky.
The green river gurgled pleasantly to his right, winding
through the trees. At his left was a red volcanic cliff,
twenty or thirty feet high. He sighted the river, but it had
so many bends it was impossible to tell which was the
right one. He did not wish to drive his car too near to
the picnic place. He determined to follow the road, going
past the Needle rock, hoping to recognize Miss McKay or
one of her friends, then to hide the car and see how it
would be possible to approach Caryl Miquet. By now his
astonishment that she had expected him had evaporated,
and he felt a little let down that she could be so sure of
the Baron von Kaz.
He released the hand brake, and the car started to roll
slowly on the slight descent. He was peering to his left,
watching the river and the Needle rock, when his car
struck something solid. He twisted the steering wheel.


142 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
A second rock dropped and smashed on the hood. The
rear wheels squeaked as he forcefully used his brakes,
snatched at his green umbrella.
"Hello," called a voice.
Silhouetted above him was a boy. The boy waved,
scrambled down the rocks and ran toward the car.
"Golly!" The boy's great gray eyes shone with excite-
ment. "I was afraid I'd miss you, Baron. I'm Billy McKay."
The Baron looked at the smudge of freckles, smiled.
"Ach, so it is." He shook hands with the boy. "You are
building more castles, no?"
"I'm not building castles, Baron. I'm being a detective,
like you are, only I haven't killed anybody yet. Did you
really kill a thousand people?"
"Approximately."
"Gee!" said Billy in awe. "But I got to hurry. This is a
secret, see?"
Solemnly the Baron nodded.
"Caryl was going to watch for you, but she couldn't get
away from the others, and she knew she could trust me."
Billy proudly folded his arms. "So she told me a secret."
"A secret? And am I to hear the secret?"
"Yes," said Billy. "She wants to see you tonight at the
hotel. At ten o'clock at the end of the garden." He asked
anxiously, "You can remember that?"
"Ten o'clock at the end of the garden. Very easily, my
dear Billy."
"Okay." Billy dropped off the running board to the
ground. "I guess she's your girl, isn't she? I'm not going
to have any girls. They interfere with detective work."
The Baron swallowed. "Ah—you are engaged in detec-
tive work?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS I43
"Somebody opened her mail this morning and swiped
her candy and I'm going to find out who did it. I got to
get back now. They're having the picnic around the bend.
You go on." He winked knowingly. "Don't worry, Baron.
I'll tell Caryl I fixed it. You can trust me."
"Billy!" called the Baron after a moment's reflection,
but the boy, who was running, only turned to wave before
vanishing. The Baron returned to the hotel. Tonight he
would have to warn Caryl not to permit Billy to attempt
to do "detective work"; it might be exceedingly danger-
ous for a small boy to entangle himself unknowingly in
the dark pattern of evil the Baron's imagination visualized
slowly forming itself among these bright magical islands.


CHAPTER IX
LAHAINA VISIT
THEY WERE DANCING outside on the lanai, and the
Japanese girl at the counter was listening dreamily, and
not until the shadow came between her and the light did
she realize someone was looking down at her. She raised
her head sharply. He was there, very quiet, with that
wolf-like grin on his face which would come when he was
inordinately pleased with his own cleverness and when
there was no one of importance around to make it worth
while to hide his emotions or feelings. "Miss Miquet is
to accompany me on a little ride. It is such a pleasant
evening we are going up toward Haleakala. If anyone
asks, we will return before the dancing is finished."
He lit a cigarette, glanced at the Japanese girl. "Or soon
after."
The Japanese girl watched him saunter to the lanai and
lean on the door. He had small feet and even in repose
his body seemed to be in perpetual balance on his feet,
ready to spring or leap.
The lanai was strung with paper lanterns. There were
twenty or thirty couples on the floor. The Baron glanced
at his watch. It was ten after ten. Then he saw her dancing
m


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 145
with John Sargent and watched her. That Sargent was a
clumsy dancer, he thought. She smiled at him. She was
so very cool, so very graceful. He referred to his watch
again and frowned and turned from the door. "Hello
there," Mary McKay greeted him. Jeffrey Preacher nodded.
"Caryl said you were here."
Formally the Baron bowed. "Good evening, Miss Mc-
Kay. Good evening, Mr Preacher."
Mary glanced at the tall man beside her. "Looks like it's
our dance, Jeff. John's evidently taking this one with
Caryl, too."
"If you permit me, dear Miss McKay?" The Baron was
bowing again, and before Jeffrey quite knew what it was
all about the Austrian had Mary by the arm and was say-
ing over his shoulder, "You do not mind, my dear sir?"
"Mind? Sure, go ahead," Jeffrey said cheerfully enough
as Mary smiled brightly at the Baron. "I'll get a few drinks
ready. You'll need them on a night like this."
The Baron's mode of dancing was mildly old-fashioned;
he did not press Mary to him, but held her very carefully
and gently precisely two and a half inches from him, as
he had been taught in the Viennese pre-war style. But his
steps were not at all pre-war. He glided and whirled,
leading her with dexterity, with the assured effrontery of
a man who knows that he is an excellent dancer.
"Why didn't I meet you on the ship?" she asked, for-
getting her first distrust, relaxing, enjoying the perfect
rhythm of the man. "I didn't see you dancing at all."
"Ach, dear Miss McKay," he confessed in so drolly an
embarrassed manner that she laughed, "I was seasick
almost all the way. But the last night out I believe I did
see you."


I46 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Oh!" She missed a step, but his arm was firm about
her waist. "I remember now. You were in the bar. You
were the one who found Carl Kohler dead? I was terri-
bly shocked."
He murmured that it was most tragic, swung her in
quick whirls, and when she was breathless and laughing
once more, he suggested that they walk into the garden.
From the lehua trees the fragrance hung, a heavy perfume.
Mary broke off a blossom, placed it in her hair. "You're a
grand dancer, Baron. Caryl said you were from Vienna. I
was there for a winter. I loved it."
He offered her a cigarette from his heavy silver case,
took one, lit both with a flourish. So Caryl had told her
cousin that he was from Vienna? She had talked about
him? Ach, perhaps thought about him! He spun on his
heel, struck his hands together, placed his head to one
side, eyed the astonished Mary, laughed loudly, returned
to lean against the trellis, his arms folded across his chest.
"The night is very pleasant," he commented. "You are
charming."
She laughed softly, informing him that he was nice.
Then he said that he was certain she was the beautiful
girl he had seen that last night out—not in the bar but
outside the bar. On A or B deck—he didn't recall. But
she was so charming, leaning on the ship's railing with
the faint moonlight on her, that he had never forgotten
the vision.
"That's another romance blasted, Baron. I was dancing
until after midnight. I didn't do any moon- or stargazing."
"Such a pity." Then he suggested it might be possible
that she had at least walked on deck during intermissions.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 147
"Don't think so. Most of my intermissions were in the
bar. No, Baron. Some other gal stole your heart."
He sighed, then she had been with her happy fiance all
the time?
"Well . . ." Demurely her eyes lifted. "I danced with
other men too."
"Deserting your fiance? My dear young lady, in Vi-
enna"
"Dear young lady nothing. John's the one who likes to
go stargazing on deck at night, and I'll take dancing any-
time instead."
"How unfeeling. You remained while he wandered
lonely and unhappy?"
"Don't be foolish. Just because we're engaged doesn't
imply in this modern age that I have to be with John
every minute he wants to walk up and down a deck. You
must have seen me in the bar. I was there when you
entered. Then John and Bolton left after you did while
Jeff and I finished more drinks, and he told me what you
said about finding Carl shot in the heart. I saw you when
you came down, too. You've just forgotten." She asked
for a second cigarette, having thrown the half-smoked
one away, and said without emotion, "I used to know
Carl. He could be nice. But he drank too much."
He lit her cigarette. "The newspapers announced that
he was intoxicated."
"Intoxicated?" Mary's forehead wrinkled. "Oh. That
was the best thing, instead of saying that he committed
suicide. Our Honolulu papers are more decent that way
than the mainland sheets."
"Suicide?"


I48 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Naturally." She was surprised. "John said that was
what the police assumed. I thought everyone knew."
"Ach, so." The Baron flicked his cigarette into the
bushes.
"You see John was a good friend of Carl's."
"Hein!" Then he smiled, and slapped at a nonexistent
bug, apologizing, saying that he had been bitten. "He was
a good friend of Mr Kohler, yes?"
"In Mexico. That's why he had to more or less inquire
about Carl's death." She shivered. "But let's not talk of it.
He's dead, and he'll be forgotten just as all of us will be
in time." She slipped her arm in his. "It's too grand a
night to think of morbid things, don't you agree?"
"Ach!" he declared romantically. "Still must I think of
that vision on the ship who was not you."
"Why didn't you speak to it, then?" she wanted to
know, very much interested.
"There was no one near to introduce her."
"And so you suffered in silence? Poor man!"
He patted her hand. "However, now have I declared
myself, dear Miss McKay. And if we do not go back, will
your friends not fear that you have been kidnaped?"
At the door he bowed, thanking her. "Again some other
evening, dear Miss McKay?"
"I'm afraid not. We came to Maui just for a day, so
Caryl could be in Ioa Valley again. She'd been there years
ago with her father and wanted to see if it were as beau-
tiful as she remembered it. You know she paints. We're
taking the plane tomorrow for Hawaii. Perhaps if John
and I ever get to Vienna we'll look you up."
- He bent over her hand. "That, dear lady, would be de-
lightful."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 149
"That's quite a trick." Jeffrey was grinning at the
Baron. "How about letting me try it, Mary?"
"Don't be a fool, Jeff." She snatched her hand back from
the Baron.
Jeffrey's grin stretched across his face. He pointed his
right thumb at the lanai. "I told John you and the Baron
were probably in the bar. If he finds you here in a wicked
garden with a terrible baron, undoubtedly"
"You're a darling!" Mary blew a kiss at both of them,
hurried through the lanai.
Jeffrey took his hands out of his pockets. "Swell girl,
Baron."
"You think so, Mr Preacher?" The light from the lanai
rested upon the Baron's face, and it was serious.
Jeffrey's grin vanished, and he nodded, "Very much so,"
and added, "but John's a good guy. A good guy and
lucky. How about coming in for a drink and weeping on
the barman's shoulder with me? Bolton says you're a bad
influence, and I feel the need of a bad influence this eve-
ning."
The Baron placed his hand on Jeffrey's shoulder, almost
said something, decided not to, and shook his head.
"Okay." Jeffrey hastily glanced around, then stepped
down to the walk. "Bolton's been with me for a long time,"
he said quickly. "But he's a funny duck. I was talking
about you to Caryl, and she said you were a conceited
devil, but she didn't mean it when she was saying it." He
halted, embarrassed. "That is—hell! Anyway, Caryl's got
a lot of sense. What I'm trying to say is, don't rib Bolton,
will you?"
"Rib Mr Bolton? Rib?"
"You know. Get his goat. You've done something to


150 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
him he doesn't like. He won't tell me, but lay off, won't
you? He has a funny streak in him, and I've had to buy
him out of two jams already, and as soon as we get to my
ranch I've got the tough job of telling him I'm old enough
to keep from being kidnaped." Jeffrey was whispering
now, and his head jerked from side to side as though he
were afraid someone might be near them. The Baron
again had the curious sensation of a strain. "I don't need
Bolton any more," Jeffrey continued, "and it'll be hard
enough to explain that to him without you rubbing his
fur the wrong way. I wouldn't talk to you like this if I
hadn't heard so much about you from Caryl."
The Baron's head inclined. "I will be most careful, Mr
Preacher."
Jeffrey went into the hotel. The Baron sniffed the air,
took the dark garden pathway. A small, angry person
asked with cold restraint, "Are you aware that you have
kept me waiting?"
"My dear Miss Miquet," he stated, undisturbed, "are
you aware that you kept the Baron von Kaz waiting once
for over an hour?"
She was above replying to this question and wanted to
know where he was going now when she wished to talk
with him. "My car is in the garage," he explained. "It is
better to drive a little distance out of town, where we will
be assured of privacy."
"I mustn't be gone long."
"Only a few minutes." He assisted her into the car and
backed it out of the garage. In silence they drove down the
scented street, overshadowed by the great leafy monkey
pod trees which rustled in the night breeze like fine sand-
paper being ground together.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 151
When they reached the outskirts Caryl informed him
haughtily, "I told Mary that I was going upstairs. That I
had a headache. We'll have to return by eleven-thirty."
"Assuredly."
"This is purely a business proposition, Baron von Kaz."
"Exactly."
"I thought you might be idiotic enough to come here."
Her voice appeared to break for an instant. "That is why
I bribed the girl at the desk to let you know where I
was."
"So I assumed."
He glanced at her slyly; he saw her face in profile with
the pointed chin lifted haughtily, the mouth firm, the
dark eyes steadfastly gazing ahead. As if from a great
distance she remarked, "We can stop here now, Baron. I
had hoped to meet you this afternoon, but I couldn't get
away. I had to persuade Billy to act as my messenger."
"That was most unwise."
"I wanted to see you because What do you mean?
You don't know Billy. I can trust him implicitly."
"Exactly, my dear Miss Miquet. But do you know
whether you can trust those others who know Billy?"
"Really, Baron von Kaz"
"Permit me. It is possible that Billy could come to griev-
ous danger; he is young, true; but intelligent, and those
bright eyes of his might see too much. Did you know,"
he asked, "that magicians fear the eyes of children because
the children are not deluded by sleight of hand move-
ments which trick adults and therefore more easily dis-
cover what happens to the canary bird when the cage is
made to vanish?"
"Baron!" she exclaimed furiously, "I don't understand


152 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
you. It was perfectly safe for me to send Billy to intercept
you. However—" her voice broke a little—"I won't do it
again. I wouldn't have anything hurt Billy for the world.
Are you going to stop?"
"Ah, is it not more pleasant to drive? What is this con-
cerning your candy and the opened mail, if you please?"
he reminded her, changing the subject.
What she had to say was brief: The hotel in Honolulu
had given her her mail, a few letters from friends on the
Islands and a package of candy, just before taking the
airplane. She hadn't had time to read her mail before
reaching Wailuku Hotel. She shared a room with Mary;
John Sargent and Jeffrey Preacher had the adjoining
room; and Bolton a room on the floor below. Mary had
been in their bedroom with her, unpacking, for ten or
fifteen minutes until John and Jeffrey had entered. Then
all three had gone out so that she could take a bath. While
she was in the tub John had returned, knocking on the
door, saying that he had come to get Mary's leather jacket
and that he had Mary's key. It was when she had come
into the room to dress that she noticed the package of
candy had been unwrapped.
This hadn't disturbed her. She joined her party down-
stairs and jokingly accused one of them of wanting to
eat her candy, but all had insisted they hadn't touched the
box. Oddly frightened, Caryl found an excuse to go to the
desk and gave the girl a tip to deliver a message to the
Baron von Kaz.
"How did you suspect I would arrive in Maui today?"
asked the Baron as disinterestedly as possible. Caryl had
forgotten that she was angry with the wretch. She glanced
at him now, quickly, with the lips turning upwards a


154 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
His voice was incredibly polite. "You will pay the
Baron von Kaz?"
"Certainly. I have utmost confidence in your—your—
shall we say professional capacities?"
"You shall pay, then. One thousand dollars."
"That is rather high," she replied, "but you shall have
it, Baron von Kaz. You may consider yourself . . . hired."
"Hired?" The car leaped forward. "So? I am hired, then.
And now that I am hired, I should like to be told where
you were on the Kohala while I had the honor of waiting
for you on A deck?"
"What has that to do"
"Although I have the privilege to be hired, permit me
the right to discover why your mail is of interest in my
own way without interference."
"Very well. I danced until nearly twelve. Then, taking
John Sargent's advice, I went to my cabin. Finally, about
twelve-thirty, maybe a little after, I returned to B deck to
see when Mary was coming to bed."
"And you spoke to Miss McKay?"
"No. I met Mr Preacher on B deck and there listened to
his tale of unrequited affection for my cousin and almost
wished that I had gone to A deck where, at least, I could
see the stars."
"But you did not go to A deck?"
"No, Baron von Kaz. I did not go to A deck. I saw that
my cousin was too occupied dancing to tell anyone good
night. So, escorted by the woeful Mr Preacher, I again
sought my cabin."
"She was dancing, if you please, with her fiance?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I didn't pay much at-
tention."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 155
"So? And what time, if you please, was it when you
reached your cabin with Mr Preacher?"
"After one o'clock," she said impatiently. "A minute or
so past one. I remember glancing at my watch."
"Thank you. And where on B deck did you first en-
counter Mr Preacher?"
"Outside the bar."
"When you walked on B deck, did you go toward the
bar from amidships?"
"Yes. My room was near the center of the ship."
"And you walked toward the bar?"
"Yes."
"Mr Preacher was there? He did not perhaps pass you,
also walking toward the bar?"
"Hardly. I would have seen him. Is this a game? Do
you imagine Jeff opened my undelivered mail on the boat
while you were waiting for me on A deck?" she asked
scornfully.
He ignored her questions. "And, if you please, you did
not locate Miss McKay?"
"I said I saw her dancing."
"And Mr Sargent?"
"No. But I wasn't looking for him. He was probably
stargazing"
"Did you see Mr Bolton?"
"Why in the world should I want to see Mr Bolton?"
"One more question. How is it that Mr Preacher, who
was brought up in Europe, speaks idiomatic—that is
American idiomatic English?"
"You mean slang. He went to an American boys' school
in Paris, and simply because his mother wouldn't allow
him to go home, to his own country, he made a fetish of


I56 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
using American slang. He told me so. Just as he made
a fetish of going in for athletics. Now will you ex-
plain"
"My explanations are not included in the one thousand
dollars," he coldly informed her. "You hired me merely to
learn why your mail is being opened."
She said nothing thereafter.
Nor did the Baron.
Now during this stretch of silence the car was hustling
along at the speed of fifty miles an hour; not very fast,
perhaps, for mainland driving, but on the small island of
Maui fifty miles an hour quickly covers considerable ter-
ritory. As a result, very shortly the car attained the settle-
ment of Haalaea, a few small houses at the edge of a
great cane field. The Baron peered over the windshield at
the sign: LAHAINA 15 miles. And turned right on
Amalfi Drive to Lahaina.
Caryl, completely aware of this maneuvering, straight-
ened up and broke the silence, saying determinedly, "I
would appreciate being taken to the Wailuku Hotel. It is
time I returned."
"Pardon," corrected the Baron, "not yet is it time."
Those dark eyes flicked toward him, and the wide mouth
set very firmly. "Would you tell me where we are going?"
"Lahaina, if you please."
"If I please," she mimicked. "The brave Baron is going
to Lahaina? And would he be kind enough to tell me
why?"
"Why?" he shouted, his pent-up anger at the intolerable
insult she had given him breaking. "Why? To collect my
thousand dollars. To inform you the reason why your mail
is being opened."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 157
The fact that Caryl entered the Pioneer Hotel with the
Baron without the slightest hesitation is an indication that
she too had a temper of her own of such dimensions that,
when aroused, it blinded her to all prudence, or that she
had more faith in the Baron's curious morals and sense of
honor than almost all of his friends who assumed that
they knew him intimately.
The Baron barely gave her a glance as he assisted her
from the car. That she should offer to hire him as a com-
mon mercenary when he was willing to devote all his serv-
ices to her even to the extent that he would risk deserting
his companions in Vienna was more than a man who con-
sidered his honor could endure. And the Baron was a
man who considered his honor. Every time he thought of
her insulting offer, which was continuously, a hot iron
twisted into the seething pride of the brave Baron von
Kaz. If she were in Vienna he would have her whipped,
he assured himself; whipped without the slightest
mercy. . . .
The Chinese individual dozing in the rattan chair,
staf tied out of a dream of a joss house in Canton, waggled
his head and put both paws on the register. The Baron
pushed the register aside. The register slid off the desk
from the force of a gesture which the Baron had not in-
tended to be anything but mildly disdainful. The register
landed with a loud crash. The Chinese person blinked at
the Baron. "Why hell you do that for?"
The Baron succeeded in ignoring this matter com-
pletely. "I am the Baron von Kaz. Where is Mr Jame-
son?"
The Chinese person picked up the register, muttering
unholy curses. A door swung open, and Jameson stepped


158 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
into the hall. "What the devil's that gun going off It's
you, Baron?"
"The book slipped off the desk," said the Baron with
inflated dignity, while the Chinese person sputtered
loudly. Jameson pushed the Chinese clerk into the chair,
then stared as he saw Caryl Miquet standing slim and
straight in the shadows.
"Miss Miquet," introduced the Baron with icy courtesy.
"Mr Christian Jameson. Miss Miquet is my client. She
wishes"
But Jameson had both of Caryl's hands in his, wanting
to know what in sin she was doing here. "This ain't any
place for you, Caryl," he said. Then he faced the Baron,
"Look here, Baron. By—" he swallowed, then, managed
a feeble—"by jumping Jesus, what 're you up to?"
The Baron asked, "Have you a room, my dear Mr Chris-
tian Jameson?"
Caryl squeezed the old man's hand. "You have to hu-
mor him like a child. Have you a room for the man?"
Like a child? The Baron's hands tightened on the edge
of the desk, and his head dropped as though he would
spring at them. Then he immediately changed. He drew
himself erect. His feet clicked. He was the great Baron
von Kaz. These were foolish American barbarians. They
were to be treated as children, not he as a child. He
smiled at them. "If you please," he said cajolingly, "a room
is more convenient. I will not detain you long."
"Come on," ordered Jameson irritably, offering Caryl
his arm, and leaving the Baron to stalk alone behind them.
At the door the Baron bowed, insisted that Mr Jameson
precede him. Jameson gave Caryl a chair in a large, par-
lorlike room with several framed engravings of old


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 159
Hawaiian chieftains on the cracked walls, faded curtains
drawn across the windows. Pale moths fluttered close to
the two light bulbs.
Jameson watched the Baron suspiciously. "You know, I
was beginning to trust you."
The Baron's head inclined.
"All right." Jameson bit into one of his dry cigars. "I
told you why I wanted you here. And you bring Miss
Miquet with you."
Caryl apologized to Jameson for intruding on a meet-
ing that he had planned.
The Baron waved his hand. "1 brought her here, my
dear Mr Christian Jameson. She has no need to apolo-
gize."
With that he walked to the window in a long dramatic
pause. When he glanced to see how his superb calm was
affecting them, and they were whispering and not pay-
ing any attention to him, he affirmed that all Americans,
male and female, were dolts. He left the window for a
chair, offered a cigarette to Caryl, and she shook her head.
"So you engaged him?" Jameson was asking in bewil-
derment. "See here, Caryl, what in the tarnation would
you need him for?"
Now she sought the Baron's eyes for some sign, but this
gentleman regarded the ceiling. She bit her hps. She
looked helplessly at the old detective. The Baron finally
purred, fatherly, "You may tell him, dear Miss Miquet."
So she told Jameson that her mail had been opened
twice, feeling that the Baron had tricked her, had forced
her to bare her worries to the police when, because it in-
volved her friends, she had desired to keep the matter
private.


l60 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
When she had finished, Jameson was even more puz-
zled. "Well, well," he grumbled. "That beats it. Now, why
in tarnation would anyone want to read your mail?"
She pointed to the Baron. "I am paying that gentleman
one thousand dollars to find out."
The brave Baron jumped as if stung. Next he smiled
balefully. "You comprehend, my dear sir, she is paying
me. Now, dear Miss Miquet, have you ever heard of a
Saka Okyo?" He repeated the name. "Saka Okyo?"
"Of course not." She appealed to Jameson, "Will you
tell me what this has to do with my mail?"
Jameson teetered on his toes. "I'll be glad to," he said,
"but maybe you wouldn't mind telling me something
first. Where were you on the ship between—well—be-
tween midnight and around one o'clock?"
Caryl glanced sharply at the two men. Then, without
another question, very quietly and coolly she told Jame-
son what she had told the Baron.
When she had finished, Jameson looked at the Baron,
who was now prowling back and forth as though he had
forgotten their presence. Jameson asked, "Where'd Jeff
go after he left you at your stateroom?"
"He said he was going back to the bar to try to find
Mary."
"Well, well," muttered Jameson. The Baron abruptly
spun on his toes and pointed a finger at the old man, who
had just seated himself. Jameson leaned forward to get
up from his chair, sat down again almost sheepishly, wish-
ing the foreigner wasn't so damn unexpected in his move-
ments. "My dear Mr Christian Jameson, what was Saka
Okyo's profession, the elder Saka Okyo?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS l6l
"Profession? He was an archaeologist. See here,
Baron"
"If you please," said the Baron impatiently, "do not in-
terrupt. Miss Miquet, let me tell you a story. . . ."
And in precise, staccato words, he told her how a Japa-
nese gentleman by the name of Hiroshita had discovered
the plan to a lost fortune in Mexico from a compatriot.
This compatriot's name was Saka Okyo. And after Mr
Hiroshita had obtained the plan, he had placed it in a
soapstone plaque. A soapstone plaque which was one of
a pair. Then the Baron explained that Mr Hiroshita was
afraid of Mr Kohler; and, later, he had learned that some-
one else in addition to Mr Kohler desired the content of
the soapstone plaque. When the Baron completed his tale
by saying, very stiffly, of course, that by an unfortunate
misunderstanding Mr Hiroshita had gained the idea that
if the plaque with the plan were sent to Miss Miquet,
then he—the Baron—could be persuaded to obtain that
plaque by substituting its duplicate, Jameson snorted.
Furthermore, concluded the Baron evenly with a glance at
Caryl, while he was strolling on A deck of the Kohala, the
last night out, he had overheard that the plan was to be
sent to Miss Miquet. "Naturally, my dear Mr Jameson, I
heard only snatches of words, and not until later did I
fully realize the terrible significance of"
"That's the damnedest story anybody could tell," Jame-
son declared. "Baron, I guess you and me better go back
to Honolulu. You're under arrest."
"So?"
Caryl stood, said, "Wait a minute, Mr Jameson. If the
Baron has this soapstone plaque that Mr Hiroshita gave
him to substitute, wouldn't that prove his story true no


l62
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
matter how bizarre it sounds?" She stretched out one
hand.
The Baron looked at her hand, rubbed his nose, glanced
at Jameson, then smiled. He reached into his inside coat
pocket, handed her the soapstone plaque, bowed most
ironically. Jameson was muttering, "Well, well," and when
the Baron showed Caryl how it opened, the old man said
that he reckoned he didn't have the pride some folks he
knew had, and he could admit he was wrong.
"My plaque, please," requested the Baron after Caryl
had handed it to Jameson and he had finished opening
and closing it. Caryl sat down.
Jameson dropped the plaque in his coat pocket. "I guess
Ml keep it."
Caryl raised her head, looked up at the Baron interro-
gatingly. He avoided her eyes. Jameson was thinking. He
came out with it bluntly: "Why, God almighty, Baron!"
Then he saw Caryl's face and stopped.
"Say it," she said.
The Baron shrugged. "It is obvious, no? Your mail is
watched in Honolulu. Now in Maui. The coincidence
would be too great that one other than those with you
could have intercepted it twice on two different islands."
"That's not true," she countered.
"You can't get around it, Caryl," said Jameson. "By
Jesus—sorry. But you can't get around it. That's why you
brought her here tonight?" Jameson gazed sourly at the
Baron. "You're a smart feller, Baron, but here on the
Islands we don't bluntly tell a girl one of her friends is a
murderer."
The Baron finished lighting his cigarette first. "No?" he
queried politely, in that icy way Caryl was rapidly detest-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 163
ing. He could have added that only by bringing them to-
gether and dramatically presenting them with his slender
shreds of fact could he shock them into believing him,
could he present both to Caryl and the Honolulu police
official the danger that was closing in upon the receiver
of the plaque. He sat down, repeating to Jameson Mr
Tuung's threat regarding Miss Miquet should the story
concerning the red diamond—and here he had to tell this
version of the plaque's content—be given to the police.
"Don't worry," Jameson told Caryl. "We'll keep you
out of trouble. I know the crowd Tuung's with. I can
take care of them."
Caryl was busy with her mesh bag. "Have you a foun-
tain pen, Mr Jameson?" She laid the check book on her
knee as she received Jameson's pen.
"Pardon," said the Baron steadily, "although I told you
why your mail is of such interest, I have not told you the
content of the plaque. That is important, no, Mr Chris-
tian Jameson?"
"Don't call me 'Christian Jameson,'" shouted the de-
tective. "You've told us enough. You can leave the Islands
on the next boat. I'll handle the details."
The Baron looked at his cigarette. "Then you have de-
termined who killed Mr Kohler? Who killed Mr Hiro-
shita? Who may kill more people when the mail brings
that plaque from Mexico to Miss Miquet? You 
ow
when the plaque will arrive in order to be on your guard?
And you feel assured as to the content of the plaque; the
content which is neither a map of a buried city nor a red
diamond?"
"You're such a smart feller, I suppose you've figured
out all this?"


164 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Many thanks," said Caryl, handing the Baron a check
for a thousand dollars. "I hope that is quite satisfactory."
"Quite, my dear Miss Miquet." The Baron bowed,
folded the check, placed it in his pocket and started for
the door.
"Just a minute," Jameson followed him. "You know so
much, hey?"
The Baron stared up and down the length of Jameson
as though he were a strange species never before seen.
Then he replied with the most insulting arrogance, "For
the time being I have ascertained approximately when
the plaque should arrive in Hawaii. Unfortunately, not
yet do I know what is the content of the plaque." He
walked out of the door, while Jameson stood there, his
jaw unhinged, his eyes incredulous. The Baron turned,
"But I think I may guess," he murmured.
The door slammed.
Jameson carefully bit off the end of a new cigar, said
mildly to Caryl, "I guess maybe I'd better see where he's
going. For a smart feller he has the damnedest temper I
ever came across."
"Have you a car, Mr Jameson?" asked Caryl, as though
what the Baron did, where he went, whether or not he
had the damnedest temper Jameson ever came across,
were not of the slightest consequence to her. "I'd like to
borrow it to return to the hotel. They'll be anxious about
me."
"You sit tight, Caryl," said the old man, going to the
door. "I'll get you back if he don't."
Jameson found the Baron sitting gloomily on the sea
wall beneath a drooping banyan. Jameson sat down beside
him. "Cigar?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 165
"I never smoke cigars."
"You don't realize what you're missing." Jameson
folded his hands over one angular knee. "Now, look here,
Baron, a real smart feller like you ain't going to let hisself
get riled because an old feller like me"
"My dear sir"
"Lord," said Jameson philosophically, "sometimes I for-
get what ornery manners I have."
"If you please," said the Baron more kindly, "you have
gracious manners—for an American."
"You're not sore, then?" ,
"The Baron von Kaz never loses his temper. I wished
to—uhm—to have you follow me." The Baron nodded his
head. "Exactly. It was a stratagem."
"Well, well," admired Jameson. "You mean you pre-
tended to get"
"Obviously." The Baron glanced at the detective; the
detective was wagging his old pelican head, agreeing with
every word the Baron had uttered. Enchanted by his own
voice, the Baron convinced himself of the probity of his
actions. "I questioned Miss Mary McKay. I wished to tell
you that."
"And that's why you had me come out?"
"I did not desire Miss Miquet to hear what I discovered
about her cousin."
"What'd you find?"
"She was dancing."
"That's all?"
"Dancing. And she went into the bar during intermis-
sions."
"Well, well." Jameson digested this momentous dis-
covery. "If Caryl heard that she'd be pretty upset, I guess.


CHAPTER X
BLACK SAND
ThERE ARE eight islands altogether," said the gentle-
man with the round nose who was eating mango fruit
for the first time. "Eight, in the territory of Hawaii. And
the largest of these eight islands is the island of Hawaii
What?" He leaned forward, keeping his finger in the
guide book.
His wife pointed across the dining room of the Kona
Inn, and the gentleman turned around slightly, said he
didn't see anything at all, took his second taste of mango
fruit, remarked that he'd never tasted fruit like that in
Iowa, and continued the lecture to his daughter and wife:
"The northern tip of the island of Hawaii, divided into
north and south Kohala, is high and temperate being on
the slopes of the great volcano of Mauna Kea. These out-
landish names are terrible," he said, and then noticed that
both his wife and daughter were staring to their left with
peculiar absorption. "Are you listening?"
"He's drinking champagne," his wife whispered.
"Since when, Cora, have you interested yourself in the
alcoholic beverages sots wish to pour down their throats?"
He frowned severely, decided not to try any more mango,
concentrated on the book again. "Cattle graze on these
167


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 169
Mr Berry, manager of the Kona Inn, was at the desk.
"Breakfast all right, Baron von Kaz?" asked Mr Berry
cordially. He was a chubby, friendly man with red veins
showing on his forehead and on his cheeks.
The Baron nodded absently, glanced at the calendar.
Today was April twelfth. Five days before the seven-
teenth; five days before the plaque should arrive from
Mexico.
The Japanese boy piled the books on the counter, hissed
politely, silently melted away. The Baron laid his two
books on the counter. "If you keep on reading the his-
tory of Hawaii," said Mr Berry conversationally, "you'll
know more about it than those professors at the univer-
sity on Oahu." He took the books. "Finished with them?"
The Baron nodded. "I don't think there are any more
that'd interest you. I telephoned Hilo yesterday, but they
claimed they'd already sent me all the books they have
on the history of Kohala and Kona. Like some on the
other islands?"
"No thank you, my dear sir." The Baron asked anx-
iously, "Then they can give me nothing more on the old
legends and customs?"
"You've had them all, Baron."
"But Kailua, here, was at one time the capital. King
Kamehameha was born in north Kohala. I can find noth-
ing on the burial rites."
"Well," said Mr Berry tolerantly, "the natives always
were secretive about their habits, and I guess the white
men weren't very interested in any of their pagan doings.
When the missionaries came here in eighteen hundred-
and-two, or thereabouts, they were more interested in
converting them; and then, after the traders came, no one


170 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
gave a damn about the Hawaiians. About their habits, I
mean. Aunt Ella," his head nodded backwards in indica-
tion of the ancient Royal Palace of Kailua, which was a
quarter of a mile from the hotel, "over at the Palace,
knows more old-time legends than anyone around here."
He laughed again. He had a cheerful, pleasant laugh.
"You've been talking with her steadily the past three days,
Baron. If she can't tell you what you want, no one can.
What 're you planning to do? Write an article for one of
the foreign magazines?"
"Exactly," agreed the Baron.
"Say." Mr Berry called to him as he started for the
stairs. "I forgot." He came from behind the counter and
gave the Baron an envelope. "Cable arrived for you early
this morning."
The hotel was built for coolness and comfort. The corri-
dors, running the length of the hotel, serving to connect
the airy rooms, were more like long porches with the one
side open. The Baron walked down the second floor cor-
ridor to his room, constantly watching the winding road
and the foliage across the road. Upon several occasions
when men had walked through the underbrush the Baron
had dismissed his dignity to such an extent that he had
ducked behind the shelter of the corridor railing. But
the men had been either Hawaiians or mixtures of
Hawaiian and Oriental blood. For the moment the Baron
was convinced that Caryl Miquet was safe, that no harm
would threaten her until the plaque was delivered. And
he and Jameson had made their plans to protect her as
soon as the plaque entered the postoffice in Honolulu.
But the Baron, as he remained at Kona Inn, fifty miles
or so from those ranches in north Kohala where Caryl


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 171
and her friends were staying, was very careful in taking
all the precautions for his own safety. He knew that not
more than fifty miles away, perhaps nearer, was a deadly
air pistol. In his solitude at Kona, his imagination fre-
quently imaged a silent winged dart striking into his flesh.
If the killer were as shrewd as the Baron thought the
killer to be, that person would realize, as the time for the
arrival of the plaque which had already cost two lives
drew closer, that having Austria's, Europe's, greatest de-
tective near by might prove an obstacle to the desired
end. And it would be so easy to remove that obstacle.
And so, while the Baron was a brave man appreciating
his own worth, he could be as cautious and wary as a
hunted wolf.
Not until he was in his room did he slit the envelope
and read the cable which had been sent to Honolulu from
Vienna, and then on to Kailua. The cable was quickly de-
coded:
BARON FRANZ MAXIMILIAN KARAGOZ VON KAZ
HONOLULU
AUSTRIAN CONSUL INFORMS US YOU HAVE NOT YET LEFT ISLANDS
STOP SERIOUSLY CONCERNED STOP IMPERATIVE YOU DEPART IM-
MEDIATELY STOP CABLE US WHEN WE MAY EXPECT YOU IN
VIENNA
CHWEIK
For almost ten minutes the Baron sat at his table star-
ing at the cable, with the blue sea outside, and the palm
trees waving, and the clouds floating lazily in a sky that
looked forever calm and then he tore into small pieces
the cablegram and the sheet of paper upon which he had


172
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
written the translation, yawned, stood up. He was tired.
He had read last night until five o'clock in the morning,
as, indeed, he had done the previous three nights, as
though searching in the books for a secret which he had
been unable to discover during the afternoons while ex-
ploring the coast of Hawaii in a rented car.
Time had gone so quickly. Only a few days more be-
fore the seventeenth. . . .
He put a clean handkerchief in his pocket, picked up
his panama hat and green umbrella and left the hotel,
stopping for a moment to buy ginger leis from one of the
Hawaiian flower girls squatting at the edge of the dusty
road.
Kona Inn is situated on the outskirts of the historic lit-
tle town of Kailua. Over a hundred years ago Prince
Kuakini, brother of the great King Kamehameha's queen,
had erected a royal palace under an ancient and huge ban-
yan tree. All this the Baron knew. Kailua itself was a
straggling village of some fifty ramshackle buildings, sev-
eral Japanese hotels, by the side of a peaceful bay. Across
from the Palace—a square, three-storied building resem-
bling a great New England house of the eighteenth cen-
tury upon which had been grafted a long porch and
second-story balcony with ornate railings, as a concession,
perhaps, to the tropical influence—was the large stone
church, the first in all the Islands, built in eighteen thirty-
seven by the same missionaries who had assisted Prince
Kuakini design his own royal abode.
The lawn in front of the Kailua Palace was riotous with
flowers. Coconut palms curved gracefully, shading the
porch. Inside it was cool and musty, with that smell of
old plaster and old woodwork. A small, weazened woman


174 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
And she had invited him to repeat the ceremony today.
When the Baron had finished his fourth cup of tea he
asked politely, "Why is it, if it was the custom of the old
kings and all those of royal blood to have themselves
buried in the lava caverns, that so few graves have been
found?"
Aunt Ella regarded him, lifted her cup of tea. Her
chinaware had been bought in Shanghai fifty years ago
by her uncle. He was in the tea trade then. The Baron
listened while she told him about her uncle who captured
a great three-masted clipper ship, infinitely better than
one of these snorting modern steamboats. Aunt Ella
didn't like steamboats. She had heard of airplanes, but
they never flew over Kailua; besides, she didn't believe
in them. When she had completed all that she had to
say concerning her uncle and modern progress, she stood
up, shook out the black, crinkling skirts, looked at the
Baron with that little secretive air. "They didn't want to
be disturbed," she answered. "When they died a tabu
was placed on the burial caverns. Only the old people
knew where they were located. Now the old people are
gone."
The Baron walked with her to the door. "Such a pity."
He sighed, glanced at her from the corners of his eyes,
sighed again.
"It isn't a pity," she countered sharply. She pointed
north, toward the coast of Kohala, where the tip of the
island lay. "When Mauna Kea erupted, the hot lava tun-
neled dowu from the heights, forming great tubes under-
ground to the sea. Many of the tubes are miles in length.
When I was a girl"
She stopped, looked at him again with that secretive air.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 175
"It's time for my nap," she declared. "Why aren't you
fishing or lolling around the beach with the other tour-
ists?"
He could fish in Austria, he explained. There was some-
thing about this place that captivated him. It was a great
pity that all the old customs should vanish. Now if these
islands belonged to Austria
"When I was a girl," she half whispered, "I used to go
into the caves. You can't find the important ones. Only a
few have been opened by the bungling tourists."
"But why," he insisted very naively, with the lines deep-
ening in his dark cheeks, and his blue eyes bright and
engaging, "Why should they be hidden? I do not under-
stand."
"You are stupid," she said, tossing her head. "Do you
suppose the old kings want all their finery to be found?"
"Pardon. Finery?"
"Their clothes. Their possessions. What they had was
buried with them."
"Ach, so." He nodded solemnly. "But surely, dear Aunt
Ella, no one would disturb a few valueless relics?"
"Valueless?" She screeched like a muted parrot. "Have
you seen the feather cloak of King Kamehameha at the
Honolulu museum?" She began to laugh softly, like an
old phonograph record with the grooves worn jagged.
"Isn't that worth half a million dollars? Where are the
little Oo and Mamo birds—the Iiwi birds—from which
they plucked one by one the colored feathers to make the
cloaks? All gone now. And the women who had the pa-
tience to work fifty years to make a feather cloak? You
don't find such women any more, with steamboats and
airplanes, do you?"


176 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"And they buried these—ach!—these feather cloaks
with the old chieftains, dear Aunt Ella?"
"That they did." She nodded. "And there weren't many
such cloaks made, even when the chieftains were alive.
One or two only every hundred years. They found King
Kamehameha's because he was vain and didn't hide his.
But where's Puakini's? Aye? Where's his? He was almost
as great a man as the Great King himself. But Puakini
was loyal to the old beliefs, and when he died they hid
him in South Kohala, and nobody '11 ever find his cavern.
Now go away," she ordered crossly. "I'm old and I'm
tired."
He took her hand, and the faded old eyes softened. In
her youth, when the foreign princes and dukes had come
to Honolulu on the warships, on the sailing boats, and she
had danced with them in the Great Palace, they too had
taken her hand and kissed it.
Slyly he glanced along the parched yellow arm to her
face. And as he lifted his lips, he murmured very softly,
"But you know where is Puakini's cavern, no, dear Aunt
Ella?"
She met his smile. Her lips cracked in her face. She
nodded. "And when I go, nobody '11 ever know. Nobody
'11 ever know."
He looked out over the Palace grounds and then felt
for a folded slip of paper and handed it to her. "Dear
Aunt Ella, once you stated that the tourists do not leave
money sufficient for the upkeep of the Palace. Permit me,
as a token of my affection—ach!" He was going to com-
pose an extravagant and meaningless sentence, but when
he saw her expression change as she read the check he said
simply, "For you."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 177
"One thousand dollars?" She looked at him. "You're
joking?"
He shook his head.
"The check isn't good. It can't be."
"Pardon." He bowed. "You can cash it at any bank.
Try it, dear Aunt Ella."
"But it's not signed by you." She adjusted her glasses.
"It's a woman's name. It's a familiar name, too."
"It is made out to me. For a minor service." He
shrugged. "Turn the check over. You will see I have en-
dorsed it to 'Aunt Ella.'"
She watched him walk under the palm trees, under the
banyan trees, and at the stone gate he paused and blew
her a kiss, and she waved at him and then went into her
house, the check clutched tightly in her hand.
It was hot, and he was dusty, and in his room he took
a cold shower. Little green lizards scurried on the ceil-
ing. He changed his clothes and felt refreshed. Far down
the hall a door clattered suddenly as he stretched, and
with arms extended he became rigid. He moved silently,
when a minute had passed, to the door, peered into the
hall. He did not like this long wait. His nerves were
jumpy. The strain was growing. At night it was particu-
larly bad. Even the trees seemed to rustle warnings. He
picked up his green umbrella, patted it fondly, hooked it
on his left arm.
As usual, when he left his room, he glanced cautiously
in both directions, then sighted over the railing to the
dusty road below, to the green tangle of vegetation grow-
ing on the slope which ascended imperceptibly, not ten
or twenty miles, but nearly fifty breath-taking miles, to
fourteen thousand feet above sea level. One of the Kona


178 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"nightingales," a mouse-colored mule, was drawing a
dilapidated cart into which were crowded a fat Hawaiian
and his fatter wife. There was no other movement. The
air was still. Kailua had settled into its afternoon nap.
Two Japanese children had curled up by the stone wall
in front of the church and were fast asleep.
Downstairs he found the manager playing one of his
endless games of dominoes. The Baron wished to learn if
it would be possible to drive to South Kona. The man-
ager lazily pushed aside a row of dominoes. He didn't
think so. From the tip of the island—North Kona—clear
down along the west coast to Kailua, there weren't any
roads. South Kona, according to Mr Berry, was pretty
much a wilderness of volcanic rock which had overflowed
Mauna Kea. "There's an old pathway," he said, "the
Hawaiian kings built from here to North Kona for the
runners, but most of that's gone. No, you'll have to drive
eastward up the side of Mauna Kea, past the Parker
Ranch, till you get on the road that goes through the
Preacher and the McKay ranches. That road connects
with the airport at Upolu Point, and Honoipu, and all the
little towns around the tip below the ranch lands."
"But I came here that way," protested the Baron. "I do
not desire to view the same country."
"Well, you'll have to." Mr Berry rearranged his dom-
inoes. "There's a little port at Puukohola for the McKay
Ranch at the edge of South Kohala. You might get a boat
there to take you down the coast. But all the boats at
Puukohola belong to the McKay or Preacher people. Did
you ever try dominoes?" he asked. "It's a very entertaining
game."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 179
"No doubt," agreed the Baron. "How far is South Kona
from here by boat?"
"About two hours. We could have a game now, Baron,
if you wanted to?"
"Ah—later, my dear Mr Berry. You could rent me a
boat, no?"
"For this afternoon?" Wearily Mr Berry moved. "It's so
hot. Oh well. It '11 cost you fifteen dollars for the trip. Kau
Nuapo has a fishing boat with a motor he sometimes
rents. I'll phone him."
By three-thirty the little Japanese fishing boat chugged
around the Kiholo Point. "There," said Kau Nuapo,
pointing to the jagged black coast line, a fantastic mass
of black rocks as far as the Baron could see. "South Ko-
hala. We go back now?"
"Go in, please."
On this shore, from time immemorial, Mauna Kea had
poured forth its steaming flows of lava. A few gnarled ohia
trees and feathery silvery shrubbery grew between the
twisted rocks, coiled where the molten stream had cooled,
cindery and sharp edged. In the books the Baron had
read of the lava flows; of that one in eighteen hundred
and one which had carried away entire villages, hissing
its way to the sea; of the flow in eighteen fifty-nine, and
the greater one of eighteen forty-three, which had lit the
night sky so that the natives in Maui and Oahu had
thought the gods were returning to the Islands. These
were the most recent flows, but many others had preceded
them. The hot gush of lava had melted through the rocks,
forming huge cavernous tunnels extending miles beneath
the surface. Here, in these caverns, in times past, the chief-


l8o THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
tains had found refuge from their enemies and a resting
place after death. The Baron climbed forward to the prow
of the boat as it pushed in toward the coast.
Forty feet or so from the shore line Kau Nuapo refused
to continue in. "Too dangerous," he said. "Rocks very
sharp." A second time he pointed. In the translucent
depths huge rocks lifted to the surface. For many minutes
the Baron gazed at the coast. Where the sea had washed
upon the land, the volcanic rocks had gradually disinte-
grated, forming a loose gravel, a black sand beach. It was
the first black sand the Baron had ever seen. Finally he
gave Kau Nuapo the signal to return, then lay on the
canvas-covered cabin deck and felt the sun rays warm
him. Now and then he smeared his body with coconut
oil. The sloshing of the waves, the murmuring breeze,
put him to sleep. He was aroused once by Nuapo's excited
cries of, "Shark! See shark!" and sleepily rolled to his side
and saw the black fins slitting through the water and then
went to sleep again. He didn't awaken until the fishing
boat landed.
Downstairs in the inn, during dinner, Mr Berry came
to the Baron's table. "Have a nice trip?"
The Baron nodded.
"Catch any fish?"
The Baron shook his head.
"Lots of good fish around here, Baron. Best black mar-
lin fishing in the world." With that Mr Berry wandered
to another table and joined an old friend who had driven
in from Hilo and was planning to take the airplane to-
morrow from Upolu Point to Honolulu. This friend also
stood up when the Baron pushed his chair back from the
table. More or less by chance, the three men met in the


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS l8l
doorway of the lobby, and Mr Berry, who was a sociable
soul, said, "Baron, I want you to meet Mr Jameson. This
is the Baron von Kaz. Jameson lives in Honolulu, but he's
been in Hilo to visit his sister. The Baron's here to absorb
some of out atmosphere, Chris."
Jameson said how do you do, and the Baron bowed,
and a little later, after Jameson had played a game of
dominoes with his host, the Baron came downstairs and
walked out upon the lawn.
Jameson told Mr Berry that he'd have a look around
before turning in.
"Well, young feLler."
The Baron whirled.
"Jumpy, aren't you?"
The Baron said that he was never jumpy, that once in
Vienna he had been on the trail of a madman for three
months, living in the same house with this madman, but
his nerves were always comparable to steel.
"That's fine," said Jameson, sitting on a rock and look-
ing toward the water. "Because as soon as I got in the
place I got jumpy. I know it isn't reasonable, but I keep
wondering if we're as smart as we think we are. If that
one—" here he gestured with his head toward that long
ascent behind him and the Baron understood that the de-
tective was thinking of those people on the ranches—"if
that one happened to guess what we're planning, it
wouldn't be very far to come down here." There was a
period of silence while Jameson chewed on his cigar. "No
sir. I don't mind guns. They make a noise. But air pistols
aren't natural."
"Ach," said the Baron in a superior fashion. "You must
be as I am. I am without nerves. I am a brave man."


CHAPTER XI
DISTURBED CHARADE
SeE HERE." Jameson pointed at the map of Hawaii
spread out on the Baron's writing table. He squinted
through his glasses. "These are the division lines, Baron.
The Parker and Von Stoltz ranches come in along the
north coast. Then right here is the McKay Ranch south
of Kawaiahae, and next to that the Preacher Ranch. Both
in South Kohala."
He sat down in the chair, next stood, pulled the bam-
boo blinds at the windows. "I don't like an open window
behind my head," he explained, again sitting down. "Now,
what about this feather cloak, hey?"
The Baron was walking around the room, his toes
touching the floor first, noiselessly, and then his heels, the
movements melting effortlessly into one. "There can be no
doubt," he declared. Jameson merely grunted, and if he
knew he was being observed he made no gesture, gave no
indication that he was supposed to applaud the remark-
able deductive powers of the brave Baron von Kaz.
"No doubt at all," repeated the Baron, frowning at
Christian Jameson. "Do you understand, my dear sir? The
plaque contains a map or a diagram locating the lava
cavern where this Prince Puakini is buried."
183


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 185
groundwork of truth. Then, because the liar is telling
that which is merely an exaggeration, not a complete
fabrication, he does not have to depend entirely upon his
imagination. His he has the semblance of truth. You com-
prehend?" he inquired politely.
"I'm listening."
"Furthermore, my dear sir, what else besides a map or
a diagram could fit into this small space and still repre-
sent untold value? That is a second point which, fitted to
Mr Hiroshita's partial lie, convinced me that the content
of the plaque was a map."
There was a soft sighing sound outside, and both men
looked startled. Then the Baron sprang quietly to the
door, unlocked it, pushed it open a fraction of an inch
and returned to the bed after locking it. "One of the
maids vacuum cleaning. It is nothing. You should not be
so nervous."
"Nervous hell," stated Jameson, lighting his cigar. "/
didn't go to the door, did I?"
"The maids do much of their work after dinner when it
is cool." The Baron gave this observation casually, as if to
explain that there was nothing unusual in a maid being
outside. "You agree concerning the plaque, no?"
"From the first," announced Jameson, "I always said
you were a smart feller, Franz." Eying the door uncom-
fortably, he shifted his chair so that he was partially pro-
tected by the chiffonier.
"Thank you." The Baron appreciated praise. He thrived
upon praise and when flattered he would stretch and arch
his back and cock his head and go through all the tricks
that he had. "The third point is then, of what is the map?
In Lahaina, I had come to the conclusion that the map


186 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
was in some way connected with the Islands, or why was
it brought here at such risk? The focal center was the
Islands, but what island? Mr Kohler was from the island
of Hawaii. Mr Hiroshita had obtained the map from
Okyo who had worked with Mr Kohler in Hawaii. Okyo's
father was an archaeologist, and as an archaeologist he cer-
tainly would be interested in this island of Hawaii, which,
from what I have learned, still contains more relics and
legends of the old days than any other island."
Jameson flicked his cigar. "You are a smart feller,
Franz."
"Naturally." The Baron nodded, returned to the sub-
ject. "And, my dear sir, is not Mr Sargent engaged to a
girl whose ranch is on Hawaii? Does not Mr Preacher re-
turn to his own ranch on Hawaii? Mr Bolton, because of
his connections with Mr Preacher, could also be said to
be attached to Hawaii, at least as far as our arguments
are concerned." He paused. "And the plaque is now being
sent to Hawaii, since Miss Miquet is here. It would be a
coincidence, perhaps, if only there were one or two con-
nections with the island of Hawaii; but six, my dear sir,
cannot be entirely coincidences. And if they all come to
Hawaii, and the map follows them to Hawaii, does that
not narrow the limits of what the map might represent?"
"Might at that," agreed Jameson.
"In other words, my dear sir, it is hardly conceivable
that it is the map of—let us say—the lost city of the Tarb.
No, because we here are not concerned with something
on the other side of the world. Is that correct?"
"Well, you're using a kind of far-fetched example"
"Agreed. But the reasoning, if you please?"
"All right."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 187
"Good!" The Baron impatiently snapped his fingers.
"Then I wished to know what in Hawaii could be hidden
of great value. If we were in the West Indies, the answer
might be Spanish gold. Or lost treasure. But we are not
hunting for a thing uncommon. Not at all, my dear sir.
Who had the map first? Saka Okyo. What information
could he obtain which would necessitate a map? He
worked on the McKay Ranch. He would be familiar with
the adjoining ranches, such as the Preacher Ranch. From
his father he would have heard of the legends about the
Hawaiian kings. Old Saka Okyo, better than anyone else,
might well have obtained definite information concerning
the location of the burial caverns. Let us make a suppo-
sition: let us extend this supposition and then see if the
facts we have support the supposition."
"Go ahead, Franz."
"Old Mr Okyo tells his son the location of the burial
cavern of Prince Puakini. This cavern is on the Preacher
Ranch. That means that young Okyo cannot get to it
without trespassing and being discovered. He tells Mr
Kohler but refuses to give to Mr Kohler the exact posi-
tion. Mr Kohler is aware that he has the chance to gain
an enormous fortune. You yourself, my dear Chriz, told
me how he boasted of the fortune he was about to pos-
sess. So we must assume that young Okyo was able to offer
Mr Kohler proof of the existence of the burial cavern and
proof that he knew the location."
Jameson waved his cigar. "You don't have to explain so
damn much. Of course, or the rest wouldn't 've hap-
pened."
"So. Mr Kohler is clever. He is the manager of the Mc-
Kay Ranch. That may be why Okyo approached him. I


i88
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
have not yet had the opportunity to question Miss McKay
as to how Mr Kohler maneuvered her into buying"
"Hell, she was in love with him once. That's easy. Go
on."
"Ach, so. As manager, then, he buys three thousand
acres. Why?" Here the Baron jumped up. "Because some-
where in those three thousand acres is the burial cave.
But Mr Kohler has overreached himself, either in buying
the land or in making love. Saka Okyo, angry at the man,
becomes involved in a fight with him, then leaves for
Mexico. Mr Kohler takes several trips to Mexico, un-
doubtedly in an effort to find Saka Okyo, and finally
learns, perhaps from Okyo himself, that the map has been
sold to Okyo's compatriot, Mr Hiroshita." The Baron lit
a cigarette. "What do you think, my dear Chriz?"
"I think you have hit it smack on the nail." Jameson put
his tobacco-stained thumb on the map of South Kohala.
"Somewhere there is a burial place containing Prince
Puakini's feather cloak. I remember hearing about the
Prince when I was a young man. He was a regular hell-
bender, according to all stories. Why, by Jesus!" The old
man was excited. "Whoever gets that cloak has a fortune
in his hands. There can't be five of them in existence. Any
European collector could sell it over there for damn near
a million in American money." The detective's lantern
jaws waggled at the thought. Then the dancing cigar
quieted. "Here's what we've got, then. Saka Okyo tells
Kohler about the feather cloak. Kohler makes love to
Mary McKay and gets fired. Saka scrams to Mexico, dis-
gusted with the whole plan or maybe afraid to take any
more risks. All right." He sucked on his cigar. "Kohler
tries to find Saka and get the plan. At the same time,


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 189
Hiroshita butts into the mess and does find Saka Okyo
and get the plan. And . . . Kohler realizes that Hiroshita
now has the button"
"Pardon?" inquired the Baron.
"Button, button, who's got I forget, you're a
foreigner. Kohler learns that your former client has the
plan. So far so good. Hiroshita hires you to get him safe
to the Islands. Now comes the tough part. Did John Sar-
gent get wind of the map showing where the feather
cloak is hidden on Mary's ranch, deliberately go North
in order to meet her and get himself engaged to her? Or
did Jeff somehow hear about the feather cloak and come
back to try to find that cave that had been on his prop-
erty? Or—your third alternative, Baron: Did Bolton some-
how get wise to the whole affair while he was staying at
the same hotel in San Francisco where Kohler stayed; or
while he was on the boat? And—if he did, is he working
for himself or with Jeff?"
The Baron gave the detective a long, level glance. "One
more possibility, if you please. A dreadful, unnatural pos-
sibility. Mr Kohler was in love with Miss McKay, no?
Could he have been imprudent? Could he have let her
suspect what he was seeking? Could he have given her,
not all the facts, but enough to persuade her to purchase
the three thousand acres so the cave with the feather cloa\
would be on her property? Miss McKay does discharge
Mr Kohlerl And she does go to the mainland, where she
becomes engaged to a gentleman who lives in Mexico
who already knows"
"See here!" Jameson stood up, his spectacles quivering
indignantly on his old beaklike nose. "I can't allow


190 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Please be seated," said the Baron coldly, and Jameson
did sit down. "She becomes engaged to this gentlemen
who is a friend of Mr Kohler."
"You're all wrong," shouted Jameson, "and I'll tell you
why. We people on the Islands ain't murderers. Besides,"
he exclaimed triumphantly, "if Mary did know that
feather cloak was on the McKay Ranch, she didn't have to
do any killing to get it. If she finds the cloak, the half
million dollars are hers." Like a crane nodding, Jameson
exhibited his satisfaction.
"So?" asked the Baron mildly.
"Yes sir. That shows you're"
"But does she own all the ranch, if you please?"
"Hey?"
"Does not Billy share the greater part?"
"Billy"
"And would not the greater share of the feather cloak
money thus come to him?" demanded the Baron. "What
portion of the ranch does Billy own?"
"I looked that up. He gets more'n I thought. He gets
the whole damn ranch when he's twenty-one, and Mary
gets an income of ten thousand dollars a year for life."
The two men stared at each other.
Finally the Baron asked, "And if anything should hap-
pen to"
"Mary inherits it."
"And she would also receive full rights to whatever was
found upon her land." The Baron smiled. "There, my
dear sir, is your fourth possibility."
"By Jesus," muttered Jameson several times. Then, "If
we could figure out who killed Kohler we might get
somewhere without wasting time on a lot of damn fool


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 191
possibilities. Everybody's alibying everybody on the Hiro-
shita shooting, and we haven't a chance on that. But with
Kohler there must be some loophole. Start with"
"If you please, facts. We know when Mr Kohler was
killed. We know that Miss Caryl Miquet was on B deck,
if not at the moment he was shot, at least only a few min-
utes afterward. And we know that it would take at least
five minutes for her to run from A deck to the amid-
ship's stairway and out on B deck and down to the bar.
We know that she was with Mr Preacher. We know that:
one, Mr Preacher did not pass me on A deck, nor pass
Miss Miquet on B deck"
"Which fixes him," declared Jameson unhappily. "All
right"
"Pardon," said the Baron. "We know that Mr Sargent
had been dancing. However, / did not see him come to A
deck. He might have killed Mr Kohler, but if he escaped
by running toward the front of the ship, would not Miss
Miquet have seen him?" The Baron hadn't forgotten that
it was Sargent who had advised Caryl Miquet not to meet
him on A deck at midnight.
"Hey? Maybe he stayed on A deck."
"Very well. We will say that he had the opportunity—
a slight opportunity—to do the killing. Mr Bolton is next.
We do not know what he was doing. We have learned
that he was acquainted with Mr Kohler. But Mr Kohler
was laughing. I heard Mr Kohler laughing. Of all the
people connected with the case, the two least inclined to
make anyone laugh would be Mr Hiroshita, who is killed,
and Mr Bolton. Neither is gifted with humor. Neither is
joyous. Ah no; it is difficult for me to believe that Mr Bol-
ton ever could persuade anyone to laugh. However, I am


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS I93
"'Quid timeam ignoro; timeo tamen omnia demens.'
That," said the Baron showing his sharp teeth in a grim-
ace that resembled a modest little smile as much as a
counterfeit kronen piece the genuine silver, "is Latin.
It translates from Ovid, "Why I fear I know not, but yet
as one deprived '"
"To hell with your Latin. If you won't tell, suit your-
self. I don't think you have a twig or anything else." Jame-
son made as if to leave, got to the door, paused. "Look
here, about that plaque. I've got everything arranged in
Honolulu. The minute a parcel from Mexico addressed
to Caryl Miquet reaches the postoffice they notify me.
We'll hold the parcel a day to get our ten men fixed in
Kohala. Now that you've told me it's a map . . ." He
thought for a moment. "What we can do is get the direc-
tions, have men planted right at the cavern. Then, if we
don't see who lifts it from Caryl, we can spot whoever
comes to the cavern for the cloak and other things. I wish
to God the seventeenth would come. I don't like this wait-
ing."
"Permit me to repeat," said the Baron, "that I dislike
your plan. You and Miss Miquet overruled me in Lahaina.
It places her in too great danger."
"Danger hell! When she gets the parcel, she's to leave it
lying in plain sight. Gives whoever's done the murders
every chance to swipe it. Not until it's gone will she say
anything. Then, when we corner the lot, we'll have her out
of the way. It's perfectly safe. However . . ." He paused,
regarded the Baron. "Unless you want to tell me?"
The Baron shook his head. "I would if it would do any
good. You do not understand. What steps have you taken
regarding the air pistol?"


194 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Haven't been able to do any searching, Franz. You
know that."
"In Vienna . . ." said the Baron, and while Jameson im-
patiently shifted from one foot to the other, the Baron
took a good ten minutes to relate how he had discovered
the secreted Marchetti documents when everyone else had
failed to find them. "However," he declared, "even if I
had a chance to visit the McKay Ranch, I should refuse.
If I am Miss Miquet's mercenary to be hired for one thou-
sand dollars, it is not suitable that I should mingle with
her friends." When Jameson said nothing, the Baron
glided to the writing table, whirled, shouted, "Do you
comprehend? It is not suitable for the Baron Franz Maxi-
milian Karagoz von Kaz, decorated by the hand of the
great Emperor Francis Joseph for"
"I never saw such a feller," Jameson interrupted. "By
Jesus! Stomping away from Lahaina. Making me drive
Miss Miquet back to her hotel and ducking out with your
baggage before her friends saw me. What's the matter
with you anyway?"
"You, my dear sir," sullenly observed the Baron, "are
a dolt."
"You're a smart feller, but with women I'd say you're
a damn fool. Besides, you act plenty jumpy here, fifty
miles off from that air pistol."
"I jumpy? My dear sir, do you question the bravery of a
Von Kaz? Why, if it would not demolish our plans, I
would this very night stealthily enter both ranch houses
and search for the pistol. Of course the risk in being
caught is considerable. Yes, it would be most unwise to
jeopardize our procedure for, my dear sir, in so do-
ing"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 195
"Good night. You need some sleep," said Jameson.
"I'm leaving at seven tomorrow morning. I'll telephone
you when"—he realized that he was in the corridor—
"when our friend arrives. Take care of yourself."
The Baron slammed his door shut.
Should he this very night prove to the Honolulu de-
tective that he was not afraid of an air pistol? Should he
leave now for the ranches? In his imagination he pictured
himself, disregardful of all personal danger, entering the
rooms of three sleeping men, searching their clothes, the
drawers in the furniture, the closets, even slipping his
hand under the pillows their heads rested upon! Then
only if the pistol were not in these three rooms would he
search among Miss McKay's belongings. And he was sure
the pistol would not be far from one of the four. If he
were only certain which one! True, he had a twig point-
ing to the right one, but he wished it were more substan-
tial than a twig: a limb or a tree. And from Mary McKay
his thoughts logically centered on Caryl Miquet. And
then he knew that no matter how much he might wish
to impress Jameson, no matter if his honor were insulted,
he would not enter the house where Miss Miquet was
unless he were invited as an equal.
Thus relieved of the terrible possibility of seeking that
pistol, having satisfied his belief in his bravery, he un-
dressed. And as he undressed he thought of something
else. He covered his shoulders with the shabby dressing
gown and wrote a note:
Dear Chris Jameson:
I am enclosing the money Mr George Tuung gave to
me as a retainer to obtain the plaque. Inasmuch as I was


I96 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
informed that this money came from very poor people in
Honolulu, I suggest that, after the plaque has arrived and
I have departed for Vienna, you see the money is re-
turned.
Franz Maximilian.
Instead of ringing for a boy, the Baron, because he felt
that his bravery had been impugned once that night, cau-
tiously passed down the dark corridor, entered the lobby,
where he gave the Chinese night clerk the letter to be
delivered to Mr Jameson tomorrow morning. And if the
Chinese night clerk thought it strange that a guest should
come down to the lobby in night clothes and carrying a
green umbrella, it was, after all, no stranger than why he
should come to the lobby in the first place when all he
had to do was ring a bell for a boy. It was midnight.
Leaving instructions that he wasn't to be awakened until
noon, the Baron went back to his room, looked into the
adjoining bathroom to make certain no one had slipped
in, locked and bolted the door and finally, as an added
precaution, closed the two windows and locked them,
preferring a stuffy room to the fear of a winged dart shot
from a silent air gun. The Baron had intended to sleep
late. Unfortunately for this intention, next morning at
nine-thirty a blue-jacketed Japanese knocked timidly on
the Baron's door, saying that Miss Mary McKay was on
the telephone and would he come downstairs, please? At
the Kona Inn there were no telephones in the bed-
rooms. . . .
"That's a shame," sympathized Mary McKay next after-
noon. "First we didn't know you were on Hawaii until


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS I07
John read in our weekly paper that you were among the
guests at Kona Inn. And as soon as you come you sprain
your leg."
The" others were on horseback, waiting for Mary. The
McKay Ranch was situated on the west slope of Mauna
Kea, about eight thousand feet high. From the lanai of
the main ranch house the Baron could look down twenty
miles until the highlands changed from a brownish-green
to black where the eighteen fifty-nine lava flow had raged
north across the lowlands into the sea. Now he limped to
the steps. Mary could see how brave and noble he was
despite the pain. The poor man had slipped on one of the
rugs just after lunch, but he hadn't complained at all. Her
heart was quite touched. He was such a modest, un-
assuming person, not at all the conceited braggart her
cousin had cast him to be.
He bowed and gracefully bent over her hand, and Mary
was so affected that she failed to notice that he was sight-
ing past her, to that slim figure on horseback talking to
two men. "Do not trouble yourself," he murmured. "I
was a complete dolt. Ach, so clumsy. I offer you ten thou-
sand apologies."
"Perhaps tomorrow we could plan on going for another
ride if your leg doesn't pain you? You must stay over
Sunday."
"I should enjoy that." He lifted his left leg, remem-
bered quickly and lifted his right and rubbed it. "With
so charming a hostess it soon will be recovered." His
lower jaw was held well back now, and when he smiled
and the lights went on in his blue eyes, she considered
that he was really almost handsome.
Jackson, the McKay manager who had taken Carl Koh-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 199
"Ach, so. Excellent."
"I'm going to have a porkullis here."
"Pardon, a"
"What you said. A porkullis. With fifty men."
"So. Very good. A porkullis."
"These here"—he pointed to a few twigs—"they're the
cannons. I haven't mounted them yet. Hanako promised
me his old revolver, but he lent it to one of the boys at
Puuo, so I have to use the sticks until Hanako gets off
Sunday."
"Sticks are far better," the Baron advised him firmly.'
"I thought maybe you'd have a real revolver or gun or
something," Billy wistfully suggested.
"A gun? But I never have need of a gun."
Billy leaned on the shovel. "You said you killed a thou-
sand men"
"So I did. It was in the war. The regiment was chasing
us through a pass, and we blew up the pass, and I received
a medal. The noise was magnificent."
"Well, I could get a real gun without waiting for
Hanako." Billy began to dig, continuing mysteriously,
"But that's a secret. It's a joke. I'm not supposed to know.
Do you like jokes?"
"Not with guns." The Baron again objected to-a real
gun, insisting that sticks were much better, and then
asked if the boy planned to work all afternoon.
"Gee, I've got to, Baron. I want to finish by tomorrow.
I've told Aunt Caryl and Mr Preacher and Mr Sargent
about coming up here when I finish so we can celebrate.
Mary's going to make a flag for me." He added, "You can
come too, if you wish. But don't tell Bolton. I don't like
him very well."


200 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron declared that he was honored, and after he
was convinced that Billy would be occupied for the after-
noon he returned toward the ranch house. The Hawaiian
cowboys were in the fields. The Baron saw that the ma-
jority of the servants were gathered in the two servants'
houses, in the rear of the ranch house proper, where they
usually slept during the afternoon or played Chinese gam-
bling games. He hobbled along the gravel lane to the
white guest house built on a knoll fifty yards or so from
the ranch house. Here he paused to pat two great police
dogs, tossed his cigarette away and went inside. In thirty
minutes he had completed his examination of the baggage
Jeffrey Preacher had brought with him for over the week-
end; and the two grips and trunk belonging to John
Sargent. After carefully glancing outside in all directions,
privately bestowing his thanks on the person who had
placed the guest house on a small knoll, he took twenty
minutes more to go through the two rooms, but he failed
to find the air gun.
Not forgetting to use his green umbrella as a cane, he
limped to the main ranch house. He knew that Mary and
Caryl had their rooms in the right wing. He went into
the kitchen first. An old Chinese woman was busy with
her baking. "You want dlink?" She reached for the rope
which connected with a bell in the servants' quarters.
The Baron said that all he desired was a bottle of
brandy.
"No have blandy." She opened a great cupboard, gave
him a large, darkish bottle. "Maybe like okolehau?"
Recalling the night with George Tuung, the Baron
visibly shuddered; however, he took the bottle and the
proffered glass, found his way by many doors to the long,


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
201
sunny living room which extended the full length of the
ranch house.
He decided that no servant except the old cook could
be in the house at this hour, nor would be likely to come
in much before four-thirty. He felt the need of a drink,
poured half a glass of okolehau, choked on it, placed the
bottle and glass on the table and, peering toward the
dining room and kitchen, suddenly vanished into that
part of the house which contained Mary's rooms and that
of her cousin. Because he frequently stopped and returned
to the living room to make sure no one had entered, not
until a few minutes before four had he satisfied himself
that no Haenel air pistol was concealed in Mary McKay's
rooms.
He had examined, then, the rooms and baggage apper-
taining to the two men and their hostess. Now the Baron,
because of his Viennese training, and because of a strong
feeling for self-preservation, was exceedingly thorough in
his investigations. Therefore, partly by habit and partly
owing to the fact that he was extremely desirous of hav-
ing the weapon that had killed twice in his own keeping,
he proceeded to enter into Caryl's room. If he had
stopped to consider, he wouldn't have entered. But he
wasn't thinking, at that moment, of Caryl as a person. His
mind was totally absorbed in this search and in anticipat-
ing the possible entrance of one of the servants or, though
he refused to dwell on this, the rightful owner of that
gun.
Twelve minutes later, when he was standing in her
closet, feeling her clothes brush him, sensing the faint
perfume, clean and fragrant of hidden wood flowers, did
he first appreciate the enormity of his conduct. He was


202 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
standing on toptoe. He had finished with her hat boxes.
Now he was exploring with his finger tips the shelf itself.
Automatically, in order to extend his finger tips to the
wall, he had jumped upwards, caught his elbows on the
shelf and in this uncomfortable position was completing
what had been a routine matter of business.
And as his fingers touched something cold he knew
that this was Caryl's closet, that she of all five was the one
who could not be concealing the Haenel air pistol. But
while his mind grasped this, his active fingers had grasped
a round, tubelike piece of metal.
When the Baron silently dropped to the floor his right
hand was holding the curiously exaggerated form of a
revolver. It had a long barrel. Twice as long as the barrel
of an ordinary revolver. The front half of the barrel was
slender. The latter half was swollen, bulbous in outline.
Incredulously he looked at it. He was so intent that he,
the great Von Kaz who claimed the ability not only to
hear but to smell a man, failed to heed the footsteps in
the hallway. Not until the knob of the door turned did he
jump, hastily shove the Haenel air gun up on the shelf,
take one of the hats and back out of the closet, trying on
the hat
.
He didn't dare to look around. He could hear someone
breathing. He shut the closet door. The outer part of the
door was a mirror. He stood in front of the mirror, and
behind him he saw a large, fat man with a head like a
bloated cherub. "Oh, it is you?" He snatched off the hat.
"I was practicing to surprise them with a charade when
they came back from their ride, my dear Mr Bolton. Per-
haps you have seen it?" He adjusted the fragile hat on
his head. "I am representing what bridge in Austria?"


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 203
"I've never been in Austria." Bolton removed his cigar.
His voice was absolutely flat, neither amazed nor dis-
turbed. "I'm a plain, simple man. I stayed in Paris most
of the time." He inserted the black cigar, his colorless
lips curling up around the cigar. "When I came in the
cook said you were in Miss McKay's rooms, and I won-
dered what you were doing. Personally, I don't approve
of charades. Some of them, I have been told, are highly
immoral."
With that he blew out a cloud of smoke, turned his
back on the Baron and walked off, his feet going down
on the mats and coming up again like two padded plun-
gers in a machine.
The Baron, grasping the hat in his hand, received his
second shock when he heard a faint tapping on the win-
dow. Billy was grinning at him through the pane. Drop-
ping the hat, the Baron stepped to the window to open
it. Billy whispered, "Golly! I didn't know you were in on
the joke too. I told you I was going to work on the castle
so I could play being a detective and shadow you. You
didn't know I was watching, did you? Wouldn't I make
a keen detective?"
The Baron gathered enough of his wits to exclaim,
"Lieber Augustin! what do you mean?"
"The joke on Caryl. Are you in it too? Don't worry, I
won't tell. I guess I wasn't supposed to see, but this
morning I was chasing my dog, and he ran by these
windows and I saw Psst! Duck!" The boy disap-
peared.
The Baron faced Bolton as he re-entered. He regarded
the Baron unemotionally and finally asked, "Is part of the
charade climbing out of the window?"


204 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron closed the window and smiled blandly.
"Ach, you are very clever, Mr Bolton. You have seen the
charade, after all?"
Bolton said he hadn't. The two men went together
to the lanai. And Bolton talked in his flat, hard voice
about how nice it was in Paris and how maybe he'd like
it over here, and how a fine, upstanding young boy like
Billy required a tutor, someone to look after him; and,
when the Baron casually said that he thought he'd take a
little walk, Bolton replied that walks were very healthful
and accompanied the Baron. The Baron gave up his ide^
of locating Billy until later, until he could rid himself of
Bolton.


CHAPTER XII
THE CASTLE GUN
By THE TIME the Baron had walked to the end of the
lane with Bolton, recalled that he was lame and began to
limp, leaning heavily on his green umbrella, and then
sadly told the man that it was difficult to go much farther,
half an hour had been wasted. The Baron suggested that
Bolton continue on alone, but Bolton said no, he'd had
enough of a walk, and the two retraced their steps to-
gether.
They returned to find the rest of the house party drink-
ing cocktails after their ride. There were sympathetic
questions concerning the Baron's leg, and he replied that
the leg was better; and Bolton asked the Baron in a loud,
flat voice when he would give the charade.
The Baron, glass in hand, was edging away from the
living room, hoping to escape gracefully. But Bolton's
announcement that the Baron had been in Miss Miquet's
bedroom getting ready for a charade was like a thunder-
clap smacking into a warm, still, sultry night, bringing
the occupants of the room up out of their chairs, their
faces expressing a gamut of emotions running all the way
from polite incredulity that the Baron would have the im-
pertinence and ill breeding to enter a lady's bedroom, to
205


206 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
bewilderment, as reflected by Caryl's lifted eyebrows and
half-amused, half-embarrassed laugy, to outright anger.
The Baron was in for a bad fcrty minutes. He was
forced to forego his plan to find Billy. He explained, ges-
ticulated, smiled, laid himself out to be charming and
confused, hinted that he'd had nearly a bottle of okolehau,
assured Caryl loudly that the idea had entered his stupid
head and he had gone for her hat without thinking, and
so on and so forth, and all the time these people in the
room held only a surface interest for him while he con-
sidered the chances of seeing Billy, unobserved, directly
after dinner.
When John Sargent, Jeffrey Preacher, and Bolton fin-
ished their drinks and started for the guest house to dress
for dinner, the Baron lagged behind, pouring himself an-
other drink in the hope that Billy might enter. But Mary
said, smiling, "You've had your share, Baron. You ran
along and get dressed." And Caryl agreed that that was
an excellent idea. Dinner would be served promptly at
seven, and the Baron had best hurry.
So the Baron locked his room door, preferred to go
without a shower than to leave his room to take one,
shaved rapidly, dressed and, armed with his umbrella,
which owing to his lameness he could not be with-
out, came with the other men to the ranch house for
dinner. Here, with great casualness, he asked if Billy were
not going to eat. Mary said Billy had a light meal at night
in his room. Red poi and breadfruit were served among
other dishes, and Caryl wanted to know what the Baron
thought of these native delicacies. The poi was a sourish
thin paste. He gagged, observed blandly that it was de-
licious and thereafter left his dish of poi untouched. The


208 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Caryl's room. Bolton, not having been on the party of the
preceding night, had presumably stayed on the Preacher
Ranch until after lunch.
The Baron was through with his coffee first, and when
Mary asked him what he was looking for, the Baron said
that he missed her charming little brother.
Mary laughed. "Billy has instructions not to bother the
guests. He's supposed to read in his own rooms, although
he's probably out playing with the cowboys in their bunk-
house. I'll be glad when it's time to send him to school."
"Ach, so? He has his own suite of rooms?" asked the
Baron politely.
"Hardly a suite, Baron. We're not that luxurious. He has
Dad's old den and bedroom in the back of the house."
John Sargent placed his cup and saucer on the floor,
stretched comfortably in his chair. "He's of an age, Mary,
that he should have an older, more responsible person
looking after him."
"Yes, darling," said Mary, without other comment.
"I don't think these Hawaiians and half-breeds are the
kind to trust a growing boy with." John glanced across
the room at the fat, solid man standing patiently in the
half darkness at the side of the fireplace. "Do you, Bol-
ton?"
"I couldn't say," replied Bolton. "I'm just a humble,
plain man. And Mr Preacher was so thoughtful and con-
siderate—when he was a boy—that even an uneducated
person like myself could raise him."
"Rats!" said Jeffrey softly to Caryl, grinned at Bolton
and told him with a rough sort of kindness for God's sake
to sit down and relax.
The Baron yawned, said he thought he might step out-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 20Q
side for a little air. He picked up his green umbrella,
limped through the door and waited on the lanai for a
few minutes, then quietly went down the steps, intending
to go to the back of the house and find Billy. But he
halted when he heard the door open, and his feeling of
irritation disappeared when he saw who it was.
For that second or so, while Caryl was framed in the
doorway, she was as a slender night flower in the pale
green evening dress, her bare and bronzed shoulders ris-
ing out of the shimmering green to a face that had too
much character and determination of its own ever to be
called pretty. But the raven hair, parted in the middle,
exposing a serene expanse of cool forehead, had hidden
glints in it; and, as the Baron stared at her, he knew, for
him at least, that she was the most beautiful woman he
had ever seen.
She called to Jeffrey, "Coming? The Baron's here, and
it's a perfectly grand night."
She sat down on the first step, tucking in her billowing
skirts. "When are you going to produce this famous
charade, Baron?"
He didn't know whether she was laughing at him or
not. He replied with great seriousness that he was not in
the mood for charades this evening. Somewhere below
them Hawaiian cowboys were passing, thrumming gently
on guitars; the stars twinkled low in that purple expanse;
the breeze brought soft scents to the ranch house, and
far away a dog yelped uneasily and was still. The Baron
looked down those twenty miles toward a sea that glim-
mered darkly and faded into the horizon of night. Caryl
commented that the stars seemed so near that she could
reach and pluck one for her hair. The brave and gallant


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 211
Without realizing it, the Baron was standing.
Caryl got up. "Sit down, Baron. I'll bring you another
glass as soon as I help Mary find that little devil. He
hates to go to bed, and he's always running off at bed-
time. Another drink for you, Jeff?"
Jeffrey said, "Please." The Baron offered to accompany
Caryl, but she reminded him of his disability.
Jeffrey was telling the Baron about his new life on the
ranch, and the Baron listened with one ear, adding mono-
syllabic comments. Then, "You will operate your ranch,
my dear Mr Preacher?"
"Me? Lord, no. I've got a wise old Scotchman to do
that. McCabb. He's losing enough money without my
help. Not that he isn't smart." Jeffrey laughed. "The old
rascal managed to sell Mary three thousand acres of no-
good coast land."
"To Miss McKay?"
"No, not exactly," admitted Jeffrey. "To a chap named
Kohler; he was running her ranch then. She doesn't inter-
fere with the business end any more than I plan to do
with my ranch. And I'm afraid McCabb was too good for
Kohler"
"Kohler? But not the Carl Kohler"
"On board ship. That was the one. You knew him?"
The Baron shook his head. "I first met him at the Mark
Hopkins' in San Francisco, just before we sailed. I
thought he was pretty much of a pig, myself. Doesn't
compare with Jackson, the fellow Mary has now. But
Bolton liked Kohler. Damned if I know," complained
Jeffrey, "where Bolton picked him up."
Bolton, the Baron vividly recalled, had definitely stated
that neither he nor young Jeffrey had ever met Mr Koh-


212
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
ler. Jeffrey meanwhile rambled on unheedingly, giving an
anecdote about his man McCabb who had gone pig hunt-
ing and had shot a prize cow instead. John Sargent and
Bolton came onto the lanai. Bolton saw the Baron. "When
are you going to give us your charade, Baron von Kaz?"
The Baron didn't have to reply, because the two girls
appeared. Mary was worried. "He's not with the cow-
boys," she explained. "Haumanau says she saw him leav-
ing Caryl's room about half an hour ago with a gun, but
there was no gun in Caryl's room. Haumanau's always
thinking she's seeing things she isn't, but I wish Billy'd
return. It's too late for him to be up."
"He's most likely playing cowboy in the corral," sug-
gested Caryl. "That's where he was last night. I'll go and
see."
Jeffrey said he'd go with Caryl. Bolton grunted that a
boy Billy's age should be trained to be in bed half an hour
before this and went into the house.
The Baron lit a cigarette. Then, picking up his um-
brella, he vanished around the house. The old Hawaiian
woman was in Billy's bedroom. She was surprised when
she saw the Baron. He wasted a good fifteen minutes on
her. She couldn't understand what he wanted, at first. She
took him to the hallway, showed him Miss Miquet's
room. She'd seen Billy there. Then one of the Chinese
boys entered and proceeded to help the Baron by inter-
rogating the old Hawaiian in a loud, authoritative voice,
wanting to be told why not are Master Billy to bed yet,
showing all of his English and manners and knowledge
for the guest's helpless benefit. When finally the Baron
had managed to quiet the Chinese servant and again be-
gan to question the woman, he at last learned that Billy


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 213
had run out with a gun. And when he asked several
hundred times what kind of a gun, she at last compre-
hended and measured with her hands. "Long gun. Funny
gun. Billy bad boy, too late not to be in bed."
A long gun! Very clearly now the Baron realized what
Billy had meant by "the joke." By accident Billy must
have seen the Haenel gun, or enough of it to surmise that
it was a gun, when it was brought into Caryl's room to be
hidden. And Billy had seen who had carried the gun. And
he had assumed that it was a joke, an incomprehensible
adult joke. But he needed a gun. So Billy had taken it.
Billy had taken it.
The Baron cried out aloud, to the manifest astonish-
ment of the old Hawaiian and the Chinese house boy. He
leaped through the door. In the darkness, far away, he
could hear Caryl calling, "Billy! Billy!" and, from greater
distances, other voices. The cowboys were seeking the
runaway youngster now, too. Their soft calls and whistles
came to the Baron's ears as he pushed through the cling-
ing vines and bushes, and after he left the ranch grounds
proper and reached the incline above the ranch he ran
faster than he ever could remember running uphill be-
fore.
When he topped the long rise, he panted, pausing to
get his bearings. On the opposite knoll, he made out an
obscure feathery mass which he knew was the kiawe trees.
He raced down the hill, stumbling once and sprawling
his full length. When he finally reached the kiawe trees he
called, "Billy! Where are you, Billy? It is the Baron."
Then he stood very still. He heard something. It came to
him faintly, as though someone down there behind the
trees might be caught or hurt and was trying to move,


214 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
trying to crawl back toward home and safety and shelter
and a bed where a sister was to draw up the covers and
say, "Good night," and turn off the light.
The boy was moving in the hollow behind the trees
when the Baron came to him. There was enough moon-
light in the sky to see the boy. He was pulling himself
forward with his hands, and his feet were trailing behind
him, limp, like those of a puppy who has been run over;
and when the boy lifted his face at the Baron's cry, the
Baron saw that the face was covered with blood. Near by
was a dented, bloody tin shovel. It was apparent that the
shovel had struck Billy, struck him above the nose, across
the forehead; struck through the skin with murderous
ferocity, even splintering the bone. The blood streamed
into those great eyes, blinding him; the blood covered the
smudge of freckles, and the boy was choking, crying in a
faint, high-pitched, terrified voice, digging into the dirt
with his hands, attempting to pull himself forward and
each time the hands moved so futilely, they moved more
slowly.
Now the Baron had behind him years of experience.
He saw the shovel lying there. He saw the boy. And he
should have promptly called for help and remained there,
touching nothing, bending closer to that small writhing
object, ordering the boy to use what breath he had to
talk. By doing this the Baron would have most efficiently
preserved any possible clues; by forcing the boy to speak
despite the agony and fear closing in around him it is
conceivable that the Baron would have heard the name of
the person who had tried to kill Billy.
But the Baron, to his everlasting disgrace, did none of
this.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 215
The Baron ruined a new flannel suit.
When he picked Billy up in his arms the suit gradually
soaked red. Billy whimpered, clinging to the Baron,
quivering; and the Baron, in a strange voice, a queer
jovial voice, laughed, and instead of urging Billy to talk
told him to keep quiet, that he wasn't hurt, that he was a
great, brave lad and that there was nothing to fear. And
the Baron, carrying Billy carefully in his arms, the green
umbrella hooked awkwardly in the crook of his elbow,
slowly walked past the kiawe trees, down the grade and
up again, and although the ground was rough and pitted,
Billy was carried in those arms as gently as though he
were in his bed, and through that sickening pain, all
through that greater horror of blackness which had filled
him with such terror, he heard, ever more vaguely, the
loud, cheerful voice of the Baron; a voice that made Billy
realize nothing was wrong, that all boys have accidents.
Ach lieber Gott! the voice was saying, are you to cry, my
dear Billy? You who will build castles? Why, tomorrow,
Billy, we shall build a castle a hundred times as big as the
biggest castle a boy has ever built. What is a little hurt?
Myself, I have fallen. I have cut myself. It is nothing,
Billy. Lie still. Do not move. What would your sister say
if she knew her brother had been crying? It is nothing. In
a minute you will be in bed, and tomorrow—ach, to-
morrow, Billy, we shall build great castles. Castles mount-
ing to the sky, Billy. Sh-h-h, boy! To the sky with knights
and barons and kings, even kings. . . . "Porkullis?" whis-
pered Billy, then coughed, and the Bajon held him close,
swearing that in this castle there would be a hundred
porkullises, ach, two hundred. . . .
Mary McKay left the guest house—Billy wasn't hiding


2l6
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
in it and she was going to the bunk house to rout out all
of the ranch help—when she heard a man coming down
the mountain road behind the ranch. She knew it was the
Baron because in that heavy, sweetish night she heard
him saying words in German, and she knew what he was
saying because long ago every night her old German
nurse would repeat those words for her, and hearing
them, Mary was frightened, and she ran.
Now this gentleman, the Baron von Kaz, a man of the
most cynical sentiments as he would have you under-
stand, a person without disgusting sentimentalities, was,
perhaps without fully realizing how shamefully he was
betraying all the modern philosophies with which he was
inculcated, repeating a foolish and silly prayer, as if such
a prayer could be of help. In truth, this can be said for
the Baron, the prayer he was reciting was the only one he
remembered, and as a prayer it was entirely out of place
and unfitted for the occasion. And later, when he thought
of this action, he steadfastly refused to admit that he had
even recalled it.
"Is he hurt?" cried Mary.
"Ach, he feels it no longer," said the Baron.
During those forty-eight leaden minutes of waiting for
the doctor's car to hurl him the thirty-two miles of moun-
tain road, the Baron stood at the foot of the bed, leaning
on his green umbrella, a graven wooden image. If he
moved, no one saw him move. Only the blue eyes shone
and showed signs of life.
The white sheet of the bed stained scarlet. The boy lay
there. The Baron was watching the boy. He was watch-
ing Billy, and Mary and Caryl who were bending over
Billy, ineffectually dabbing at his forehead, listening for


2l8 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
hospital. Without an X-ray it was impossible to discern
whether the bones had splintered into the brain or not.
Aware for some time of that dark, inscrutable face star-
ing at him across from the bed, the doctor drew Caryl
into the den^ now cleared of the servants, and asked who
the man was. Billy must have absolute quiet. The man
should be requested to leave the bedchamber at once. The
nurse would do what little could be done; and later Caryl
could go in, and perhaps Mary, if she could control her-
self.
John declared that he would go and bring the Baron
out, but it was Caryl who went in, who motioned to the
Baron that he must leave now. And the Baron placed his
lips to Caryl's ear, "It was not an accident. Billy knows
who tried to kill him. If you love Billy, no one except the
nurse must come near him. No one, until I can telephone
for police protection. . . ."
The Baron closed the door softly behind him. For the
moment the den was empty. The doctor and the men had
gone into the living room where Mary was lying down.
There was a telephone in the den.
In six minutes the Baron was put through to Honolulu.
Cobb, Jameson's assistant, answered. Jameson wasn't in
Honolulu. He had gone to the island of Kaui. He
wouldn't return until sometime tomorrow. Concisely, the
Baron related what had occurred. Cobb said he'd tele-
phone Hilo; they'd have to Jake over from Hilo. . . .
Jackson, coming from the servants' quarters to the den,
heard the Baron's voice at the telephone, stopped at the
door long enough to understand what the Baron was im-
plying, and rushed into the living room.


220 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
tennis courts, where he encountered two of the cowboys,
and they were heading for the corral to get horses to ex-
tend the search when Jackson joined them and they heard
Mary call.
Jackson's face gradually grew redder and redder as he
sensed that this foreigner was insulting Miss McKay and
her guests. He stepped forward and informed the Baron
that he had met Jeffrey, and furthermore, that he had also
gone with Miss McKay and Mr Sargent toward the south
gate. And then he had returned with Miss McKay to the
guest, house, where she went in and he headed for the
corral, and on his way he had caught up with Mr Preacher
and two of the cowboys. A minute later they had heard
Miss McKay call.
"So?" asked the Baron thoughtfully. "And you, my dear
Mr Sargent?"
John corroborated Jackson's story of meeting Mary and
himself, said that he had continued on to the south gate.
He was the last one back to the house. The south gate
was more than a mile from the ranch house.
Bolton was standing in the doorway. "I was here all the
time," he said. "Where were you, Baron?"
The telephone call from the Hilo police interrupted the
Baron's reply. John reached the telephone first. He had
stated that there was no need for the police, explaining
that the accident had overexcited one of the guests, when
the Baron elbowed him to one side.
John lifted his fist, dropped it with a startled exclama-
tion as a long sharp sword flashed from the green um-
brella. Bolton saw the play of the sword, moved to
Jackson and whispered, "Why, the man must be drunk or


222 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron patted the doctor's arm. "Doctor, can the
boy live? You will concern yourself with him, please. Not
with me. I have no friends outside."
Jackson and the large Hawaiian took this opportunity
to lunge at the Baron. Caryl jumped to interfere, but Bol-
ton held her. The Hawaiian clamped his hand around
the Baron's mouth. Sargent stepped close to the Baron,
struck him very hard on the temple, and the Baron crum-
pled to his knees. Bolton released Caryl, apologizing for
his actions. She faced John. "And you call yourself a gen-
tleman?" Mary began to weep, not knowing what to do
or to think, and in the bedroom the nurse listened to a
small boy's irregular breathing grow slower.


CHAPTER XIII
KONA "NIGHTINGALE"
XhE NEXT MORNING, about ten, the Baron was
awakened in his hotel room at the Kona Inn by a boy
hammering on the door saying that Mr Jameson was
telephoning from Honolulu.
The Baron got up, staggered downstairs, where he
ordered an appalled Mr Berry out of the office.
"Hello," said Jameson, "what the hell's happened?"
The Baron told him.
"I got in touch with the Hilo police," said Jameson
testily. "They've placed the men at the ranch, but they
say that the doctor claims it was an accident and want to
know what they should do."
"It was not an accident."
"I hope to God it wasn't. You can get in more damn
trouble."
"How is the boy?"
"The Hilo police say he's got a chance. They may try
to fly him to the hospital. He"
Jameson heard the sound of a crash. After a number of
long minutes, while he impatiently swore, Mr Berry's
voice came into the phone, explaining that he had heard
a crash and entered his office to find that the Baron had


224 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
passed out. "The Baron was brought back early this morn-
ing very drunk," said Mr Berry. "I gathered he consumed
too much okolehau while he was on the McKay Ranch."
"Oh, God Almighty," cried Jameson furiously, and
hung up. The Baron was impossible. Jameson was sunk
in work in Honolulu. The Hilo police could take care of
the boy and search for the Haenel air pistol. If the Baron
was drunk, the chances were that the kid had had an acci-
dent after all.
Along about four o'clock in the afternoon the Baron
recovered consciousness. He undressed, sourly examined
his bruised temple in the mirror and took a cold shower.
Then he dressed, ordered a bottle of ice-cold champagne,
and after four glasses began to feel as though he could
last another few hours before the world would entirely
collapse.
Jameson's assurance that the police were guarding Billy
made him believe that the boy was safe from attack for
the time being. The real danger of the murderer again
attempting to kill the boy would come when and if the
doctor definitely stated that he would live, and, if he lived,
when Billy came out of his deathlike coma. The Baron
knew that, with a seriously fractured skull, the boy might
lie insensible for days, for even a week. For the boy's sake
the Baron hoped that he would remain unconscious for
many days, until the plaque arrived and the murderer was
uncovered.
He closed his eyes, his hands under his chin. Billy had
seen who had placed the gun in Caryl's closet. But—ach
lieber Augustin! Why had the gun been placed in her
closet? He knew that it wasn't Caryl's gun; he knew that
she wasn't guilty. And then, as his mind began to stray


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 225
around this question, his imagination visualized himself
as this criminal.
He had the air gun. He had carried it with him to the
McKay Ranch. On the boat, and in Honolulu, and now at
the ranch, he could not be conspicuous by always carry-
ing gloves with which to handle the gun. True, thought
the Baron von Kaz as he helped himself to more cham-
pagne in this effort to identify himself with the criminal,
whenever he withdrew the gun from its hiding place, or
returned it, he would wipe it to remove possible finger-
prints; and also, when carrying it, he would have to be
extremely careful, because it was long, bulky and awkward
to conceal on his person.
And now, thought the Baron, suppose I learn that the
greatest and bravest detective in all Europe is coming to
this ranch? I do not fear this detective, ach, no. But I
must be doubly cautious. Never can one tell. And // this
great detective thinks I might have the air gun, must I
not temporarily place the gun where he will not think of
seeking for it? The Baron thumped the table, and above
him, on the ceiling, a little green lizard was so frightened
by the noise that he nearly dropped his tail.
My dear Franz, he told himself, now no longer playing
the murderer, you are a dolt. A triple dolt. You have not
concealed your feeling for Caryl Miquet. Have not Mary
McKay, John Sargent, Jeffrey Preacher—have not they all
remarked about it, or commented on it, or have heard
others refer to it? Even this Bolton has knowledge of that
feeling. And so you are to hunt for the air gun. And whom
do you suspect? Everyone, in all probability, expect Caryl
Miquet. And even if you draw blank at all the other
rooms, is it likely that you will enter hers? No. However,


226 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
if the Baron is as great a detective as his fame undoubtedly
already has proclaimed him, in spite of this sentiment for
Caryl Miquet, he may search her room. And if he does
find it hidden in the closet?
And then the brave Baron finished his bottle of cham-
pagne, all at once realizing the diabolical ingenuity of the
plan.
If he should violate Caryl's room and find the gun, it
was presumed that he would not report his discovery.
Caryl's alibis were no more secure than those of her four
friends. There would be no fingerprints on the Haenel
gun. Of that the Baron was positive. When it had been
inserted in Caryl's closet the prints would be wiped off.
The presence of the gun alone would be sufficient to con-
fuse Caryl's possible guilt with the evidence the Baron or
anyone else might bring against one of her friends! Billy's
spying and running off with the gun had been entirely un-
foreseen by the murderer.
This was an airtight example of the Baron's singular if
involved ability to drive through to a solution of a puzzle
even though many pieces in the puzzle were missing. As
though he were building a bridge, blindly extending his
cantilever arches into the mist, feeling for an opposite
shore, having his structures break again and again, sending
them forth in different directions until at last they struck
ground, the Baron could take what few facts he had and
construct a superstructure of theory and hypothesis to
bridge between the facts which were missing. And because
the Baron's one real ability did lie in what amounted to a
minor genius in theorizing, an unpredictable quantity at
best, he was not infallible as those worthy gentlemen who
advance only when they are given established facts. He


228
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
The Baron was neither honest, upright nor candid. His
reply made Jameson decide, whatever the cause or occa-
sion, never again to inquire of the Baron if he were drunk.
When the Baron's peroration was completed, Jameson
said that he called to give the information that his men
had learned that George Tuung had booked passage for
Hawaii on this morning's plane. "What I wanted to ask
you yesterday, before you passed out, was, do you know
where the Haenel air gun is now?"
"No," declared the Baron.
"All right, don't yell. The doctor took a chance and had
Billy taken to the Hilo hospital by airplane. The police
are leaving the ranch today. They have searched the
house, the guest house, and where the boy was found, and
they haven't discovered the gun. I've talked with the doc-
tor and Mary McKay this morning. The doctor says it
was an accident. And Mary says you were insulting and
tried to keep her from being with Billy and that there
wasn't any gun in Caryl's room, and if there was a gun
where is it?"
The Baron informed Jameson that he was a dolt, a
quadruple dolt.
"The doctor says the boy stood the trip all right."
"He will not die, then?"
"How do I know?" asked Jameson. "He might. He
can't have any visitors, so I've ordered everyone to stay an
the McKay Ranch. And you're not to make a damned
nuisance of yourself. Tomorrow's the seventeenth. You
wait in the hotel until I get in touch with you when the
plaque arrives in Honolulu." The Baron slammed the re-
ceiver, stalked from the office, saying, as he departed, "If
you please, my dear Mr Berry, send another bottle of


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 229
champagne. I was compelled to pour most of the last one
out of the window. It was badly iced."
"Yes sir." As Mr Berry watched the man's legs waver,
he wondered just how much had been poured out. "Here's
a cablegram that came in for you two hours ago." It was a
little after ten now.
In his room the Baron opened and decoded the cable-
gram from Vienna.
BARON FRANZ MAXIMILIAN KARAGOZ VON KAZ
HONOLULU
AUSTRIAN CONSUL REPORTS YOU ARE RESTING ON BEACH IN KONA
WHILE IN VIENNA LOYAL COMRADES ARE WORKING TO ADVANCE
GLORY OF AUSTRIA STOP WHY HAVE YOU NOT REPLIED TO FIRST
CABLEGRAM STOP IMPERATIVE THAT YOU LEAVE AT ONCE STOP
CABLE DATE OF EXPECTED ARRIVAL
VON CHWEIK UND MELANESIA
"Ach, so was?" murmured the Baron, "No longer is it
'Chweik.' My good friend 'Chweik.' But the great Von
Chweik und Melanesia?" He tore the cablegram, gently
blew the scraps from the palms of his hands into the
wastebasket. It was as if he had shredded his future, all
his hopes and his plans, and thrown them, now meaning-
less scraps of futile wishes, into that great wastebasket
which contains so many dreams and desires. . . .
At ten twenty-two the Japanese boy appeared with an
iced bottle of champagne. The Baron, dressed, half shaved,
came to the door to take it.
At ten twenty-four Mr Berry ran breathlessly upstairs
to tell his guest that a Hawaiian boy was outside the hotel
with a message of importance for the Baron.


23O THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Message of importance?" The Baron was lugubrious
with self-pity. "Ach, my dear sir, no longer have I one
friend of sufficient importance to send me a message of
importance." This sounded to him such a brilliant epi-
gram that he repeated it for Mr Berry's benefit. But Mr
Berry assumed that the Baron was drunk. The Baron
waited for a smile. Mr Berry did not smile. Mr Berry
asked, "Are you coming down?" Even this slender reed
failing him, the Baron sighed. The world was all wrong.
There was nothing to do but go to bed and waste away.
His tragic thoughts were reflected upon his face; inas-
much as, in its present condition, when unmoved his face
would have frightened small children, when it lengthened,
grew more doleful, Mr Berry stared fascinated at it and
felt a desire to do a little shrieking himself. He began to
wish to God that he'd never permitted this foreign rowdy
to enter the hitherto placid Kona Inn.
However, Mr Berry was constructed of stern material.
At last, after much pleading and urging, the Baron con-
descended, as a personal favor to Mr Berry, to see the
Hawaiian gentleman. The Hawaiian gentleman was sit-
ting in a small, shabby Ford of the vintage of 1911 or
thereabouts. "You Baron von Kaz?" he asked, jumping
out of the Ford as soon as Mr Berry assisted his unsteady
guest upon the lanai. The Baron was still clutching the
champagne in his hand as though this bottle were his last
contact with all that was civilized and joyous.
The Baron pushed Mr Berry's guiding hand away, drew
himself erect, gazed down at the person dressed in a flow-
ered red shirt, scanty pants, and nothing else.
"Here." The Hawaiian thrust a stained envelope into
the Baron's free hand. "Miss Miquet say come quick."


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 231
Mr Berry smiled. All now was clear to him. The Baron
had become involved in a gentleman's brawl. That was
not unusual after several bottles of okolehau. Miss Miquet
wished him to return, signifying thereby that he was to
think nothing of what had occurred at the ranch. Evi-
dently whatever had happened was quite forgiven.
Mr Berry felt a flood of warmth rise in his heart toward
these friendly Kamaainas up on the ranch slopes. They
maintained the old traditions of true Hawaiian hospitality.
Mr Berry said as much to the Baron, hoping to influence
him toward a more charitable and kindly outlook on
life.
The Baron read the letter. It had been hastily written
in pencil and wasn't easy for him to decipher:
Dear Baron:
Please come at once with KUope. The plaque arrived
from Mexico in this morning's mail. After what you said
about Billy's accident, having the plaque has frightened
me. Mary and I flew to Hilo with Billy and then right
bac\, as the police requested that we all remain on the
ranch. I have disobeyed and am at our nearest neighbors',
the Von Stoltzes, and Kilope will bring you here. The
doctor things Billy has a good chance to recover, and I'm
glad he is in the hospital, as things are rather strained at
the ranch house. I don't 
ow what to do about the
plaque. Please hurry.
Caryl.
"You coming?" inquired the Hawaiian. The Baron
nodded, swung his bottle of champagne at Mr Berry, who
dodged; the Baron had meant merely to point his finger


234 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
woman in direst peril, in imminent danger! With a gran-
diloquent gesture he started to throw the champagne bot-
tle into the road, then thought better of this and replaced
it between his knees, gripping it tighter. Ach du lieber,
du Gott und Himmel!
"It must proceed faster," he cried. "It must."
"Go faster, go pau," stated Kilopeka.
"Pau?"
"Go finish."
The green low country edged into grayish, volcanic-ash
covered hills. The road descended into a small valley, and
here the ancient lava flow had coiled down the heights
from Mauna Kea, searing all life in its path. Humped,
blackened, twisted rocks reared, ugly and sinister. A
stunted red kukui tree emerged from two tortured rocks.
To his left, the Baron saw the black smear of rock cut-
ting downward to the ocean, trees and grass growing on
either side of the lava path. Then the Ford again hit a
grade. The engine began to knock, steam spurting from
the radiator with every revolution.
"Must go slower," Kilopeka announced after half an
hour of this. The wind was fresher, cooler now. No more
palm trees lined the road. The soil was reddish gray, and
the grass growing on it had turned brown. The sun was
a brassy smear in the blue sky. Miles away, obscured by
shifting clouds, the Baron could now and then glimpse
the snowclad peak of Mauna Kea. Far over there, on one
of its sheltered flanks, were the ranches. Miles away. . . .
By noon the Ford had covered thirty of the forty-five
miles. At increasingly frequent intervals Kilopeka was
forced to stop it to permit it to cool off. The Baron, dur-
ing these intervals would leap out and walk, circling the


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 235
car, forgetting his aches, forgetting his disheveled and
dust-stained appearance, forgetting everything not con-
nected with Caryl Miquet.
Would that one at the ranch know that mail from Mex-
ico had been delivered? Would the murderer by now
have possession of the plaque? What would Caryl do?
Had she left the plaque in her room or had she taken it
with her? She had found refuge at a neighboring ranch.
Would she wait there? Would that one, that murderer,
killer, follow her to this ranch? "Ready to go!" called
Kilopeka, cranking the Ford. The Baron jumped onto the
creaking seat, shaking the bottle of champagne at Mauna
Kea, and at the hot sun.
But the Ford this time would not go.
Kilopeka cranked it until he was exhausted.
The Baron took the crank. He threatened the Ford in
Austrian and in English; and in those barbarous North
American words which he had picked up. The Ford was
resolute. It would not go. The Baron danced around the
machine, kicking it. Kilopeka undertook another siege at
the crank.
The Ford would not go.
"No can start," panted Kilopeka at last, eying the rav-
ing white man in wonderment. "Must get help."
"Where?"
"Nearest town there." Kilopeka pulled off his red-
flowered shirt and wrung it dry. "Anola. Eight miles back.
You stay. I run. Telephone ranch for new car. This no
damn good."
Kilopeka trotted down the hill, and the Baron sat on the
sagging running board, and the sun flamed above him in
the sky. And the little birds paused in their flight, aston-


236 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
ished that such speech could issue from one insignificant
mortal man.
After fifteen minutes of waiting the Baron could sit no
longer.
If a car would have to be sent from the Von Stoltz
Ranch, then the nearer the Baron could get to that car the
more time he could save.
Tucking the bottle of champagne under his arm, the
Baron commenced to run up the long, endless grade. The
heat was unbearable. The sharp, powdery dust collected
in his nostrils. The road was composed almost entirely of
crushed volcanic stone. His run slowed to a steady jog-
ging. Now and then, from utter exhaustion, he would
stumble, pick himself up, swearing incoherently, and stub-
bornly start off again. Upward. Always upward. When
the sweat stung his eyes, he rubbed it away. . . .
He had advanced five or six miles when from around
a curve a young Japanese plant inspector coasted on a
bicycle. The young Japanese plant inspector applied the
brake as he saw a man stumbling up the grade, and when
the man rocked to a stop by the bicycle, the young Jap-
anese, wishing to show that he was acquainted with all
the vagaries and whims of the Caucasian race, lifted his
lips to reveal large almond-shaped teeth and pleasantly
inquired, "You running fast on bet, sir?" He laughed.
"Very jolly, and how far running, please?"
Then the young Japanese plant inspector suddenly felt
uneasy. The dark-faced person had approached him, heav-
ily grasped the handlebar of the bicycle, and after taking
a great breath, said feebly, "I wish to . . . purchase . . .
your bicycle." With that effort he lurched drunkenly, and
the young Japanese regained his balance with difficulty.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 237
The young plant inspector did not think this was jolly.
Preserving his natural dignity he elbowed the vulgar,
sweaty, dirty, panting, wobbling white man to one side so
that he could climb upon his bicycle to descend to Anola,
where, cognizant of his duties as a citizen of the United
States of America, he would have telephoned the nearest
police, in Kaawaiiakae, forty miles on the coast north of
Kailua, informing them that a dangerous madman had
molested an official of the South Kona Department of
Agriculture, Hawaii, T.H.
Shuddering with the effort, the Baron lifted the large
bottle of champagne and tapped the young Japanese plant
inspector upon the head. Then he inserted the bottle in
his coat pocket, paying no attention at all to the splitting
of fabric, mounted the bicycle and proceeded toward his
destination at a rate of speed one and a quarter miles an
hour faster than before.
Now a new set of leg muscles were brought into play.
Steadily the bicycle ascended that unending grade. No
longer did the Baron waste breath on multivoweled curses.
His teeth were white in a gray, sweat streaked mask of
dust. He bent low over the handlebars. The pace he had
set in the first rush of confidence gradually diminished.
The grade grew steeper. Below him the whole great vista
of the Kona coast stretched from north to south, black
angry paths of lava cutting into the greens and browns. If
he had looked, he could have seen the half circle of Kea-
lakekua Bay, where stood the little grass shack in the
song, where in times past many grass shacks had been
erected, where at present was only the mournful blackened
city of refuge and the white monument to Captain Cook.
Northward was Keauhou in shimmering palm trees, near


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 239
"Pilikia?" asked the Hawaiian helpfully. "Trouble?"
The Baron got to his feet, saw before him a means of
conveyance, fell upon the soft startled side of the mule.
The mule, who was a sensible creature, reared, protesting
at such treatment, and the Hawaiian, who had no concep-
tion of the possibility of violence, tumbled off backward,
landing upon the rear wheel of the bicycle, complaining
mightily.
The Baron disregarded all complaints. Grunting, he
pulled himself upon the sleek back of the mule. The mule
also complained in a voice which had brought upon his
kind the appellation of Kona "nightingale."
When the mule would not move after being kicked, the
Baron fell upon the mule's neck, embraced the neck,
viciously chewed at the leather skin.
Completely appalled, the mule reared. Unable to un-
seat the terrifying object on his back, the mule thereupon
lost his head and galloped, then trotted madly on up the
grade. . . .
The Chinese cook came in and told Mary McKay that
the steak would be ruined if dinner wasn't served with-
out further delay. Jeffrey, dressed in dinner clothes, was
tickling the ears of one of the dogs in front of the fire.
Mary asked anxiously, "Jeff, you haven't seen Caryl, have
you?"
"I saw her drive up in someone's car a couple of hours
ago when I was taking my bath. Thought it was funny.
Isn't she here?"
"No. And she isn't in her room. I've had Jackson look-
ing for her for the past half hour. She's always late dress-


240 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
ing, but she doesn't usually wander around the ranch at
dinner time. You didn't see her, John?"
John and Bolton were playing cards. "I've got you, Bol-
ton." John's big shoulders moved as his body turned.
"Sure she isn't in her room? She ran in here about five
as if the devil were after her and went into her room.
Maybe she went out to the pool afterwards. You see her,
Bolton?" John stood.
"No." Bolton's cherubic face raised toward the geolo-
gist, the colorless lips rolling up and down, exposing the
small, jagged teeth. "I have you, sir. Not that a simple
man like myself wishes to argue, but three aces and a king
do win, don't they?"
"She's been acting funny ever since Billy's accident,"
John said, ignoring the fat man. "You don't suppose she
disregarded what the police said and went to the Von
Stoltzes'?"
Jeffrey left the dog and pulled the curtains of the win-
dow aside. "The car's in front," he informed them quietly.
"She wouldn't walk six miles."
Bolton's head whipped back and forth between the two
men, his lips twitching. He said softly, "But where can
Miss Caryl be?"
Outside, feet dragged across the lanai floor. Mary said,
"There she is. John, please go to the door."
John flung open the door, started back in surprise.
"You!" he exclaimed. "I tell you Baron whatsyourname,
that if you"
John Sargent failed to complete his sentence.
The Baron didn't appear to appreciate that his way was
blocked. When the door opened, as an automaton begin-
ning to function, his feet moved forward, and as he en-


CHAPTER XIV
THE SHINY WATER ROCK
It WAS two minutes of two o'clock on the morning of
April seventeenth.
"You're at Kona Inn now?" Jameson's voice came from
Honolulu over the telephone; he was excited, impatient.
"Talk louder!" he shouted. "This damned storm's making
the static bad. I can hardly hear you, Baron. What the
hell happened at the McKay Ranch?"
"My dear sir, I had no time to telephone you from the
ranch"
"I got that much. I've telephoned Williams at Hilo to
put an extra guard around the boy's bed in the hospital.
Damned lucky they were able to get Billy to the hospital
before all the ruckus at the ranch. What about Miss
Miquet"
"I requested Miss Mary McKay to telephone you after
we found her." The Baron spoke rapidly. He had much
to say. The time was growing short. His words shot out,
hard, fast, precise. The map, the plaque had been taken.
But the Baron still had a chance to find the feather cloak
before the murderer came for it. The storm sweeping
northern Hawaii, lashing north as far as Oahu, would
probably keep the murderer indoors until daylight
.
141


244 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
Miquet had risked disobeying police orders and had gone
to a neighboring ranch to send for him.
"What plaque?" Jameson was shouting.
"The plaque from Mexico," replied the Baron, wonder-
ing if Jameson had lost his head.
"What plaque? WHAT PLAQUE?"
"The Mexican plaque."
"I can't understand you. All I can hear is Mexican
plaque. Operator, for God's sake"
"It is the Mexican plaque. It arrived yesterday."
"ARRIVED yesterday?"
"Exactly, and"
"The Mexican plaque, ARRIVED YESTERDAY?"
"My dear sir, I had Mr Berry telephone to you and
One moment, please." The Baron's hps swung two inches
from the phone, and when he said, "Mr Berry!" the hotel
manager jumped as if he'd been shot and admitted that
he hadn't telephoned anyone about the whack because he
didn't know what a whack was. "Quadruple dolt!" This
piece of gratuitous information on the Baron's part struck
Mr Berry like a cartridge wadding, and he fell back into
his chair, helplessly protesting to Caryl, who merely took
another drink. "Pardon," said the Baron, "Mr Berry did
not telephone."
Hearing Jameson's voice surging out of the receiver,
Caryl asked pleasantly, "Is Mr Jameson having a stroke,
or is it just the static from the storm?"
The Baron frowned at her to remain quiet. Now Jame-
son was insisting that the Baron was ab-so-lutely crazy.
The Mexican plaque couldn't be in Hawaii. He'd checked
at the Honolulu postoffice last night. It wouldn't arrive
until ten this morning.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 245
"I examined the paper it was wrapped in," declared the
Baron, his voice taut. "It had a Hilo postmark. Hilo,
Island of Hawaii. Why, my dear sir, did you not inform
me that mail boats also landed at Hilo?"
"Hilo? By Jesus. That can't Wait a minute." Again
came that twisting mixture of voices, questioning, answer-
ing. . . . "Please," said the Baron to Caryl. He swallowed
the Armagnac. He was feeling better. When Caryl had
driven him down from the ranch he had slept during the
ride.
Jameson was apoplectic. "Ashiti just checked with the
postmaster. God damn!" In his excitement, for a moment
Jameson grew incoherent. "Woke him out of bed. Once
a month there's a Japanese boat leaves Manzanillo, touches
Hilo on the way to Japan. But it hardly ever leaves mail.
How was I to guess the Mexicans would send the plaque
to Manzanillo? How was I to guess, hey?"
The Baron said, "Hiroshita addressed the plaque to
Miss Miquet, care of Mary McKay, Hawaii. Perhaps the
Mexicans assumed it was the island of Hawaii."
"What d'you want me to do? Telephone Puueo to ar-
rest everyone at the McKay Ranch?"
"Ach!" The Baron had to make up his mind. If the four
at the ranch were arrested, would his evidence be strong
enough to hang one of them?
"Who does Caryl say slugged her?"
"She does not know. She was standing by her table,
taking the plaque to bring it to me." The brave Baron
did not feel it necessary to say that by his haste in at-
tempting to reach Miss Miquet he had somehow missed
her on the road when she had borrowed the Von Stoltz
Packard to meet him after receiving a message from Kilo-


246
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
peka saying the Ford had broken down. When she did
not find the Baron on the road—and who would have
recognized Franz Maximilian Karagoz von Kaz astride a
Kona "nightingale"?—she had lost her head and returned
to the McKay house to see if the plaque were still in her
room. "The next thing she remembers, she regained con-
sciousness under the bushes. She was hit from behind, on
the left temple. I wasted an hour, my dear sir. An hour
attempting to pick up clues. Either Mr Preacher or Mr
Sargent had the opportunity to follow her to her room.
Bolton claims he was in the corral talking to the cowboys."
"Was he?"
'Tor half an hour. The time is indefinite. Whether he
was in the corral before Miss Miquet entered her room or
during the short time she was in her room I could not
determine."
"Then it's one of the three men?"
"One moment, please. I cannot understand"
"I'll telephone Williams in Hilo to drive north at once
with a couple of men. Puueo's alone at Upolu. Despite the
storm, Williams should be there by six."
"Too late," said the Baron. "No, my dear sir. It will not
march."
"What're you talking about? I can hardly hear you with
this static. Puueo can handle it with you until Williams
comes."
"When can you arrive at Kailua?"
"Did you say Kailua?"
"Kailua. Du Gott!" Was he to lose more precious time
talking to Honolulu?
Jameson said he'd have to call the airport, for the Baron
to hang on to the phone. In forty-eight seconds Jameson


248 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
building a castle. He knew that, and when the old woman
was said to have seen Billy run from Miss Miquet's room
with a gun, he knew that Billy had found the Haenel air
pistol he had hidden, and he went to the castle behind
the kiawe trees because Billy must have told the others as
well as myself that he wanted a real gun . . ."
"I can't hear you at all." Jameson's voice was barely dis-
tinguishable in a welter of static. "Maybe you can hear
me. Look! I'll be in Kailua as soon as possible. We'll have
men to block all the roads leading to North Kona . . .
wait for ... be there soon . . ." And Jameson's voice
faded, and the operator told the Baron she was sorry but
the Honolulu connection was temporarily drowned out by
the static caused by the storm.
The Baron turned from the telephone as Caryl and Mr
Berry entered. Without a word she handed the Baron the
manager's raincoat and followed him to the door. "Shall
I put a candle in the window for you?"
He buttoned the coat. "Hein?"
"Never mind."
"Please request Mr Berry to have a motorboat ready in
half an hour."
"He's so scared now, he won't"
"Inform him I shall slit his throat." The Baron's face
swung close to hers, grinning quickly. "That will cause
the little man to march, no?"
Caryl peered through the window. She saw the Baron
stagger as the full shock of the driving rain and wind
struck him. The tropical rain fell in slanting sheets of
solid water. He disappeared into the blackness. No sign
of early morning could penetrate that cloudburst. Caryl
shivered, returned to Mr Berry.


252 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
as your grandfather. I was young. Fifteen. Foolish, I sup-
pose. He wished to have written on paper what . . .
what his father and his father's father had handed down."
She asked for her glasses. The Baron's hand trembled as
he gave them to her. Time was so fleet. "There is a little
inlet near Kiholo. In daylight you cannot miss it. And
old Heiau—an old temple was once built there. The Heiau
of Anuinui. The temple of Rainbow Hill. The lava came
down hundreds of years ago and shoved the hill into the
sea like water melting a sand pile, and they built a Heiau
over the lava. The lava formed a great cavern . . . My
great-uncle said it went upward nearly to Mauna Kea
... I do not know. One of the rocks in the Heiau is
called the Waiohinu. Shiny water. When it rains this rock
has the resemblance of water. Why I do not know. I have
never been there when it rains. It is tabu."


254 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
"Damn this rocking," she said, pulled herself up again.
"I brought hot coffee in a thermos bottle. Better have a
cup."
He finished the coffee before speaking. "Mr Berry said
you were in the hotel."
"I thought he would."
She sat on the other bunk, holding to the woodwork.
The lamp flung its shadows on them. "In fact," she ex-
plained dispassionately, "if he said anything else, I told
him I would slit his throat." The crimson lips smiled at
him. He didn't smile.
He got up.
"Do you want more coffee? It's about half Armagnac."
He spoke heavily. "We shall have to retrace our course,
my dear Miss Miquet. Your imprudence may make me
too late."
"Don't be an idiot!" She barred the way angrily. And
when she was angry her eyes sparkled, her olive face lost
its cool repose and he thought her very beautiful. "When
I was a girl, my father and I spent a summer exploring
caves. I know more about them than you do. You may
need help. And Joe can't help you. He'll have to watch
the boat."
They climbed the crumbly hill. Their flashlights gave
blurred puddles of light in the rain. When the lightning
leaped across the black sky, above them they could see
nothing but a tormented, running waste of desolation.
Below, in the inlet, Joe's Maribelle rocked violently, its
motor going, resisting the waves, helping to hold the
anchor.
The Baron pulled Caryl up the battered rocks, the rem-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 255
nants of the old walls. Another screeching tear of light-
ning momentarily showed them a square expanse, a hun-
dred feet wide by a hundred and fifty feet long. The floor
was composed of huge irregular rocks, uneven, sharp, dan-
gerous if fallen upon.
Caryl cried in his ear, "No one's here. We're the first!"
The rain whipped her face, and she exulted in the sting.
"We're the first!" she cried, not to the Baron this time,
but to the elements, and the rushing wind took her words
and flung them away.
"Stay here, please." She did not understand what he was
saying. He pushed her down under the shelter of a tow-
ering volcanic slab. The rain slashed onto the rock, but it
stood firm as it had for so many years.
Flashlight in one hand, he held his green umbrella in
the other, using it as a cane to prevent himself from slip-
ping. Crouched, half shielded, she watched his flashlight
as he circled the Heiau. She wondered why he didn't open
his umbrella. She thought it was odd. He was a queer
person himself. As violent and changeable in moods as
Hawaii; cheerful, amusing, he had a genius for appearing
in the worst possible light; then, without warning, being
dignity itself or lashing out in black anger. Vain too. And
proud. As were the Hawaiians. But they weren't as vain
as he was. And she wondered if he'd ask her to marry
him. And what she would say if he did. All this she
thought as the rain poured down and lightning cracked
overhead. . . .
He was searching the stones. He didn't know what he
was looking for. Shiny water rock. What was a shiny
water rock? The Waiohinu, old Aunt Ella had called it
.
Slipping, jumping from one rock to the next, he had the


258 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
trigger. He repeated this process four times, using all his
bullets. He asked Caryl for the automatic she also had
borrowed from Mr Berry. There was one larger, oval rock
held firm in the center. He believed, if he could only
crack this, the Waiohinu would totter.
Caryl tried to warn him. The great gusts of wind strik-
ing the Waiohinu were making it shudder and tremble.
When he had finished, when there were no more bullets,
the center wedge was cracked. The volcanic stone was
brittle, more like clinkers than real rocks, easily shattered
by the steel-nosed bullets. He beat the Waiohinu with
his hands. It will still upright.
"We've done all we can," she shouted.
They started toward the opening of the Heiau, toward
the rough path which led down to the boat.
As Caryl was stepping onto one of the fallen rocks in
the entranceway a mass of wind and rain flowing from
the heights of Mauna Kea drove against her. She would
have fallen if the Baron hadn't caught her. Then both
pressed hard, holding each other, as the roar spread into
the storm, and their flashlights showed them where the
Waiohinu had been. The wind had completed the Baron's
work.
Breathlessly they scrambled over the rocks. Great broken
chunks. The remnants of the Waiohinu. Never would
blood again twist its way on the shimmering cobalt sur-
face. Never would blood lick into the grooves. The wind
shrieked, its impalpable fingers tearing at the man and
the woman who had started this havoc.
"There!" The Baron lifted Caryl over what remained of
the base.
His flashlight dripped light upon a square opening. The


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 259
opening had been covered by the base. The opening was
about two feet long, less than two feet wide.
"Be careful!" she warned him. "The rocks here may be
loosened by the fall of the big one."
The wind roared too loudly for him to hear.
He put his hand down into the opening. A foot below
he felt a smooth rock, and then another below the first
one.
His flashlight smeared dull light along rough steplike
stones. These stones seemed to be arranged one above the
other upon a slanting floor of a shaft penetrating down-
ward.
He lowered his feet into the hole, both hands support-
ing his body on the flat stone where had rested the
Waiohinu rock. Deprived of the massive weight of the
Waiohinu, these flat stones tipped as though the fall had
ground them enough off their own base to make them
unstable.
Standing on the slanting floor of the shaft, the Baron
reached for his flashlight and umbrella which he had
placed on the stones by his shoulders.
Caryl was inspecting the rock base where the Waiohinu
had been placed.
She came to him, cried in his ear, "You must be careful.
These smaller rocks are loose. Without the Waiohinu to
hold them, they may slip into the entrance."
He smiled encouragingly at her.
She was angry with him for his placidly superior confi-
dence. "Do you hear? The rain is washing between the
cracks!"
He nodded. He lowered his body until only head and
shoulders protruded. "There is no danger," he shouted.


260
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
And he ordered her to return to the boat. He explained
cunningly, "Joseph will be worried. You must tell him I
will join you in a few minutes. Half an hour at the most."
The Baron's conception of a cave was a large opening
underground.
He believed that as soon as he descended these steps
he would reach the cave, there find the feather cloak. But
the Hawaiian lava caverns were not caves; they were long
natural tubes, lined with cold lava formed ages ago, and
after each eruption more molten lava would pour through
these tubes, widening them, just as water pours down nat-
ural earth conduits.
Caryl, surprisingly, didn't protest.
She nodded, this time restraining her impulse to tell
him to be careful.
As he slowly felt his way downward, he decided that
all women were alike: Be firm with them and they would
obey. Henceforth he would be as firm as steel with Caryl.
Centuries ago some great priest, a Kahuna Moi, had
found this lava tube, had ordered his people to dig down
to it from Rainbow Hill. The shaft slanted. The rain
leaked in from the opening, ran in little streams. The
Baron descended steadily. Once he lifted his head. He
could see a faint luminosity above him where Caryl's flash-
light was held at the entrance. Then the flashlight winked
out.
Unreasonably, he wished she had not decided to follow
his orders to depart at once. She could have waited a little
longer. Ach! Thus it was with women.
His umbrella hampered him. When he lowered his
head, trying to peer below, his head struck sharp volcanic


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
26l
rock, and he swore, nearly dropping both umbrella and
flashlight.
The hole dug down to the lava tube slanted. The slant
was an angle of approximately forty-five degrees. If it had
been steeper by as much as five degrees the Baron would
have slipped. Centuries had passed; the water had seeped
into the opening, wearing the stones smooth. Dankish
moss grew on them. The moss was sticky. When the
Baron's fingers gripped into the moss it broke away. It
was like touching a furry animal. A furry animal which
was rotten, which disintegrated into sticky particles.
After twelve minutes of this the Baron reached the bot-
tom of the tube. He stood up, hit his head again,
crouched. His flashlight swung back and forth across the
space. As the molten lava of recent eruptions had neared
the sea, it had choked the ancient tube. It was ten or fif-
teen feet wide, hardly five feet high, sloping downward
past the opening.
With a curious feeling of elation he turned, penetrating
farther. He was able to advance only a few yards. The
tube narrowed, was blocked by gigantic rocks. He re-
treated, then proceeded slowly, crawling on his stomach.
Gradually the tube widened, and soon he could walk up-
right. He was glad Caryl was not with him. Never would
she have been able to come this far.
Fifty yards past the opening, going towards Mauna
Kea, which was so many miles distant, the floor of the
tube flattened. Smaller flows of lava had rushed down the
tube, had cooled. The ripples had solidified. His flash-
light showed the swirls and patterns where the streams
had hardened.
In here it was dry. And there was no sound. The earth


266
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
the light made a pool, a round pool circling it, they saw
the blue feathers of the dart.
The flat voice echoed vacuously, "I heard you coming."
Caryl's lips formed the single word, "Bolton?"
"I didn't have time to find it myself." They couldn't tell
from what direction the voice originated. It was fiat, emo-
tionless. "How does half a million dollars look? Thought
you'd get it for yourselves?"
"Bolton!" cried Caryl. "Where are you? Are the
others"
"The others, ma'am?" The Baron had never heard Bol-
ton laugh before. The laugh was high, womanish. "The
others? With all their wealth? All their high and pretty
ways looking down at me, a poor simple man? Do you
think I'd let any of them know?"
The Baron had stepped in front of Caryl. He remained
there, listening. His head cocked to the left. He leaned
forward, holding his umbrella as a man resting upon a
cane. His body was tense.
"You can't see me," said the voice. "If you use your
flashlights, I'll shoot. That first dart was a warning. Keep
your flashlights till I tell you to throw them away. Shine
the lights on your guns."
"My dear sir," the Baron spoke, "I assure you, we are
unarmed."
"You're lying." The flat voice broke and went up higher
again. "You can't fool me. You can't trick me any more.
You wouldn't come here without guns."
The Baron shrugged. He threw his down. "There is
nothing to do but comply," he told Caryl. He heard the
clatter as her gun hit a rock, bounced and hit another.
"Now your flashlights," ordered that echoing voice.


268
THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
that he hadn't forced Caryl to remain on the boat. No
time now to regret her presence. He had believed that no
one could come while the storm lasted. He had not con-
sidered the possibility of two entrances.
Bolton had remained silent.
He broke his silence. "Miss Miquet, you walk ahead.
Walk ahead without looking back."
The Baron interrupted, "Mr Bolton, please"
"Stop!" said Bolton to Caryl, who did. Then the flash-
light rested upon the Baron. Bolton said in an even tone
—it was matter of fact—"Listen to me, Baron von Kaz.
I'm only a plain, humble man. I haven't your tricks."
"I assure you, my dear sir "The Baron was feinting
for time. If he could keep Bolton satisfied for a few hours,
then Jameson and the men from Hilo would be at Kailua.
They'd learn the Baron hadn't returned. They'd discover
Bolton's absence.
"You'll assure me nothing, Baron. You two will walk
up the tube about twenty feet until I tell you to stop."
The Baron's head inclined.
"When I say stop, you will step to the left of Miss Mi-
quet. Then," said this voice, completely without excite-
ment, "I shall shoot Miss Miquet. You next. It will be
quite painless. In the back of the neck. However—" and
the voice seemed to waver, to become a thin thread—
"if you try any of your famous tricks, Baron von Kaz, I
promise you this: I'll shoot you first. You can imagine the
reason why."
The stillness was broken only by Caryl's quick intake
of breath.
Then the Baron bowed, turned his back to the flash-
light. He turned his back to the flashlight and stepped to


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 269
the left, very casually. By this he was directly in front
of Mr Bolton. Caryl was a pace or so in front of him.
"And drop your umbrella," ordered Bolton. "I haven't
forgotten the sword in it. You won't threaten me like you
did Mr Sargent."
"As you wish, my dear sir."
The umbrella moved.
Then with all his force the Baron lifted it by the silver
tip. His fingers caught it. It circled over his shoulders. As
it left his fingers, he dived at Caryl. He gripped her be-
low the knees. They fell. Not until he was on the ground
did the pain fill his shoulder. Not until then did he know
that Bolton had shot. Bolton had seen the green thing
coming. It had taken him by surprise. In the air it looked
awkward, wobbling. He shot, pulling the trigger convul-
sively as he dodged.
The weighted handle struck him under the eye as he
was jerking away.
The man staggered, lost his balance. He dropped the
flashlight. It went out.
He fell backward.
Caryl struggled. The Baron held her, shielding her with
his body. They heard the shrill cry from Bolton, drawn
long and dying, and then far off a faint thud, something
like a bag filled with sand dropping upon a hard surface,
then heavy shocks of rocks falling, then smaller stones....
After that there was nothing.
He could feel her body under his. He whispered, when
all was still, "Are you hurt?"
"Bolton?"
"Lie as you are."
He crawled from her. When his hand reached and en-


270 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
countered empty space he knew that he was at the edge
of the opening above the cavern. Far below he saw a faint
speck of light. It was his flashlight.
"Franz!" It was Caryl's voice.
"Bolton has fallen," he whispered.
She crawled to him. They climbed down the rocks,
groping in that abysmal darkness. The Baron found his
flashlight, played the light over Caryl. Her leather jacket
was ripped in two. She said she was only bruised.
He asked her to look at his shoulder.
She saw the bedraggled bloody feathers sticking into
the raincoat, just below the shoulder bone.
"Pull it out," he requested. "Pull it out."
The dart had penetrated as far as the feathers.
The Baron's shoulder didn't hurt very much, but he
could feel his shirt sticking to his skin. He whirled his
flashlight to the semicircle of stones. They saw the white
mass there. Bolton was lying in a lump. The upper part
of his head was against a rock. The rock was red. His
eyes were open. He was watching them. "I can't feel any-
thing," he said, when they stood above him. "But I can't
move."
The Baron bent down. When the light shone on Bol-
ton's back the Baron didn't speak to Bolton. Bolton
watched the two draw aside, heard them whispering. His
eyes didn't close. •
The Baron said softly, "I think his back is broken."
Then he gave Caryl the flashlight, told her to go to the
boat and get Joe. He would remain with Bolton. He
wanted to talk with Bolton.
The Baron sat on one of the polished stones. The flash-
light flickered along the wall and disappeared, and the


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 275
Caryl,' I think you had better start now before it is too
late."
Nervously the Baron mumbled that only intimate
friends called each other by their first names.
"Suit yourself," she said. "I have a funny feeling that
we may be with each other a number of years."
"Hein?"
She laughed, then stopped as the laugh jeered at her
from the echoing cavern. "It may be a long time before
they find us. Too long to do any good . . ." The open-
ing to the left ascended, then narrowed, and finally split
into small hose-like formations.
They tried the last opening.
They walked along this for a quarter of a mile or so,
entered a great cave with high walls and a ribbed vaulted
ceiling, black, from which hung hundreds of stalactites.
They could feel the air rushing to them, but they could
find no exit, no continuation of the tube.
The flashlight flickered and went out. This was the end
of the battery the Baron had removed from the flashlight
Caryl had thrown away at Bolton's command. Long ago
his had burnt out.
Caryl sank to the lava. "Let's stay here," she said
quietly. "I don't want to go back where—where Bolton
is."
He put his arms around her, stroking the soft hair.
"I'm dead tired," she said, leaning on his shoulder.
When Joe Manuela, becoming alarmed, left his little
sloop to go up to the Heiau, he saw where the rocks had
fallen. By two in the afternoon he reached Kailua


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 279
I
joke from a friend. From a former friend. 'Trahit . . .
trahit sua quemque voluptas.'" The prognathous lower
jaw shoved forward in a wry smile. "That is Latin. It
translates, 'His own desires . . .' Someday I shall trans-
late it for you. I am very tired now."
"Well, we can't have a tired hero," said Jameson cheer-
fully as he opened the door. "I'll see you tomorrow before
I fly to Honolulu."
Mary McKay and the two men were standing in the
corridor, and they glanced in and smiled at the Baron.
Caryl said, "See you tomorrow."
Jeffrey called, "How do you like being a hero?"
"Ah, but my dear sir," said the Baron, "not yet am I
the hero."
Jameson turned. "Don't tell me that crack on the head's
made you modest, Baron?"
The Baron didn't reply; instead, he asked a question.
"How is Billy? Is he"
Caryl answered, "The doctor says Billy's fine."
"Wait, please! Billy is yet unconscious?"
The nurse reprovingly interrupted, stating that the
Baron shouldn't be excited, but the Baron half lifted him-
self out of the bed and shouted his question, and Caryl
soothingly explained that Billy was much better and was
coming out of the coma nicely and that they were stop-
ping in to see him now.
"Now . . ." The Baron swung to the floor. Both Jame-
son and the nurse caught him. The nurse rang for the
doctor. The Baron cried to the old detective, "We have
no time, my dear sir, if I am to be a hero. Your gun,
please."
"My gun?" Jameson's jaw dropped in astonishment.


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
28l
by way of explanation, said more to the others than to
the tall, smiling man with the yellow hair:
"At first this clue dropped by Miss McKay was too
weak to employ. She herself might have killed Mr Kohler.
Or it might have been Mr Sargent, and she could be pro-
tecting her fiance by throwing the guilt on Mr Preacher.
But, if you please, after Billy was attacked, I knew. Miss
McKay had not the opportunity to hide the pistol in her
cousin's closet, as she spent the morning with her cousin.
And it was not Mr Bolton, no! He knew that Mr Kohler
had written to you about the map and that you were
after it because you needed money; he knew that you
owned an air gun. He knew you were the murderer. And
he admitted as much to me the night he tried to kill me in
Honolulu after practically kidnapping me from Mr
Hiroshita's friend, George Tuung." Forgetting that he had
named Jeffrey as the murderer in a desperate expedient to
free himself, the brave Baron mentally congratulated that
great instinct of his which, although he had had no factual
evidence to support it, had so astounded Mr Bolton into
releasing him. "Mr Bolton tried to kill me to save you. He
was the only man who could not have hidden the gun in the
closet, for he was not on the ranch that morning. And,
also, Billy had not told him of or showed him the castle
he was building, so even if Mr Bolton had left the house
to seek Billy that night, which he didn't, he would not
have known where Billy had gone. And if Miss McKay
had been shielding her fiance, the murderous attack on
her brother would have caused her to reveal what she
knew. But she knew nothing; what Mr Preacher had told
her had not aroused her suspicions. And, my dear Mr
Preacher, how was it that you were on B deck, not when


284 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
him and then beat it through all that rain and storm to the
lava tube."
The Baron held his cigarette lighter to the detective's
cigar. "Mr Preacher was an actor. And when the show was
finished, my dear sir, Mr Preacher collapsed. Mr Preacher
was not remarkable nor exceptional. He was merely a
glib, cheerful, and likable"
"Likable!" exclaimed Caryl. "After what"
"If you please," said the Baron, "did you not like him?
A man can be likable and still be without morals or
scruples, without the sense of doing wrong. There are
thousands in this world. Mr Preacher was one. But Mr
Bolton—although never did I care for him, greatly must
I respect that man's loyalty. It was he, my dear Mr. Jame-
son, who was exceptional."
"Oh, I'm 'Mister' Jameson, hey?"
"One thousand pardons, my dear Chriz," apologized
the Baron, "but for the moment I forgot. This Mr Bol-
ton . . . you do not often meet men of his kind, who
are as bulldogs in their tenacious, unyielding devotion
even to death."
"Jeff didn't deserve a feller like Bolton," commented
Jameson thoughtfully. "By Jesus, I damn near could 've
hit Jeff when he sat there in his cell complaining how Bol-
ton had taken the map and had gone to destroy the
feather cloak."
"Mr Bolton realized that if Mr Preacher went for the
cloak, we would have him trapped. I believe that Mr
Bolton went to the lava tube expecting to find us, and,
even after he thought our way was blocked and we would
die with him, he carried out his plan to save his master
just as a bulldog hangs on to something that is danger-


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 285
ous long after that dangerous thing seemingly is killed."
"Well, well." Jameson flicked his cigar, gazed at the
stars. "Somehow I wish you'd killed Jeff instead of plunk-
ing him in the leg. Jeff said he killed Hiroshita because
he thought the Jap might 've known that Kohler had
gotten in touch with him. Kohler had threatened to tell
Hiroshita if Jeff didn't pay what Kohler wanted, and Jeff
was nearly broke. Jeff was afraid Hiroshita'd suspect him
of killing Kohler. You know, Jeff tried to get Hiroshita
on the boat but didn't have time. Jesus!" exclaimed Jame-
son suddenly remembering. "Didn't f hear about Hiro-
shita having an accident and coming off the boat with his
head bandaged?"
The Baron smiled grimly.
"That's how Hiroshita got the bump on his head, hey?
Well, Jeff said, when he heard from Kohler that night on
A deck that the map was being mailed to Caryl here, he
didn't have no more use for Kohler."
"Uhm," murmured the Baron thoughtfully. "Did Mr
Preacher realize that I overheard"
"Say, that's right. You did overhear Kohler. I forgot to
ask Jeff, but he must of guessed you'd heard something.
He claims he never wanted to kill you but was afraid
of what the Jap might've told you. Says he ordered Bol-
ton that last night on the ship to scare you off the Islands,
giving Bolton the excuse that John said you were in love
with Caryl, and Jeff liked . . ." Jameson stopped, em-
barrassed.
There was a long silence which endured until Mary
McKay came to the door. "Chris, San Francisco is on the
telephone. I think it's a newspaper again."
Jameson went up the steps, growling that somebody


286 THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS
was a smart feller but sometimes he acted like a damn
fool.
Caryl said after another dragging interval of silence,
"Now that Billy's all right, I'm leaving next week for
San Francisco. I don't know whether I'll go to New York
for Mary's wedding or not. I suppose you'll go on to the
Orient?"
The Orient? No, the Baron thought he might go to
San Francisco too. Jameson had asked him to stay until
after Jeffrey was hung, but the Baron wanted to take an
early boat to the Northern States of America.
"Talking about San Francisco," said Caryl lightly, "the
San Francisco papers arrived today. You remember Marge
Courtwell, don't you? She lives in Carmel. The papers
said she'd married an Englishman. A 'Sir' somebody or
other."
"Englishmen," stated the Baron moodily, "are all bar-
barians."
"Marge is wealthy," continued Caryl as though she
hadn't heard the Baron. "She can afford a title. It seems
quite the thing, doesn't it? I mean for wealthy women
to marry titles. However, I'm not at all wealthy." She
sighed very tragically and watched him, and her wide
scarlet mouth flicked up at the corners. "I doubt if my
income's much over eight thousand a year. I suppose it
would cost a lot more for me ever to have a title. Still,"
she added reflectively, "I do know a German Baron in
Hollywood. If I gave him encouragement . . . But he's
fat. Oh dear. And it would be nice to have a title."
Jameson came out again, planting himself on the steps.
"You should 've heard that feller on the telephone," he
said, "when I told him how all the fuss was caused by a


THE FEATHER CLOAK MURDERS 287
feather cloak and how the feather cloak had rotted to
pieces and wasn't worth a damn when I found it."
"When I found it," corrected the Baron mechanically;
mechanically, because he was thinking of something else
which had no connection with the feather cloak at all.


If you liked this book, you will get even
greater enjoyment from the Baron von Kaz's
THIRD ADVENTURE. Sample Darwin and
Hildegarde Teilhet's new Baron von Kaz mys-
tery by reading the opening chapter, which
appears on the following pages.
Watch for the announcements of THE
THIRD ADVENTURE, which will be pub-
lished in the fall of 1936.





THE THIRD ADVENTURE 293
desired she would be pleased to accompany him and
show him the way.
At the Posada Ramalazo, a low, cool, whitewashed
building, the girl introduced the Baron to her father, a
large, cheerful person who immediately inquired, upon
hearing the stranger's excellent Spanish, if this gentle-
man were from Spain. The Baron said no, that he had
come from Switzerland by way of Marseilles and the
Panama Canal, and that his boat had encountered noth-
ing but storms and vile weather, and now that he had a
couple of hours on land while the boat unloaded part of
a cargo of wine, he wished only aguardiente, a chair, and
solid wooden floor boards upon which to rest his feet.
Half an hour later, after two glass of fiery aguardiente,
the Baron von Kaz called for writing paper and ink. The
girl bought these supplies to him and then, with a lift of
her eyes toward the staircase, suggested that upstairs the
caballero might find it much cooler. Also, she said in a
small eager voice, for a caballero who has been on the
ocean for so many days with naught but water to regard,
she herself could assure him that upstairs he could dis-
cover undoubtedly other matters to attract his interest.
This was all stated so naively that the Baron, who be-
cause of a point of honor was forced to decline such a
gracious invitation, could take no offense in it. The girl
shrugged and departed, determining to approach the dis-
tinguished caballero from Switzerland and try once more
after he had quenched his thirst with several more glasses
of her father's aguardiente.
The Baron looked out of the small dusty window into
the dusty street, then, for the sixteenth time since he had
departed three weeks ago from Marseilles, attempted to


THE THIRD ADVENTURE 299
the innkeeper aside and poured out two drinks himself.
This done, he placed the two glasses on a tray, indicated
that the innkeeper was not to accompany him, and from
the balcony above the bar the girl watched and her eyes
opened very wide.
Danton ceremoniously placed the two small glasses of
brandy in front of the Baron and the crimson-haired man.
This done, he drained his glass of lemonade and looked
at his watch. "Bless me," he said. "The boat will be leav-
ing in thirty minutes. Baron, you'll pardon me? I'm not
a drinking man, and it's so hot I'm sure it will take me all
of half an hour to attain the boat."
The Baron picked up his green umbrella and stood.
"But, my dear sir, you will not join us?"
"No, no." Danton's pale face produced a faint smile. "A
man with your stalwart physique can easily make the
boat in ten minutes. You must enjoy your brandy with
Mr Hitchens. He'll accompany you. As a matter of fact,
he is sailing with us on the boat." He touched the massive
shoulder of Mr Hitchens. "You will see that the Baron
gets to the boat." With that he lit a cigarette, then left,
bending his head as he passed through the doorway. Mr
Hitchens' hand, large, with black hairs matted on the back
and fingers, pressed down upon the Baron's arm. The
wide grinning face nodded at the brandy, and the Baron
found himself forced into the chair. Mr Hitchens nerv-
ously grasped his glass. "Well, here's how. I guess we're
all taking passage on the same boat. Do you play cards,
Baron?" He drank a third of the glass in one quick
gulp.
The Baron's fingers encircled his glass as the girl ap-
proached him and asked if the caballero had forgotten


300 THE THIRD ADVENTURE
his promise to visit the room upstairs to inspect the beau-
tiful lace shawl which was for sale.
The Baron formally bowed, requested to be excused for
a moment. Mr Hitchens said not to take too long. "You'll
want to have time for Mr Danton's brandy, won't you,
friend?" He dug at his ear with his little finger, and the
Baron noticed that black tufts of hair grew in the flat ears.
"Ach, certainly, my dear Mr Hitchens."
Ten minutes later he was back at the table, with his lips
cutting a smile on his dark face, explaining suavely that
he had decided not to purchase the shawl. His blue eyes
were strangely cold. As he sat down, he tripped over his
green umbrella and lunged against Mr Hitchens. The
Baron's arm accidentally swept his glass of brandy toward
the far end of the table. The Baron assisted Mr Hitchens
into his chair, apologizing profusely. In the fall, the Baron
had spilled some of the brandy from his glass, pushing it
near the half-empty glass belonging to Mr Hitchens.
"Ach, my dear sir." The Baron handed a glass to Mr
Hitchens. "You will forgive me? One thousand regrets."
The Baron took the other glass, swallowed the contents.
Mr Hitchens granted that no harm had been done and
without noticing anything amiss hastily tilted the brandy
the Baron had handed him down his throat and licked his
lips. "I guess it's time we was going to the boat. How
about it, friend?"
That evening the little freighter was heading north in a
choppy sea. The Baron von Kaz was leaning on the rail-
ing when he saw the Captain walking by. The Baron cour-
teously greeted the Captain, who stopped. "Lord, man, I
thought you were sick in your cabin? Our poet, Mr Dan-


302 THE THIRD ADVENTURE
amiably and closed the door. The purser scratched his
head and then realized that if he hurried he'd have time
for one drink before dinner.
The Baron finished shaving, changed his shirt and, as
the gong sounded, strolled forward to Danton's cabin.
Danton opened the door, elegant and cool despite the
heat, and stated that he was very pleased to see the Baron;
as a matter of fact, not more than twenty minutes ago he
had knocked on the Baron's door and not receiving a
reply had thought that the Baron was seasick and might
require assistance.
The Baron murmured that he was touched by the
poet's concern.
"Bless me, I'd have been glad to help anyone who's sea-
sick. It's beastly on a boat." Danton removed his smoking
jacket, inserted his long arms in a dinner coat and joined
the Baron in the corridor. "We might as well collect Mr
Hitchens on the way," Danton suggested.
Two doors down he knocked. There was no answer.
"Dear me, do you think Mr Hitchens can be asleep?"
But a few minutes later, when the Baron's little Ger-
man key pliers twisted, releasing the lock, they found that
the man with the crimson hair was not asleep.
Mr Hitchens was lying, dressed, on the bunk. His legs
were doubled up to his stomach. His mouth was open.
His eyes were staring, and his body was rigid, as he had
been in that last moment of agony before all life had de-
parted. "Bless me," drawled Danton, looking down from
his height, "I'm fearfully shocked. I wonder what beastly
food the poor fellow could have eaten? I suppose we must
inform the Captain."