Charlie Chan in the Temple of the Golden Horde Read online

He turned the same corner Betty Chan had earlier, quickened his pace, and this time he did look behind as he stopped to glance at a shop window.

  A tall, lean man in a brown suit came hurrying around the corner, saw Charlie Chan, and with the slightest of hesitations, crossed the street at an angle and went on past Chan. Just a hint of surprise and hesitation, a trained follower, but Chan had not missed the brief instant.

  The man was following him!

  He waited until the tall man turned the far corner, then he retraced his steps to the street of the hotel, and turned downhill toward the heart of the city. At the first hidden doorway, Chan slipped inside and waited. If his shadower was as good as he seemed, he shouldn’t have lost Chan yet. Chan waited for the tall man to come along in pursuit.

  After ten minutes the tall man did not appear. No one appeared following him.

  The tall man was, perhaps, even better than Chan had expected; too trained to fall into the trap of being caught by a man he was tailing.

  Chan stepped out of his doorway, hailed a taxi, and sat back to ride the few blocks to the hotel where his International Symposium was taking place. But he was thinking about the men who seemed so interested in Betty Chan, and now in him.

  It was growing dark as Charlie Chan drove south in the rented dark-blue Toyota. He was a careful driver, and never really felt at home behind the wheel of any car except his immaculate 1949 Cadillac sedan now waiting sedately back in his driveway on Punchbowl Hill in Honolulu.

  His speech had gone well, there had been a long discussion session that promised productive work for the rest of the week, and Chan was feeling satisfied - except for the small voice at the back of his mind still wondering about the death of Benny Chan, and the men tailing Betty Chan and himself. But those were questions that would, perhaps, soon be answered.

  He drove with the sound of the sea to his right, and entered Half Moon Bay just after six o’clock. The Highway Patrol barrack stood off the roadway of Route One, a pleasant building designed to blend into the wooded countryside. Chan parked, and went in to ask for Lieutenant Forbes. The desk sergeant yawned.

  “Lieutenant’s pretty busy,” he said. “You better tell me your business. First, what’s your name, and what’s the trouble?”

  “Inspector Chan, Honolulu Police Department,” Chan said quietly. “My business is with Lieutenant -“

  “Chan?” the desk sergeant gaped, stood up. “Charlie Chan? The real Charlie Chan? I mean - Hey, I’ve read all about you! Wow. I mean… I’ll get the lieutenant.”

  The sergeant spoke into his desk telephone, and moments later a short, heavy man in civilian clothes came hurrying along a corridor. He held his hand out to Chan.

  “Inspector Chan!” the heavy man explained. “I’m Harry Forbes. The captain was just talking about you, he was up at the symposium and heard your speech. You’ve got him all excited.”

  “I’m glad he was interested,” Chan said sincerely.

  “Well,” Lt. Forbes said. “You want to talk to me?”

  “A few moments of your time would be welcome,” Chan said politely.

  “Sure, sure! Come on in.”

  The short man led Chan back along the corridor to a cluttered private office. He closed the door, waved Chan to a chair, and sat back beaming at the famous detective.

  “What can I do for you, Inspector Chan?”

  “I have come concerning the death of Benny Chan.”

  “Benny Chan?” Forbes frowned. “Oh, yeah, the handyman over at The Temple Of The Golden Horde. Drowned, a lousy accident. Chan, yeah? Was he a relative of yours?” Forbes asked.

  “Perhaps distant, but unknown to me. Yet all Chans are of the same family, and Benny Chan’s sister has requested my assistance. Purely unofficial, of course, but I would appreciate -“

  Forbes shook his head. “She was here, too. The sister says Benny was murdered, but we’ve got absolutely no evidence of murder. Who would want to kill Benny?”

  “You knew him well?”

  “Everyone around Half Moon Bay knew Benny. He was always in town on errands for The Temple people. About the only one from The Temple we saw much of. The rest of them out there keep pretty much to themselves. Some of the local parents didn’t like Benny around, but he was harmless. We checked him out years ago. He was never in any trouble, shy and always helpful.”

  “What can you tell me of the Temple and its people?”

  “Not much. Some sort of Oriental cult, and a kind of rest home and training center. Like I said, they keep to themselves, the place is fenced, no one gets in without an invitation. It’s run by a Chinese named Li Po, calls himself The Khan, and his wife. Don’t know her real name - calls herself The Snow Princess. A lawyer named Sedgwick runs their business affairs, and they never caused any trouble, either.”

  “The members of this cult are not local? Do they live there?”

  “Some do, sort of like a Catholic ‘retreat house’ it seems, but most come from all over, mostly San Francisco. On weekends.” Forbes lit a battered pipe, blew thick smoke. “Benny Chan’s been here maybe five years, we knew him. That sister was never here before as far as I know, doesn’t belong to the cult. I figure we know Benny maybe better than she does and if he was murdered, I can’t see any reason.”

  “She was close to her retarded brother in spirit if not in locality.”

  “Well, maybe,” Forbes said, “but she couldn’t give us any motive - or she wouldn’t.”

  Chan said, “Wouldn’t? You think she has hidden knowledge?”

  “Could be she’s involved in something up in San Francisco she thinks might have gotten Benny killed, but doesn’t want us to know about it. How well do you know her, Inspector?”

  “I only met her the first time today,” Chan admitted, and he had to think about the men he’d seen tailing Betty Chan and, later, himself - if they were the same group of men. “The night of Benny Chan’s accident, were strangers perhaps seen or reported in the area?”

  “None that I heard about,” Forbes said. “Of course, a lot of this area is pretty isolated, especially along the coast. I can dig into it deeper if you think it important.”

  “It could be,” Chan said. “I don’t wish to interfere, but I hope to put the mind of his sister to rest. I’d also like to view the body, if possible, and examine the effects of Benny Chan.”

  “Anything you want, Inspector. If we missed something, we sure want to know about it. But, honestly, I don’t see much doubt about the accident.”

  “I’m sure you are correct,” Chan said quietly. “But his unhappy sister will pace the cage of uncertainty until all avenues of doubt are closed. The shadow of doubt must be raised from her young life.”

  “Come on then,” Forbes said. “Benny’s down in the Coroner’s morgue at the sub-station. I’ll drive you.”

  The Sheriff’s Sub-Station was off the main street of Half Moon Bay. The morgue was in the basement. A white-coated attendant pulled out one of the six drawers, and Chan looked down at the body of Benny Chan.

  “In the water three days, the Coroner says,” Lieutenant Forbes said. “Death was definitely by drowning, alive when he went into the water. From where we found the body, we’re pretty sure he entered the sea somewhere near The Temple. The currents are just right for where we found him. No other marks on the body except the usual battering of the rocks. He was fully dressed, nothing seemed to be missing from his pockets.”

  Chan examined the body briefly, stared for a moment at the water swollen face that seemed to have a small smile on it. A boyish face, as if the face belonged to a child not a full-grown man. The detective turned to the pitiful collection of personal effects. They had been in the water, the wallet had partially disintegrated, but nothing seemed gone. There were even a few dollars untouched, and Benny Chan’s identity card; some keys, loose change, and a moth-eaten rabbit’s foot.

  Chan’s eyes surveyed them.

  “Even the sister admits that’s about all Benny ever carrie
d,” Lieutenant Forbes said, “and the people at The Temple know of nothing valuable Benny could have had.”

  Chan read the Coroner’s report death by drowning, water in the lungs, abrasions and contusions from contact with the sea rocks and sand after death. He went once more to study the body, bending to examine the cuts and bruises.

  “I see there are bruises on the back of his neck,” Chan said slowly. “Also on his arms above the elbows and wrists. Difficult places for rocks to bruise, and not accompanied by cuts or abrasions.”

  “Floating debris, maybe,” Forbes said. “Logs, wood.”

  “Perhaps, but the bruises on each arm and wrist are in the exact same places, almost exact size, and deep, as if pressure was exerted.” Chan continued to stare down at the small bruises on the dead man’s arms and wrists. “As if he was held by the arms and neck, by more than one man. Head held under water until he drowned.”

  “Without any evidence, that’s a pretty wild guess, Mr. Chan,” Forbes said. “When a man’s been in the sea three days, it’s a thousand-to-one the bruises come from the bottom. Besides, it isn’t easy to drown a man, not when he’s conscious. He’d have struggled like all hell, and there’d be more marks.”

  “Unless he was paralyzed by fear,” Chan said softly. “You are sure nothing was stolen from Benny Chan?”

  “We’re sure,” Forbes said. “Seen enough, Inspector?”

  “For now,” Chan said.

  They went up and out to Forbes’s car, and drove back to the Highway Patrol barrack. As they entered Forbes’s private office, a man jumped up from where he had been sitting.

  “My scroll, Lieutenant, where is it?” His voice was soft but agitated. “Where is The Scroll of Batu Khan!”

  IV

  HE WAS A TALL, bone-thin, Chinese man with an aged, dignified face trimmed by a long white mustache that drooped to his chin in ancient Chinese fashion. In his mid-sixties, he wore a spartan black robe of pure silk, simple sandals, and had the erect dignity of a simple Oriental monk.

  Before Lieutenant Forbes could answer, Chan stepped forward, spoke quietly and with a small bow:

  “Unexpected honor for traveler in distant place to greet scholar and famed benefactor from home,” the detective said in Mandarin.

  The dignified old man seemed to see Chan for the first time. His thin face broke into a smile. “Why, Inspector Chan! I am the one who is honored. Humble dilettante of ancient culture must bow to greater fame of Charlie Chan.” His dark eyes seemed to sparkle. “You have, then, located priceless scroll?”

  Forbes said, “You two know each other?”

  “Mr. C.V. Soong,” Chan introduced the aristocratic old man to Forbes. “Great historian of Chinese, scholar, benefactor and philanthropist.”

  “Value of wealth only measured by deeds for those in need,” C.V. Soong said. “To be buried in riches is a crime. Money taken from world by industrious father must be returned to world.”.

  “Not all men of wealth share that view,” Chan said dryly. “But what is the nature of the Scroll of Batu Khan that causes a scholar such as you such painful agitation? It has great value, perhaps?”

  “Indeed it does!” C.V. Soong cried. “As you know, Mr. Chan, I have long been a scholar and collector of Oriental history. I have had in my possession for many years six priceless scrolls of Batu Khan and the Golden Horde. They are unique, irreplaceable, international treasures. The only authentic records of The Khanate of The Golden Horde!”

  “I see,” Chan said. “Great treasures, but who -?”

  Lt. Forbes said, “I guess I’m ignorant, but what is The Golden Horde, and who was Batu Khan?”

  “Who was -?” C.V. Soong slowly shook his head. “My apologies, Lieutenant, I forget that the young of America have so little interest in history or the Orient.”

  The older man paused, sighed, “I’m sure you know that in the early 16th Century, the great Ghengis Khan led his Mongol horsemen out of the wastelands north of China to conquer most of the world of Asia, the Middle East, and eastern Europe. His method was not to use one army, but many armies under strong generals all at the same time, so that in the end his armies before and after his death became led by his sons and grandsons, and became dominant in different areas.”

  “One grandson, the great Kublai Khan, became emperor of China, founder of the Yuan dynasty,” Chan explained.

  “The oldest grandson was Batu, and he led the invasions of Europe,” C.V. Soong went on. “He conquered almost all of European Russia between 1235 and 1240, and probably could have taken all of Europe - he reached the Adriatic Sea and central Germany, defeated the Hungarians. But in 1241 Ghengis’s successor as great Khan, Batu’s uncle Ogadai, died, and Batu withdrew to Russia to be nearer the Mongol capital at Karakorum.”

  Chan said, “There is no doubt that European history was changed by Batu’s withdrawal in 1241, as Russian history was made by his settling with his armies in Russia.”

  “He founded the Khanate of Kipchak, better known by its Russian name of The Golden Horde,” C.V. Soong said. “The Khanate Of The Golden Horde ruled most of Russia for two hundred years until broken up by Tamerlane, and even then the Crimean Khanate went on to almost 1800! A power that changed the world left as a record only six scrolls from its early days - three from Batu’s own time, and three from his successor Berke Khan’s time.”

  “And you own all six scrolls?” Forbes said.

  Soong nodded, “Think of it - the only records of events that changed the destiny of Asia and Europe! I have written a book on them, lent them to museums, and had scholars from both Russia and China come to study them. Recently, I agreed to give them on a year’s loan to The Temple Of The Golden Horde here.”

  “What is this Temple Of The Golden Horde?” Chan asked.

  “The only temple in America of a small cult that has existed since Batu Khan’s day, believers in Mongol Shamanism,” Soong said. “They have copies of the scrolls, of course, but a few months ago they asked me to lend them the originals for a year of study, and I agreed. Great documents should be used, not kept in some vault. Because I had been working with them, and to lessen the danger of loss or damage, I sent them one at a time over a period of a few months. All arrived safely, until now.”

  “Benny Chan was carrying a scroll when he died?” Chan said.

  “And The Temple doesn’t have it! The fifth scroll,” Soong said. “I want -“

  “Who would steal the scroll?” Chan broke in. “Such a unique document would be most difficult to realize a profit on.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Soong agreed. “Unless -“

  Lieutenant Forbes walked to a large steel cabinet in the corner of his office. He opened the deep bottom drawer; and when he turned he held a large wooden chest about the size of a women’s make-up case, and brass bound with a brass lock. “Is this your Golden Horde scroll, Mr. Soong?”

  “Yes!” the philanthropist cried. “At least, it’s the chest; the scroll was inside.”

  Soong hurried forward, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. Forbes shook his head, opened the heavy lid of the chest.

  “We had to pick the lock to see what was inside,” Forbes said. “But we didn’t damage the lock.”

  Chan said quickly, “It was locked when found?”

  “Locked tight,” Forbes said. “It’s a strong lock, too.”

  Soong lifted out two cylinders of ancient vellum rolled around two polished wood sticks.

  He opened the scroll, studied it for a moment. “It’s the Batu Scroll, undamaged!”

  “Where was it found, Lieutenant?” Chan asked.

  “On the Temple grounds about a half a mile from the temple at the edge of the ocean. It was in plain sight, and the spot was just about where Benny must have fallen in to be carried on the currents where we found his body.”

  Chan looked at Soong. “Are you sure the scroll is genuine - the original?”

  “Absolutely. See, my mark is on it.”

  Forbes
said, “So much for that robbery motive, Inspector.”

  “It would seem so,” Chan agreed. “Theft does not appear to be the cause of Benny Chan’s accident.”

  “A great weight lifted,” C.V. Soong said. “I must admit I was concerned that my scroll had caused the death of the man who carried it. A relief to know that was not so.”

  “All four previous scrolls were sent in the same manner?” Chan asked. “By simple messenger, all in the open?”

  Soong nodded, “I did not want to risk loss in the mail or by parcel service, and the Temple sent the same handyman each time. They assured me that because of his mental handicap he was the most reliable messenger, would never let the chest out of his sight, would be extra careful. There was no previous trouble.”

  “Then you were not concerned by the possibility of theft?”

  For an instant, the philanthropist seemed to hesitate. Then he shook his head, “No, I wasn’t, not really. In any event, the handyman seemed a most inconspicuous carrier.”

  Chan nodded without replying, and the philanthropist put the scroll back into its chest. He locked the chest, turned to the door.

  “Will it now go to the Temple as arranged?” Chan said.

  “I’ll take it there personally in the morning,” C.V. Soong said. “Thank you for finding it, Lieutenant, and it is always a pleasure to meet you again, Inspector Chan.”

  “The honor is mine,” Chan said.

  C.V. Soong bowed and left the office. Chan seemed to watch the door thoughtfully as it closed behind the philanthropist. Lieutenant Forbes watched Chan.

  “You’re still not satisfied it was an accidental drowning, Inspector? What more do you need to know? Nothing was stolen from Benny Chan. If someone had been after that scroll, we wouldn’t have found it right there on the beach.”

  “Unless Benny Chan was also carrying something unknown,” Chan said. “Perhaps unknown even to Benny.”

  “Like what?” Forbes said. “And wouldn’t the killer have taken the scroll then for a cover?”

  “That would seem logical, yes,” Chan mused. “A visit to the Temple is indicated. If the Lieutenant would direct me?”