He was watching Bill Rankin approach rapidly across the floor. At the reporter’s side walked, surprisingly light of step, an unimpressive little man with a bulging waistband and a very earnest expression on his chubby face.

“Here we are,” Rankin said. “Sir Frederic Bruce - may I present Detective-Sergeant Chan, of the Honolulu police?”

Charlie Chan bent quickly like a jack-knife. “The honor,” he said, “is unbelievably immense. In Sir Frederic’s reflected glory I am happy to bask. The tiger has condescended to the fly.”

Somewhat at a loss, the Englishman caressed his mustache and smiled down on the detective from Hawaii. As a keen judge of men, already he saw something in those black restless eyes that held his attention.

“I’m happy to know you, Sergeant Chan,” he said. “It seems we think alike on certain important points. We should get on well together.”

Rankin introduced Chan to the host, who greeted the little Chinese with obvious approval. “Good of you to come,” he said.

“A four-horse chariot could not have dragged me in an opposite direction,” Chan assured him.

Kirk looked at his watch. “All here but J. V. Morrow,” he remarked. “He wrote me this morning that he’s coming in at the Post Street entrance. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have a look around.”

He strolled down the corridor toward Post Street. Near the door, on a velvet davenport, sat a strikingly attractive young woman. No other seat was available, and with an interested glance at the girl Kirk also dropped down on the davenport. “If you don’t mind -” he murmured.

“Not at all,” she replied, in a voice that somehow suited her.

They sat in silence. Presently Kirk was aware that she was looking at him. He glanced up, to meet her smile.

“People are always late,” he ventured.

“Aren’t they?”

“No reason for it, usually. Just too inefficient to make the grade. Nothing annoys me more.”

“I feel the same way,” the girl nodded.

Another silence. The girl was still smiling at him.

“Go out of your way to invite somebody you don’t know to lunch,” Kirk continued, “and he isn’t even courteous enough to arrive on time.”

“Abominable,” she agreed. “You have all my sympathy - Mr. Kirk.”

He started. “Oh - you know me?”

She nodded. “Somebody once pointed you out to me - at a charity bazaar,” she explained.

“Well,” he sighed, “their charity didn’t extend to me. Nobody pointed you out.” He looked at his watch.

“This person you’re expecting -” began the girl.

“A lawyer,” he answered. “I hate all lawyers. They’re always telling you something you’d rather not know.”

“Yes - aren’t they?”

“Messing around with other people’s troubles.