Think Fast, Mr. Moto Read online

  “Good evening,” she was saying.

  There was no doubt who she was—she was the head of the house. She had the air of being able to cope with any situation.

  “Miss Eva,” Wilson’s guide said, “this is Mr. Hitchings.” Wilson bowed and she nodded to him curtly, but did not hold out her hand.

  “Yes,” she said; “of course, I’ve been expecting you. Moku, you may go back to the door now. I’ll look after Mr. Hitchings.”

  Wilson bowed again.

  “I’m sure you will,” he said, and she nodded in cool agreement.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m sure I will. Uncle Joe Wilkie said you were coming. He said you wanted to come incognito, but that was rather silly, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” agreed Wilson, “very silly.”

  “You see,” she said, “the Hitchingses are such an important family that everybody knows the name. That’s why it’s such a help to have it on the house. Shall we go into the directors’ room? It will be more quiet there. I suppose you want to talk.”

  “Thanks,” said Wilson, “it might be better. I don’t want to disturb your guests.”

  “I wonder—” she said. “Are you always as considerate as that? This way, please.” He followed her toward the door marked PRIVATE, and the croupier was saying, “Messieurs et mesdames—faites vos jeux!”—and when the door closed behind them, they were in a smaller room, with bare walls and an oval mahogany table, with Chippendale chairs around it, and windows that looked out into breezy, rustling darkness.

  Wilson looked about the room courteously and noticed that there was a second door marked OFFICE. That distant relative of his seated herself at the head of the table.

  “Well,” she said, “sit down, Mr. Wilson Hitchings, anywhere at all. And if I don’t seem polite, it’s only because I’m surprised. Few of the family have ever called on us; none, as far as I remember.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” said Wilson, and he sat down in the chair beside her. Her lips curled up but her eyes were cool and unfriendly.

  “Well,” she said, “on the whole I don’t think I’m sorry, because I dislike you all very much.” They looked at each other for a moment without speaking, and Wilson tried to imagine what sort of girl she was, and he found it difficult because he had never seen anyone just like her. There was only one thing that he was sure of in that silence which fell between them, and that was that she did not like the Hitchingses. There was something deep, almost venomous in her dislike.

  “Would you mind telling me why you don’t like us?” he inquired.

  “Not in the least,” she said; “but there’s something I must ask you first.… We’ve always been hospitable to strangers in this house. My father taught me that. Let me order you something to drink, Mr. Hitchings.”

  Still looking at her, Wilson shook his head.

  “No,” he said, “thank you just as much.”

  “I suppose,” she replied, and her tone was acidly polite, “that you don’t want anything to disturb your logic. The Hitchings were always so coldblooded.”

  “No,” said Wilson, “it isn’t that. I’ve always made it a rule only to drink with friends, that’s all. Why is it you don’t like us, Miss Hitchings? It might help if I could find that out.”

  Her hands were lying on the table and they closed and opened as he spoke and her lips were pressed together more tightly. For the first time it occurred to Wilson that the girl beside him had a temper and that she was having difficulty in maintaining her cool poise. He could see a glint of anger in her eyes which made him add another statement quite deliberately.

  “When I am sitting with a pretty girl,” he said, “I don’t need to drink. You are fortunate that you don’t resemble the Hitchingses. You don’t resemble us at all.”

  She leaned toward him and there was a catch in her voice as she answered.

  “That’s the nicest thing you could possibly say. It makes me feel better than I have for a long while. Thank Heaven! I don’t resemble them at all.”

  “Yes, it is a relief,” said Wilson easily. “I was afraid you would have our nose, and that’s a drawback. You have got our jaw, though, and that is your very worst feature—a stubborn jaw. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Don’t be foolish,” she said, “I don’t mind anything you do.”

  “That makes everything easier,” said Wilson, and he took out a cigarette case and laid it on the table. “And, of course, you won’t mind anything I say, either?”

  “No,” she answered, “not a bit. Why should I?” Wilson pushed the cigarette case toward her and she shook her head.

  “Then you won’t mind if I say that I like you,” he said. “I like you so much that I haven’t the slightest intention of saying anything or of doing anything that may offend you. You know why I am here, I suppose? I may as well come to the point.” He smiled and lighted his cigarette. “I like this place so much that I’d like to buy it. Can you think of me as a stranger who is making you a business proposal? That might be the easiest way for everyone.”

  She raised her head a trifle and that flicker of amusement which he had observed the first moment that he saw her came over her face again reminding him of wind rippling over placid water. He could believe that she was pleased that he asked the question and that the whole moment pleased her. Her smile grew more pronounced as she sat there considering his suggestion and the smile took away some of the hardness from her face, making her look younger and less experienced. It made Wilson realize that she was younger than he was. It made him think for the first time that she might be an agreeable person under agreeable circumstances. For the first time he realized that there was a warmth and a charm in Eva Hitchings. In some way, without his being able to explain why, she had ceased to be an abstraction, a purely business problem, and had become an attractive girl who did not belong in that environment. She even appealed to his protective instinct, although he put the thought away from him at once. He examined her more attentively; she had none of the attributes of a hostess at a gambling house, her red and white dress was simple and in perfect taste, and her color was natural and she wore no jewelry. Her hands, as they lay before her on the table, were beautiful. They were a lady’s hands, sensitive, indicative of breeding. He suddenly suspected that her hardness and her control were purely make-believe. More the product of a strong will than character.

  “Well,” she asked him, “suppose you begin by telling me why do you want to buy my house? Do you want to run it, Mr. Hitchings?”

  “I wonder why you ask me,” Wilson inquired, “when you know the reasons very well already.”

  “Because I want to hear you give those reasons,” she answered. “You can, can’t you?”

  If Wilson had never believed that there was something in inheritance he would have believed it then, because he was almost surprised at the clarity and the order of his thoughts. Now that he sat there at the table he knew that he had the family ability for negotiation and for estimating a situation. All the details, all the things that he had seen and heard, came accurately together in his mind by a curious sort of instinct. His mind moved easily toward a number of truths, even while he was speaking.

  “Please don’t forget that I’m not here for myself,” he said. “I was sent here by the family. I rather like this place. Personally I rather admire you for running it, because it can’t be such a pleasant thing for you to do. It must take a great deal of experience and a great deal of ability. And I don’t believe you like it very much, do you, Miss Hitchings? I don’t believe you like being cordial to all the riffraff I’ve seen in this house to-night. It can’t be pleasant to combine hospitality with business. It made me think you’d be a different sort of person, and I see you’re not. You can’t like that croupier of yours, and that man behind him, very much.”

  Eva Hitchings shrugged her shoulders.

  “Don’t preach,” she said. “I asked you why you wanted to buy this place.”

  “I’m not preachi
ng,” Wilson answered. “As a matter of fact I think you’re a rather brave girl to be doing this. I wish you could think that I was speaking to you as a member of our family, however distant. I don’t like to think of any of our family having to be in your position. I really think, although no one has said so, that that is what disturbs my father and my uncle more than anything else.”

  “Oh,” said Eva Hitchings. “You mean it rather shocks you?”

  “No,” said Wilson, “I know you’d like to have it shock me, but it doesn’t. Nothing shocks me very much, because we’re living in a rather shock-proof time. I know plenty of girls at home running tea-shops and working in department stores. There’s nothing you could do that could shock me because you’re not the kind.”

  “Really?” said Eva Hitchings. “You might be very much surprised.”

  “I doubt it,” said Wilson. “I doubt it very much. But of course there’s another aspect which you know as well as I do. Our name on your house is not good for a banking business. Then there’s a second reason why I’m here to buy your house. It’s a beautiful place, and of course you must be fond of it. I don’t want to speak too much about money because you’re in the family, but I’d like to have you live in this house as you’d like to live. How would it be if you still owned it and took the sign off the gate? And had it as a place for your own friends the way it used to be? Would you like that, Miss Hitchings?”

  “Well,” she said, “go on, what else?”

  “If you agree,” Wilson added, “we will talk about a sum in trust, the income of which will keep you comfortably. Things can’t go on like this, you must see that.”

  Eva Hitchings leaned toward him. “Why not?” she asked.

  Wilson lowered his voice and spoke more slowly.

  “Because sooner or later you’ll get into trouble,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I think you’re in trouble now.”

  He could tell that she was startled when he said it, more from instinct than from any change in her. She was smiling but her eyes were wider.

  “Why do you think that?” she asked. Although her voice was level and pleasant he knew that she was startled. He could feel it in the room and in the rustling of the wind outside.

  “Do you really want me to tell you why?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice was too casual, too easy. “I shall be delighted, Mr. Hitchings.” Wilson took a paper from his pocket—it was the typewritten sheet which he had found in the room of his hotel.

  “Read it,” he said. “I wonder who sent me this? I don’t think you are the kind of person who would do it. You’re not as stupid as all that.”

  He watched her as she read the paper and he had to admire her composure. She read it and she laughed. It was the first time he had heard her laugh—her laughter was easy and pleasant and there was a ring of intimacy in it which seemed to bring them nearer together.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m not such a fool as that.”

  “And now,” said Wilson, “I’ll tell you what I think. You needn’t tell me if I’m right or wrong. You’re not running this place all yourself, Miss Hitchings! You’re not the kind to do it. You have some people running it for you. I have watched everything outside; everything is smooth and very professional, as professional as a New York night club. You’re the front, Miss Hitchings, but there is someone else behind you. Whoever that may be, and I don’t care who it is, because it’s none of my business, is afraid that you may sell out. Whoever it may be is trying to stop you; that’s why I got this note. And that’s exactly why I think you’d better sell out. There’s nothing for you to gain by not selling.” There was a silence when he had finished. He could hear the sound of music and the sound of the trade wind, and she was looking at him as other people had looked at him sometimes—half surprised, almost with respect.

  “You’re rather clever, aren’t you, Mr. Hitchings?” she said. “I didn’t know you could be so clever with your environment and background!”

  Wilson nodded. Her eyes and her voice were almost friendly, and it was as though they were playing some sort of a game, and he rather enjoyed the game because there were so many imponderables in it and because he and she were alone togther. Some barrier between them had dropped down after he had spoken and he found himself telling her exactly what he thought.

  “You know I’m a little surprised at myself,” he said; “because all this is new to me; this is the first time I’ve ever been entirely on my own. I suppose I may be clever, as you say. I never thought of it exactly that way before, but it suddenly came over me, now that I have seen you and now that I have talked to you, that you are in trouble. After all, we’re both in the family. I hope that you’ll remember that. I have come here for a definite purpose, but I really hope you’ll believe that I want to help you. I thought you’d be quite a different person. I don’t like seeing you here alone.” She did not answer for a moment. She only sat looking at him, puzzled and seemingly undecided what to say.

  “You’re different than you look,” she said. “You’re different than I thought you would be, too. I wonder if you’re frank, or if this is just an act. I suppose it’s just an act.”

  “No,” said Wilson. “I’m being frank. I’ve only said exactly what I think. I’m not tricky; actually I’m rather a guileless person.”

  She sat up straighter, still looking at him, and then she spoke carefully as though she had made up her mind exactly what to say, and he knew that she was saying something which had been on her mind for a long while.

  “You’d make a very good gambler, Mr. Hitchings,” she said. “I ought to know because I’ve seen plenty of them in the last few years. I never knew it until just this moment. You have a gambler’s face, you have a gambler’s coolness; you’ve played your cards exactly like a professional. I don’t believe you are guileless because everything you have said has been so perfectly balanced. You have appealed to me in every possible way and you’ve really done it very well—so much better than I thought you would. You’ve been frank, and now it’s my turn. And now I’ll say my little piece.”

  “I wish you would,” said Wilson.

  “You’ve only made one mistake,” she answered. “Your mistake is in talking to me about the family—that was exactly the wrong card to play, because I hate the family. I wonder if I can make you understand how much I hate them. Your family turned on my father because he didn’t have your cool face, Mr. Hitchings—and didn’t have ice water in his blood; because he wasn’t correct and poised like you; because he didn’t do the right thing. He made the great mistake of marrying my mother—I’m very glad he did, because that’s why I’m not like you, that’s why I haven’t got your self-importance and your manners, and your easy condescension. That’s why I’m a plebeian, Mr. Hitchings. And why I associate with these low people. And I’ll tell you something more—Father was not a businessman. When he lost his money, when his back was to the wall, when you could have helped him easily, as you are offering to help me now, not a member of your family raised its hand. You’re only doing it now, and you know it, because I’m interfering with your business interests. If you want to know the truth, I had made up my mind to interfere with them, after Father died.”

  “Simply out of spite?” said Wilson.

  “Yes,” she answered, “simply out of spite. I am paying you back by running this place. I know I am. And one of the pleasantest moments I have had is to be able to sit here and to tell you so. To see you come here, and to hear you try to buy me out. This place is going to run as long as I can run it and as long as it can hurt the Hitchingses. You couldn’t buy it for a million dollars! Is that quite clear?”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, “it’s very clear; but it’s rather foolish, don’t you think?”

  “No,” she answered, “not if you knew what I’ve been through on account of the Hitchings family; it’s not foolish to me at any rate. I hate every one of you—I hate your sanctimonious pretence.”

  “D
o you hate me?” Wilson asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “of course I hate you. And I have sat here long enough, listening to your patronage. I’d like to see you try to close this place! I’d like to see any of you try.”

  “Well,” said Wilson, “I’m sorry. At any rate, I don’t want to see it closed to-night; I rather like it.”

  “Then go out and enjoy yourself,” Miss Hitchings said, “we’ve been here long enough.” Wilson rose.

  “It’s been good of you to give me so much time,” he said. “I think I’ll try roulette.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Miss Hitchings, “the pleasure has been all mine. I hope you will have a pleasant evening.”

  “You are sure you don’t want to be friends?” said Wilson.

  “No,” said Miss Hitchings, “I’m sure I don’t.”

  There was a discreet tapping on the door and a Japanese servant entered. “A gentleman wants to see you, Miss,” he said.

  “Very well,” said Miss Hitchings. “Show him into the office.” And she turned to Wilson, smiling. “I’m sorry that I am busy now,” she said.

  “So am I,” said Wilson. “Good evening, Miss Hitchings!” Then, just as he turned away, he found that the other gentleman was entering—Mr. Moto was standing in the doorway, bowing, smiling.

  “Excuse me,” he was saying, “do I interrupt?”

  There was no doubt in Wilson now that it was Mr. Moto.

  “No,” Miss Hitchings said, “this gentleman is just leaving.”

  “Yes,” said Wilson, “I’m leaving.” He hoped that he showed no surprise, he hoped that he was smiling as cordially as Mr. Moto.

  “Good evening, Mr. Moto,” he said. “I thought I saw you a while ago. I did not think I’d see you here.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Moto, “isn’t it very nice? Such a nice place, so beautiful. How nice to see you, Mr. Hitchings.” And Mr. Moto drew in his breath through his shining gold teeth.