Free Mr. Moto Is So Sorry by John P. Marquand Page B

unless something changes us. Do you suppose anything will ever change us, Gates?”
    Calvin Gates smiled and forgot that they were in Manchuria.
    â€œProbably for the worse,” he said.
    She laughed and held out her hand. “You’re not so bad,” she answered. “Let’s go into the dining car and have a drink. I’ll match you for who pays.”
    â€œNo,” he said, “I’ll buy it.”
    â€œI’m not being ladylike, am I?” she said. “I told you we couldn’t change. I’ll match you, I can’t help it, Gates.”
    Nevertheless Miss Dillaway had changed. She was no longer concealing her personality from him or trying to act a part and it must have been an effort for her to go as far as that. It pleased him, more than he thought was possible, that she had surrendered to some intuition and, without knowing who he was or what, had given him her friendship. It made him happy even though he knew that there would only be one ending. It would be better to tell her something about himself beforehand; it would be the only honorable way, since they were friends, but he hesitated.
    â€œI know I’m disagreeable when I’m traveling, Gates,” she said confidingly. “My temper always goes to pieces when I’m worried, and I say any amount of things that I’m sorry for afterwards. I’m frightened most of the time when I’m on these trips and I don’t want anyone to know it. It’s not as bad with you. I’m really having a nice time.”
    â€œSo am I,” said Calvin Gates; “the first time in a long while, and you’re the only reason for it, Miss Dillaway.”
    â€œYou’d better call me Dillaway,” she said. “My first name is Sylvia, and I don’t like it much. My friends all call me Dillaway. I may as well warn you, I’m as likely as not to snap your head off before we get to Peiping, and you’ll probably want to choke me. You should have seen the way I tore into poor Boris. At the customs’ shed.” She stopped and caught her breath. “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened to him, Gates? How did he—”
    Calvin interrupted her and spoke quickly. If she had to know, and it would probably be better if she did, he wished to make that whole ugly affair casual and literal.
    â€œHe came to my room to ask me to take that cigarette case he gave you. He was shot while he was talking to me. A man came in and shot him from the balcony. It isn’t pleasant, but I suppose you ought to know. Then Mr. Moto came and took the whole thing in hand.”
    â€œThat little man?” she said.
    â€œYes, it had something to do with the police. What do you know about that Russian?”
    â€œNothing,” she answered. “I asked for a courier at the hotel.”
    Calvin Gates nodded.
    â€œWhat do you think he was doing?”
    â€œCarrying a message,” she answered promptly. “He was frightened in the train. What do you suppose that thing’s about? Have you looked at it?”
    â€œNo,” he said, “but I think he had told someone else that he had given it to you. He had all evening to make arrangements.”
    Calvin Gates folded his hands carefully, unfolded them again and laid them palm down upon each knee.
    â€œI’ve been trying most of last night to figure it out. Granted that it is some sort of message, it’s a very important one or they wouldn’t have killed the man who was carrying it. If it is a message it is probably going to someone near where we are going, but after that I’m puzzled. Whoever sent the message certainly wanted it delivered.”
    â€œWell, that’s obvious,” Miss Dillaway said.
    â€œThe next point is not so obvious,” he answered. “Moto wants it delivered too. In fact, he told me so.”
    â€œNow wait a minute,” said Miss Dillaway. “This can’t be right. If