Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 4, September 1971

“Sure,” Walt Neary told her. He straightened up and went back over to Ellen. He was walking slower now, as if the air was very heavy.

“What about it, Walt?” Ellen asked. “Can we still get away?”

He looked over at Marge, and at the handcuffed young man, and then at his wife.

“Sure,” he said at last. “Sure we can. I’ll just talk to the cops and tell them how it was. And then we can go.”

Neary thought about what had happened these last few days, and about what the future held for them. He thought about the man he had killed, that night he came home unexpectedly. But most of all he thought about the questions he would never ask his wife.

The Missing Tapestry by Dan Ross

A priceless tapestry had been stolen, and one of three had to be the guilty party. Recovery and conviction seemed hopeless. “Hopeless?” Mei Wong smiled. “One little word will solve our case...”

* * *

A small tender chugged up alongside the gleaming white yacht anchored far out in the harbor of Bombay and a stout figure in an immaculate linen suit and broad panama hat carefully made his way from the swaying small craft to the platform and stairway that led up to the yacht.

The tender had already begun its journey back to the Bombay wharves as a slightly out-of-breath Mei Wong appeared on the deck of the yacht. A smile of recognition crossed the round, placid face of the elderly art dealer as he was met by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a white goatee.

“Thank you for coming so soon, Mr. Wong.” Martin Manuelis, the millionaire owner of the yacht, grapsed Mei Wong’s hand with a bear-like grip. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. I’m in the devil of a fix!”

The art dealer nodded. “Your phone message certainly had the air of urgency. You were close to being incoherent.”

Manuelis made a gesture of despair. “No wonder. The tapestry is missing. The priceless eighteenth century dragon boat festival tapestry I purchased from you. And it must have been stolen by one of my guests.”

Mei Wong could understand the millionaire’s concern. The tapestry had been one of the most valuable items his studio had ever handled.

“I assume you suspect someone?” he said.

Manuelis groaned. “It is most embarassing. But I have no alternative.”

“Who do you think is the guilty party?”

“Any of the people here could have taken it.”

“Where did you keep the tapestry?” Mei Wong asked.

“Temporarily I stored it in the closet of my own cabin. I intended to put it in a safe place ashore in a few days. I shouldn’t have waited. I was called away from the ship yesterday. The thief must have secured a duplicate of the key to the closet and taken it. I hadn’t discussed the tapestry or anything concerning it with any of them. So I don’t understand how anyone knew.”

“Yet one of them must certainly have learned it was here,” Mei Wong commented. “Realizing the value of the item, the party succumbed to temptation and stole it.”

“That seems pretty clear,” Manuelis agreed with a sigh.

“We must find this white-washed crow,” Mei Wong said. “With a little shrewd observation we should soon note signs of his darkness showing.”

Manuelis led the rotund art dealer to his lavish cabin and stood by while he made a thorough inspection of the closet. Then the art dealer turned to him.

“Now I’d like to meet your guests,” he said.

Shortly afterward they came to the cabin. There were three of them. Charles Belden, fat and redhaired, an American stock broker; Dolly Lane, the lovely Broadway star, brunette and tall; and sour-faced Clarence Dent, an elderly millionaire art collector.

Mei Wong, who sat behind the millionaire’s desk, greeted the three with an easy smile. “It is kind of you to come here at my request. I shall certainly not delay you longer than necessary.”

Dolly Lane sat in an easy chair opposite him and helped herself to a cigarette. “Whats all the mystery? Manuelis wouldn’t tell us a thing.”

Charles Belden stepped forward, red-faced and blustering. “I want to know what this means. Summoning us here like school children.”

From the back of the cabin old Clarence Dent said dryly, “If you’ll give Mei Wong a chance to speak I’m sure he’ll be glad to explain.”

Mei Wong bowed. “So kind of you, Mr. Dent. And quite correct.”

Manuelis, who stood by Mei Wong, cleared his throat and addressed his guests with an unhappy expression.

“I must tell you that I greatly dislike the situation with which we are faced. But there is a thief on the yacht!”

Charles Belden sputtered. “Are you suggesting—”

“I am suggesting nothing,” Manuelis went on. “But I have had a valuable tapestry stolen from my cabin. One I recently purchased from Mei Wong.”

The art dealer looked at the three with keen eyes. “We hope that one of you might be able to help us.”