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

Dolly Lane chuckled. “Well, it’s true I have had two unsuccessful plays in the past year. And actually I’m rather hard up. But if I decided to turn thief I’d go after something a little easier to cash in on than a tapestry.”

Manuelis blushed and moved across to the actress. “I assure you, Miss Lane, there is nothing personal in this.”

“Don’t try to be delicate, Martin.” She looked at him with teasing eyes. “This is not a delicate matter. You think one of us is a crook.”

“I should have known better than to accept your invitation on this cruise,” Belden, the stock broker, said bitterly. “And with your permission I’ll leave the ship at once.”

Dent, the sour collector, gave a thin cackle of laughter. “He may not give permission unless his tapestry turns up.”

Belden turned on the old man. “You keep out of this! And anyway, you’re the only one who’d be interested in an item like that.”

Mei Wong stood up and interrupted what appeared to be a growing argument between the two men.

“I am sorry we have upset you,” he said. “But one has to start an investigation somewhere. The tapestry will find a ready market in the underworld of unscrupulous dealers. There are many who would be willing to pay a price for a rich and rare design of this type.”

Belden, the stock broker, touched a match to a huge cigar he’d stuck in his mouth. “Doesn’t concern me. Those eighteenth century tapestries may be worth plenty. But I’m still more interested in good, solid bonds!”

Dent frowned. “I don’t agree. I’d rather have that tapestry than any amount of bonds. Although I didn’t steal it. Put that tapestry or any other piece of its type beside a stack of bonds to equal its value. You’d find it much better to look at than the little stack of paper.”

Belden gave a nasty grin. “But it’s the little stack of paper that pays the bills.”

“And puts the money into shows,” Dolly Lane joined in. “I’m on Mr. Belden’s side. I like the bonds.”

Manuelis looked at Mei Wong with dismay. “This is all so pointless. We are getting nowhere.”

“On the contrary,” Mei Wong shook his head. “I think we have arrived at the answer to our problem.” He moved toward the three and eyed them each in turn. Then he added slowly, “I know now who the thief is.”

Dolly Lane sat back with a gasp. “You do? I hope you don’t think I’m the one.”

The art dealer smiled blandly and turned to Manuelis. “You said when I first came here, Mr. Manuelis, that no one aboard knew about the tapestry. That you had not mentioned it or described it to anyone.”

“That is so,” Manuelis nodded.

“And yet, just now, one of these good people did accurately give a partial description of the tapestry.” Mei Wong faced Belden. “You remember, Mr. Belden?”

The stock broker registered astonishment and removed the cigar from his mouth. “What’s this?”

“Only a few moments ago,” Mei Wong went on calmly, “you accurately told us that the tapestry was an eighteenth century piece. A thing you could only know by seeing it and realizing its value. I don’t think you are as ignorant of oriental art as you would have us believe, Mr. Belden. And I suggest that your host search your quarters on board very carefully.”

With a strangled cry of anger Belden made a break for the cabin door, only to be met by one of the ship’s officers armed with a revolver. The big man stopped short and turned to the group in the cabin, with his guilt clearly showing in his coarse face.

“A small precaution I suggested,” Mei Wong smiled. “To catch a slippery frog requires more than one hand.”