Chinese Orange Mystery Read Online Free Page A

stamps, eh?” he said in his deep voice, flinging his towering length into a chair. “Old Faithful Ozzie. Where’s Don?”
    Osborne, intent on his album, looked up with a start. “Oh, Mr. Macgowan! Why, I don’t know, sir. He hasn’t shown up here.”
    “Damn.” The big man chewed an immaculate fingernail. “He’s as unpredictable as next year’s Derby winner. I once bet him a thousand dollars he couldn’t get to an appointment on time and, by George, I won! Seen Marcella?”
    “No, sir. She rarely comes in here, you see, and I—”
    “Look here, Ozzie.” Macgowan smoked nervously. There was a bigness about him that overflowed the chair. Above his broad shoulders he had a lean face and a high pale forehead. “I’ve got to see Don right away. Are you sure—?”
    Osborne was astonished. “But won’t you see him this evening at dinner, sir?”
    “Yes, yes, but I’ve got to see him before dinner. Sure you don’t know where he is?” said Macgowan impatiently.
    “I’m sorry, sir. He left early and didn’t say where he was going.”
    Macgowan frowned. “Let’s have a paper and pencil.” He scribbled hastily on the sheet Osborne hurried to provide, folded the paper, thrust it into an envelope, which he sealed, and tossed the envelope on Kirk’s desk. “You’ll see that he gets it before dinner tonight, Ozzie. It’s important—and personal.”
    “Surely.” Osborne tucked the envelope into one of his pockets. “By the way, sir, there’s something I’d like to show you, if you have a moment.”
    Macgowan paused at the door. “I’m in a hurry, old chap.”
    “I’m sure you’ll want to see this, Mr. Macgowan.” Osborne went to a wall-safe and pulled out a large leather-bound, ledger-like volume. He carried it to his desk and opened it; it was full of mounted postage stamps.
    “What’s this, something new?” asked Macgowan, with sudden interest.
    “Well, here’s one item that’s new, sir.” Osborne pointed out a stamp and handed Macgowan a small magnifying glass from a litter of philatelic tools on the desk.
    “Nanking issue of the dragon, eh?” muttered Macgowan, putting the glass to the green-and-rose stamp. “Something wrong with the surcharge, isn’t there? By Jove, the bottom character’s omitted!”
    “That’s right, sir,” said Osborne with a vigorous nod. “That vertical surcharge ought to read Chung Hua Ming Kuo —if that’s the way they pronounce it—‘Middle Flowery People’s Kingdom.’ But on this stamp the last character was somehow dropped out, and the ‘Kingdom’ part’s not there. Trouble with Chinese rarities, especially the surcharges, is that you’ve got to have a good working knowledge of the ideographs to be able to spot an error. This one’s comparatively easy; I don’t know Chinese from Greek. But old Dr. Kirk read this for me. Interesting, eh, sir?”
    “Damnably. Where did Don pick this up?”
    “Auction. About three weeks ago. Delivery was held up for some reason until yesterday. I think they were checking up its authenticity.”
    “He has all the luck, darn him,” grumbled Macgowan, setting down the glass. “I haven’t run across a really interesting local rarity in weeks.” He shrugged and then said in an oddly quiet voice: “Did this Nanking set Don back much, Ozzie?”
    Something tightened Osborne’s lips, and his eyes grew cold. “I really couldn’t say, sir.”
    Macgowan stared at him, and then suddenly slapped his thin back. “All right, all right, you loyal old coot. Don’t forget that note. You tell Don I dropped in early purposely. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Want to go downstairs and make a few calls.”
    “Yes, Mr. Macgowan,” said Osborne with a smile, and returned to his desk.
    It was extraordinary how events ranged themselves that evening. Everything seemed to fit, like a woman’s new gloves. There was a smoothness, an inevitability, about things. And they all swirled about the head of poor Osborne, a