"That," she said with a lip-curl of triumph, "is my secret. Sorry, but it has nothing to do with the crime or who committed it, Inspector."

"One more thing - was Mr. Gil Roberts one of Mei T'ang's many lovers?"

Claudia opened her hands with a what-else gesture, said, "Oh, Gil had his turn in the royal sack." There was a who-didn't? tone in her voice.

Chan said, "I'd like to talk to him. Could you give me his address?"

"Of course." She scribbled with a bright green ball-point on a sheet of initialed notepaper, added as she thrust it across the desk at him, "If you're thinking of seeing him now, I wouldn't. He lives way up in Laurel Canyon and he won't be home till after five. He has a whole slew of appointments."

"Thank you, Miss Haynes." He was dismissed, so he rose and left. Returning to the hotel, he found a half dozen messages from Eric Svorenssen, asking him to call the dentist's office the instant he came in.

Chan called the number Claudia had given him, was informed by the answering service Gil Roberts used that he would not be taking calls until late that afternoon He then called Svorenssen, and was invited to enjoy luncheon at a Chinese restaurant the dentist had found on Pico Boulevard, close to Doheny Drive.

Regretfully, Chan declined, for he knew his friend's unerring instinct for ferreting out superfine restaurants in unlikely neighborhoods. But he knew, also, that the afternoon would be consumed with the doubtless irresistible food, and there was something he wished to do before five o'clock - namely, to pay a visit to Gil Roberts' hilltop eerie whether the actor was at home or not.

So he contented himself with eating lunch alone in the hotel grill, where the cooking, while of good quality, was lacking in the subtle and exotic flavors that represented his ancestral homeland to the Honolulu born Sino-American. While he ate, he considered the possibilities of the tall actor being the murderer of his former mistress always granting the truth of Claudia's statement that he had been one of Mei T'ang's lovers.

('hen knew something of Roberts' career, first as a performer of suave villains in the A-movies of two decades ago, later as a star in the superior cla.s.sic horror films that had emerged from the declining Hollywood studios during the Sixties. Recently, as the fad waned, Roberts' public appearances had been confined to television guest shots and panel shows, on which he had served as at best a semi-regular.

Just how the murder of Mei T'ang would affect Roberts' career, Chan had no idea. He had not brought up the subject with Claudia, having no desire to indicate to that astute female intellect the direction his thoughts were taking. Nor had she given any indication of considering Roberts as a suspect.

Chan doubted that she would have revealed such suspicions, if they existed - not, at least, if she felt revelation might in any way impair the precious package deal she was so energetically attempting to paste back together. He had long since learned that the female, under certain conditions, is far more ruthless than the male.

Roberts could have killed Mei T'ang. Certainly, he had the strength. Had he had the opportunity? Familiar with the House of Wu as he was, he undoubtedly knew and almost certainly had used, the service elevator. The question of motive remained. If he were the treasure thief, if he had been caught and accused by his former mistress, it would do. Even if he were not the thief, if Mei T'ang had decided to dismiss him from her comeback film, the motive for murder might be sufficient.

In any event, Chan felt a desire to talk to the actor on his home ground, at least to look over the ground for himself. His lunch completed and signed for, the detective recovered his Chevvy from the parking garage in the hotel bas.e.m.e.nt and set out for the address Claudia had given him.

To Chan, unaccustomed to the lane-narrow vagaries of driving through the corkscrew maze of the Hollywood Hills, the trip was reminiscent of both the elevator in the House of Wu and his too-well-remembered ride down and up the Grand Canyon gorge on muleback. He lost his way twice as the rented car slowly scaled the heights, and when he finally found the proper street, he was little better off.

It was barely wide enough for a single car, rose at an alarmingly steep angle to curve out of view from below around a gorge-grown shoulder cut out to resemble the abutment of a miniature gorge. Had it not been for the mailbox at the foot of the driveway, bearing the name Roberts, Chan might not have found it at all.

Nor, when he reached the turnaround at driveway's end was he much better off. The canted roof of a house was barely visible over the brow of the hilltop, beyond which the San Gabriel Mountains, on the far side of the San Fernando Valley, were wreathed in smog of a mustard-gas yellow. To his left, with doors yawning emptily, was a frame two-car garage, filled with the sort of automotive debris that inevitably acc.u.mulates in such accommodations.

Chan got out, discovered a steep path that led over the apparent edge of the world between garage and house roof. Negotiating it gingerly, he found himself standing on a small entry in front of a chalet-type residence. The front door was locked and his ringing of the doorbell went unanswered.

Thanks to the building's cantilevered construction, sticking right out of the hillside's north face, there was not even opportunity to walk around it and see what he could see. Nor was there any apparent means of entry, barring the crashing of the door, which was iron-braced and seemed of solid construction.

So it was back up the steep path to reclaim his car and drive back down the twisting hillside road. He paused to look at the open garage, which held nothing more interesting than an old life saver bearing the legend Lucille II and a pair of surfboards marked His and Hers.

Feeling somewhat foolish at having thus wasted his time and missed an excellent lunch with his dentist friend, Chan rolled the rented car down the hill. So sharp was the turn that he did not see the other car blocking his path just around the bend until he was barely able to brake in time to avoid a collision. Thus preoccupied, he was unable to avoid, or even to see in time, the a.s.sailant who moved swiftly upon him from the side, grabbed him by the throat with a cruelly knowledgeable stranglehold and pulled him out of the car.

Chan's head struck the top of the front window with a blazing b.u.mp, causing him to black out.

X.

WHEN CHAN recovered his senses, he was lying comfortably on a daybed covered with a bright Navajo blanket next to a picture window that offered, beyond a narrow porch, a breath-taking panorama of the smog-wreathed San Fernando Valley. His head throbbed from the b.u.mp on his forehead and his throat felt as it had not felt since the memorable occasion in his youth when he had worn a stiff old-fashioned evening collar three sizes too small to a formal police banquet in Honolulu.

Turning his head painfully away from the window, he saw the elegant form of Gil Roberts regarding him from a near-by lounge chair. The actor was wearing slacks and a pale blue turtleneck pullover and a sardonic expression. A cigarette smoldered in his long fingered left hand.

Seeing that Chan's eyes were open, the actor said, "We were expecting visitors, but we had no idea it would be you, Inspector. Are you all right?"

"Apart from an abominable headache and a sore neck, I believe I'll survive."

"Annie!" called Roberts. "Will you bring our visitor two aspirins and the good brandy."

The girl appeared, looking clean scrubbed and very much like a Los Angeles high school undergraduate of Chinese ancestry - pretty, healthy, young. As Roberts poured a generous portion of fine, virtually un.o.btainable old London Dock brandy into a broad beamed Old Fashioned gla.s.s, he said, "Best cure for a sore throat in the world."

Chan accepted the medication gratefully, chasing the aspirins with the liquid velvet of the strong liquor. Only then did he ask one of the questions that had been troubling him since regaining consciousness.

He said, "Thankful for rescue. You see attacker?"

"There were two of them," said the actor. "I was on the garage roof. Unfortunately Annie had orders not to answer the door or it wouldn't have happened. When I yelled at them and jumped from the roof, the man holding you dropped you and ran to his car. The other was driving and backed away fast."

Chan said, "Did you recognize either of them?"

"The only one I saw was your attacker. I didn't see his face. The other stayed in the car."

"The driver could have been a woman?"

Roberts shrugged, sipped the brandy he had poured for himself, said, "It could have been. Even from my observation post, the view around the driveway curve was blocked beyond a certain point. You can check it out for yourself."

"No need," said Chan, who had mentally photographed the immediate exterior of the Roberts eerie. "You were expecting visitors?"

"A number of people were looking for Annie," said the actor. "I wanted her here where I knew she'd be relatively safe." "Safe from whom, and what?" said Chan, regarding the girl thoughtfully.

"From whoever killed her mother yesterday," said Roberts quietly.

Chan nodded. His head still hurt but his mind and his senses were functioning. Although there were great surface differences between this scrubbed looking Sino-American schoolgirl type and the exotic companion of the slain film star, he had almost instantly recognized that the same girl was playing both roles.

He said, "I wondered about the Ah-Nah, since it means virtually no name at all in Chinese." Then, to the girl directly, "You wished to see me last night. I have worried about you."

She said, "The police asked so many questions. It got so late I feared I would wake you, Inspector."

"Why did you wish to see me?"

"I was confused. I felt I needed wise advice."

"I feel complimented," said Chan with a nod that briefly brought back his headache. Must not nod, he thought, till head is better. Then, "You are confused no longer?" he asked her.

"I feel much more sure about things," the girl said simply, looking at the actor with a glow of soft adoration.

Chan said, "Sometimes a young woman needs a father even more than she needs a mother."

Roberts opened his hands, said, "So you guessed. Oh, well, I was going to tell you anyway since you're here."

Chan said, "Certain unmistakable bone structure similarities. Also, an ambiance of affection, not of l.u.s.t." Then, again to the girl, "How long have you known?"

"Only since I called her early this morning and told her some long concealed truths," said the actor. "Annie's position was - well, peculiar. At the time her mother and I were lovers, we were both big stars - and in those days the Breen office rode hard herd on Hollywood where scandal was concerned. Remember what happened to Ingrid Bergman?"

Chan nodded. Then he said, "You are Mei T'ang's heir - heiress?"

"Her only one," said Roberts, "apart from a few small bequests."

"How long were you with her as companion?" Chan inquired..

"Only the last four years. Mother kept me in boarding schools and camp until I was eighteen."

Chan said, "Why are you in danger rather, what reason do you have to believe you are in danger?"

The girl said, "The same reason mother was in danger, and she was killed."

Chan said "The stolen treasure in the apothecary jars?"

The girl nodded. "It was very, very valuable. My mother was offered the chance to collect them only because she had a friend very high in the Nationalist government who was forced to flee to America in 1949. They were part of a very old, entirely unique Imperial palace treasure. Her friend needed money, mother needed a tangible investment."

Roberts said, "Poor Annie thought I was the thief. She also suspected me of murdering her mother."

The girl said, "The last thing she did was show me a jeweled fly she had found in the lab. Then we checked on the collection and found the originals were all stolen. Then she told me it was time she confronted the thief. She sent me to take care of the guests and to send you in to see her when you arrived."

Chan nodded, said, "Why did you suspect your father?"

The girl said, "I didn't know he was my father then. I knew he and- mother were not friendly and that he had access to the treasure and knew what it was. I knew his career was not going well."

"How did you convince her you were not the thief?" said Chan to the actor.

"The thefts must have been going on for some time," said Roberts, refilling his tumbler with brandy. "My bank account had been dwindling steadily save for occasional deposits when I was paid for a TV job or picked up a residual check for reruns of old movies. There would have been some indication of unexplained periods of prosperity had I been the thief. I'm simply not a man who can hide the fact he has money. I enjoy spending it too much."

"That is true," said Annie. "Remember, I have known him a long time now. And I heard mother talk about him."

Chan hid a smile at the girl's proud naivete. Yet he believed Gil Roberts. This man was not one to conduct a prolonged felony. To the girl, he said, "Why did it take your mother so long to discover the thefts?"

The girl said, "She seldom examined them. Her eyesight was very bad. She refused to get gla.s.ses until very recently."

"Ah..." said the detective. "And how did your father convince you he was not the murderer?"

"He reminded me that he saw me on the ground floor when the murder must have been committed. Just after mother dismissed me, I had to help one of the guests get parked outside."

"I was on my way in to pick up Claudia," said the actor. "We said h.e.l.lo in pa.s.sing. It will hold."

"Perhaps," said Chan. "I hope so." His head was clearing under the double impact of the brandy and the aspirins. It would hurt for a day or so - but he had endured worse. As for his throat, the discomfort was entirely external, thanks to his fortuitous rescue. Chan did not feel proud of himself at that moment. Twice he had been surprised by an unexpected a.s.sailant. Twice he had been easily taken.

The first time, he had lost the jeweled fly. The second time, he had lost consciousness, might well have lost his life. He pondered the purpose of his unseen a.s.sailant. He questioned Roberts further about the man he had seen, but the actor could not or would not give further details.

He said, "In the first place, Inspector, I was too busy trying to save your life to pay attention to details. In the second place, the view to the south is all screwed up."

Chan let it go. He said, to both of them, "Did anyone else see you greet one another at the time of the murder, when you met downstairs?"

They looked at one another thoughtfully. After a moment, the girl said, "There were Mr. and Mrs. Hillburn, I think. Remember?"

"Lloyd and Jeannie!" said the actor, looking relieved. "Of course they said h.e.l.lo as they went in."

"There were others around," the girl added. "But I don't remember them for sure. Do you, Gil?" she asked, looking at her father.

Roberts shrugged wearily, said, "It was a large party."

Chan filed the names in his memory. Pat Jarvis could check it out more easily than he could. Personally, Chan felt quite certain the alibi would stand up. The question remained - whether it was a true one or had been arranged after the event. That, Jarvis could check out' too. There was another question he considered asking his benefactors, but he decided to hold it until the father-daughter story was found to hold water - or not.

Instead, he asked the girl about the jeweled fly How, he said, had it happened to fall off?

Annie said promptly, "I have considered that. I believe the diameter of the neck of the jar and the shape of the jade ginseng root, plus perhaps the thief's hurry, caused it to be knocked loose."

Smart girl, Chan thought. He said, "How firmly was it fastened to the root?"

"Like all the insects on the genuine jewels, it was not glued or nailed. There were tiny p.r.o.ngs on the tips of the legs that fitted into matching holes and slots in the jade." She paused, looking at Roberts.

Chan nodded. This was entirely in keeping with the period and craftsmanship of the creation of the unique treasure. The superb artisans who did the actual carving would have scorned rivets or staples as unlike nature.

To Roberts, he said, "Miss Haynes - you are old friends?"

The actor nodded, made a wry grimace, said, "Old - si. Friends - not exactly. Claudia was my agent when I got started in Hollywood, as she is now. She was Mei T'ang's agent, too. That's how we met."

Roberts paused, sighed, added, "Claudia and I were an item until I fell in love with your mother, Annie. I probably would have married Claudia if she'd let me. But Claudia was all business and felt it might hurt my career - and her commission cut of same."

"And after you fell in love with Mei T'ang?" Chan asked.

"The relationship was not so good. In fact, it might be said to have curdled. Claudia is a very possessive woman."

"Yet she remained your agent?"

"Not by choice," said the actor. "She had me lashed to an iron-bound contract. As I just said, she's a very possessive woman."

"Perhaps you can clarify one thing that puzzles me," said Chan.

"If I can," the actor replied.

"Just how is Miss Haynes proposing to put her package deal together now that her Bette Davis - Joan Crawford is gone?"

From the look the girl and the actor exchanged, Chan sensed that he had touched a vital spot. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Roberts replied.

Then he said, "Claudia wants to exploit the publicity over the murder to put Annie in her mother's role."

Chan blinked. Again he was surprised, not this time by a criminal action but by the utter cold-bloodedness of the agent's proposal. He said, "Isn't Annie a little young?"

The actor said, "That's the core of the idea - to have Annie playing her own mother playing a part old enough to be her grandmother. Claudia considers it a masterstroke. Remember, she thinks almost entirely in terms of exploitation."