CHAPTER XIX

"GOOD-BY, PETE!" Charlie Chan lived in a bungalow that clung precariously to the side of Punchbowl Hill. Pausing a moment at the Chinaman's gate, John Quincy looked down on Honolulu, one great gorgeous garden set in an amphitheater of mountains. A beautiful picture, but he had no time for beauty now. He hurried up the brief walk that lay in the shadow of the palm trees. A Chinese woman--a servant, she seemed--ushered him into Chan's dimly-lighted living-room. The detective was seated at a table playing chess; he ro…