Sullivan shut him up with a hard-eyed glance, then turned to the Chinese man. "Now, what's all this about?" he asked. "Do you speak English?"
"Speakee little Englis'," the old man said, bobbing his head. "See man back in alley, him have can like that." He withdrew one of his hands from his sleeves and pointed a finger at the melted kerosene container. "Him pour out what inside can, then strike match and throw down." The old man made an eloquent gesture. "Everything go poof."
Ingersoll nodded triumphantly. "There! There's your proof, Chief."
"Looks like we'll have to list this one as arson, all right," Sullivan agreed. He turned his attention back to the witness. "The man you saw, was he white?"
The Chinese man nodded.
"What did he look like?"
The Chinese man just shook his head and shrugged.
"Well, was he big or small?"
After a moment of thought, the Chinese man said, "Small." He pointed at Ingersoll. "Like him."
Ingersoll's eyes widened indignantly. "What? Is this Chinaman accusing me of burning down my own warehouse?"
"Man I see scurry away fast. Like rat."
Ingersoll's face flushed even darker. Sullivan moved between him and the Chinese elder. "Thanks," he said. "You can go now."
The Chinese man bowed, turned, and walked away at a sedate pace.
Cole said, "He wasn't saying that you burned down your own building, Garrett, just that the arsonist reminded him of you."
"And of a rat," Patsy added under his breath, drawing a scowl from Ingersoll.
"I demand that the police be brought in and that whoever is responsible for this be caught," Ingersoll said.
"The coppers are already here," Chief Sullivan pointed out. "I saw Inspector Fernack a few minutes ago. I'll find him and let him know about the Chinaman's testimony." He added solemnly, "We'll do everything we can to catch the man responsible for this, Mr. Ingersoll. You have my word on that."
The chief's pledge seemed to mollify Ingersoll somewhat. He nodded and said, "All right," then ran his fingers through his hair again. "I supposed I'd better go see about the insurance claim." Still muttering, he strode off, leaving Chief Sullivan, Lieutenant Driscoll, Cole, and Patsy standing there.
"This is the second fire in a week down here on the docks," Sullivan said. "I don't much like that, boys. Something is starting here, and if we're not careful, it's going to get out of control just like a fire on a windy day."
Cole didn't say anything, but he was thinking about Wing Ko. There had been no evidence found around the warehouse belonging to Brady Enterprises, but maybe that fire had been set, too, and the arsonist had simply been. more careful. This fire was definitely arson, but why would Wing Ko have any reason to strike at Garrett Ingersoll?
Maybe the tong was making a move to take over Ingersoll's holdings as well, Cole mused. He was going to have to have a discreet talk with Ingersoll. Cole didn't want to start blaming things on the tong without more proof. If he jumped to conclusions and acted too soon, he might well spark off a war that would spread from Chinatown across the city.
Well, all this trouble had accomplished one thing, he thought wryly as he headed back to the pumper. It had gotten his mind off Annabel Lowell.
At least for a little while . . .
****
The first step in Annabel's plan was an excursion to Golden Gate Park. Now that she had enlisted Mrs. Noone and Mellisande and Lucius in her effort, they were all eager to help, even Lucius—though he would not have been so undignified as to admit it. He was handling the reins of the buggy horse as it pulled the vehicle along Golden Gate Avenue and into the vast, greenery-filled park. Annabel rode in the back with Mellisande. Mrs. Noone had remained at the house in Pacific Heights, though she had insisted that she would attend the competition itself in a couple of days' time. She had put aside the project of writing her memoirs so that Annabel could devote all of her time to getting ready for the contest.
The park looked similar enough to the way it did in Annabel's time for her to be able to find her way around. None of the art museums and pavilions from her own era had been built yet, but the Conservatory, an elaborate reconstruction of Kew Gardens in London, was already there. Annabel felt a pang of familiarity when she saw it. For the most part, however, the park was just open ground dotted with groves of trees and small gardens and lakes. The largest structure was a band shell where the fire department bands from San Francisco and Oakland would perform.
Canvas tents had been erected in the middle of the park. Lucius brought the buggy to a halt on the path and said, "This will be the headquarters for the competition. One tent for the San Francisco department"—he nodded toward it— "and one for Oakland."
"You're sure about which is which?" Annabel asked.