Weird Tales/Volume 36/Issue 8/The Lips of Caya Wu

After all, the mandarin had only sent Peter Larkin a coffin, a knife and other pleasant little gifts . . .
The Lips of Caya Wu
By Frank Owen
I
Peter Larkin's death had been
accomplished with complete efficiency.
At four-thirty on Wednesday
he had locked the door of his private
office, written terse farewell notes to a few
business associates, consumed half a quart
of whiskey, then fired a bullet into his heart. ​Death was instantaneous. He was still
clutching the revolver when they found
him.
The authorities tabulated it as suicide,
and the case was closed. But his friend,
Kerle Andrews, a free-lance feature writer
had a hunch that it was murder, and not
without reason. Francis Channing had
phoned him and there was panic in his
voice. He was Peter Larkin's greatest
friend. Why was he so perturbed? Why
did he want Kerle Andrews to come to his
office at once? It was an interesting item
to chew on. He was always on the alert
for new ideas, and here was a plot ready-made.
II
When Kerle Andrews arrived at Channing's
office in the Graybar Building, the
architect was in a state bordering on hysteria,
walking up and down the room, his
colorless face resembling a death mask.
As Kerle Andrew

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