“Please detail your activities from hour of twenty minutes past seven onward,” Chan requested.
“I was engaged with my duties, sir, in the dining-room and the kitchen. I may add that it has been a rather trying evening, in my department. The Chinese cook has exhibited all the worst qualities of a heathen race - I’m sure I beg your pardon.”
“A heathen race,” repeated Charlie gravely, “that was busy inventing the art of printing at moment when gentlemen in Great Britain were still beating one another over head with spiked clubs. Pray excuse this brief reference to history. The cook has been in uproar?”
“Yes, Constable. He has proved himself sorely deficient in that patience for which his people have long been noted. Then, too, the - er - the bootlegger, to use one of your - or their - American phrases, has been unforgivably late.”
“Ah - you already possess bootlegger?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Fane was a temperate woman herself, but she knew her duties as a hostess. So Wu Kno-ching, the cook, arranged with a friend to deliver a bit of liquor just out of the laboratory, and a wine of the most recent vintage.”
“I am deeply shocked,” Chan replied. “Wu’s friend was late?”
“He was indeed, sir. As I say, I was busy with my duties from the moment I gave Miss Fane the flowers. At two minutes past eight -“
“Why do you make selection of two minutes past eight?”
“I could not help but overhear your questions to these others, sir. At that moment I was in the kitchen -“
“Alone?”
“No, sir. Wu was there, of course. And Anna, the maid, had dropped in for a cup of tea to sustain her until dinner. I called Wu’s attention to the fact that it was already past eight o’clock, and we had a few words about the bootlegger’s tardiness. The three of us remained there together until ten after eight, when Wu’s friend made a rather sheepish appearance, and I immediately set about to do what I could with the ingredients he brought. At fifteen past eight, I came out to admit Mr. Van Horn. From that point on I was in and out of this room, sir, but I did not leave the house until I went to the beach and sounded the dinner gong.”
“I am obliged to you for a most complete account,” Charlie nodded. “That is all, Jessop.”
The butler hesitated. “There is one other matter, Constable.”
“Ah, yes. What is that?”
“I do not know whether or not it has any significance, sir, but it came back to me when I heard this terrible news. There is a small library upstairs, and to-day, when I had cleared away the luncheon things, I went in there to secure a book, planning to take it to my room as a recreation during my siesta. I came suddenly upon Miss Fane. She was looking at a photograph and weeping most bitterly, sir.”
“A photograph of whom?”
“That I couldn’t say, sir, save that it was of some gentleman. She held it so I could not obtain a better view of the face, and hurriedly left the room. All I can tell you is that it was a rather large photograph, and was mounted on a mat that was Nile green in color.”
Chan nodded. “Thank you so much. Will you be kind enough to dispatch heathen cook into my presence, Jessop?”
“I will indeed, sir,” replied Jessop, and withdrew.
Charlie looked about the circle. “The matter lengthens itself out,” he remarked kindly. “I observe beyond windows a cool lanai crowded with nice Hongkong chairs. Any who wish to do so may stroll to more airy perch. One thing only I ask - please do not leave these grounds.”
There followed a general movement and amid a low buzz of comment all save Bradshaw, Julie, Tarneverro and Chan went out on the dim lanai. The fortune-teller looked keenly at Charlie.
“What have you accomplished?” he wanted to know.
Charlie shrugged. “Up to the present moment, I seem to have been setting off fireworks in the rain.”
“That’s precisely what I thought,” Tarneverro said impatiently.
“Do not lose heart -” Chan advised. “Changing the figure, I might add that to dig up the tree, we must start with the root. All this digging is routine matter that does not fascinate, but at any moment we may strike a root of vital importance.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Tarneverro remarked.
“Oh, you trust Charlie,” Bradshaw said. “One of Honolulu’s first citizens, he is. He’ll get his man.”
Wu Kno-ching came in, mumbling to himself, and Charlie addressed him sharply in Cantonese. Looking at him with sleepy eyes, Wu replied at some length.
The high-pitched, singsong exchange of words between these two representatives of the oldest civilized nation in the world grew faster and louder, and on Wu’s part, seemingly more impassioned. The three outsiders stood there deeply interested; it was like a play in some dead language; they could not understand the lines but they were conscious of a strong current of drama underneath. Once Chan, who had up to that point been seemingly uninterested, lifted his head like a bird-dog on the scent. He went closer to the old man, and seized his arm. One recognizable word in Wu’s conversation occurred again and again. He mentioned the “bootleggah.”
Finally, with a shrug, Chan turned away.
“What’s he say, Charlie?” asked Bradshaw eagerly.
“He knows nothing,” Chan answered.
“What was all that about the bootlegger?”
Charlie gave the boy a keen look. “The tongue of age speaks with accumulated wisdom, and is heard gladly, but the tongue of youth should save its strength,” he remarked.
“Yours received and contents noted,” smiled the boy.
Chan turned to Julie. “You have spoken of Miss Fane’s maid. She alone remains to be interviewed. Will you be so good as to produce her?”
Julie nodded and went out. Wu Kno-ching still lingered at the door, and now he burst into a tirade, with appropriate gestures. Charlie listened for a moment, and then shooed the old man from the room.
“Wu complains that no one eats his dinner,” he smiled. “He is great artist who lacks appreciation, and his ancient heart cracks with rage.”
“Well,” remarked Jimmy Bradshaw, “I suppose it’s an unfeeling thing to say, but I could put away a little of his handiwork.”
Chan nodded. “I have thought of that. Later, perhaps. Why not? Do the dead gain if the living starve?”
Julie returned, followed by Anna, the maid. The latter was a dark thin woman who moved gracefully.
“The name, please?” Chan inquired.
“Anna Rodderick,” she answered. There was just a trace of defiance in her tone.
“You have been with Miss Shelah Fane how long?”
“Something like a year and a half, sir.”
“I see. Before that you were perhaps employed elsewhere in Hollywood?”
“No, sir, I was not. I went with Miss Fane the day after my arrival there, and I have never been employed by any one else in the picture colony.”
“How did you happen to go to California, please?”
“I was in service in England, and a friend wrote me of the higher wages that prevailed in the States.”
“Your relations with Miss Fane - they were pleasant?”
“Naturally, sir, or I wouldn’t have remained with her. There were many other positions available.”
“Did she ever admit you into her confidence regarding personal affairs?”
“No, sir, she did not. It was one of the things I liked about her.”
“When did you last see your mistress?”
“At a bit before seven-thirty. I was about to go down to the kitchen for a cup of tea, for I saw that my dinner was likely to be long delayed. Miss Fane came to her room - I was in the one adjoining. She called to me and said she wanted a pin for some orchids she had in her hand. I went and got it for her.”
“Kindly describe the pin.”
“It was a rather delicate affair, set with diamonds. About two inches long, I should say. I fastened the flowers to the shoulder-strap of her gown.”
&nb
sp; “Did she remark about those flowers?” Charlie inquired.
“She said they were sent to her by some one of whom she was once very fond. She seemed a bit excited.”
“What happened next?”
“She sat down at the telephone,” Anna told him. “There is an extension in her room. She looked up a number in the telephone book and then busied herself with the dial, sir.”
“Maybe you heard subsequent conversation?” Chan suggested.
“I am not accustomed to spying, sir. I left her at once and went down to the kitchen.”
“You were in the kitchen at two minutes past eight?”
“Yes, sir. I recall the hour because there was a great deal of talk between Jessop and the cook about the bootlegger.”
“You were still in the kitchen when this bootlegger came, at ten minutes past eight?”
“I was, sir. A little later I went back to my room.”
“You did not see your mistress again?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“One other thing.” Chan looked at her thoughtfully. “Kindly speak of her manner during the day. Was it same as always?”
“I noticed nothing unusual.”
“You did not note that she was seen with a portrait - the portrait of a gentleman - during the afternoon?”
“I was not here this afternoon. It was our first day ashore, and Miss Fane kindly gave me a few hours off.”
“Have you ever seen, among Miss Fane’s possessions, portrait of gentleman mounted on Nile-green mat?”
“Miss Fane always carried with her a large portfolio, containing many pictures of her friends. It may be such a one is among them.”
“But you never saw it?”
“I have never opened the portfolio. That would seem too much like prying - if I may say so, sir.”
“Do you know where portfolio is now?” Charlie asked.
“I believe it is lying on a table in her room. Shall I fetch it for you?”
“A little later, perhaps. Just now I would inquire - you are familiar with jewelry usually worn by Miss Fane on occasion of evening party? Aside from diamond pin fastening orchids, I mean?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Will you come with me, please?”
Leaving the others in the drawing-room, he led the maid across the moonlit lawn in the direction of the pavilion. They went in, and Anna lost her composure for a moment at sight of Shelah Fane. She gave a strangled little cry.
“Kindly conduct thorough search,” Chan said to her, “and inform me if all jewelry is at present time in place.”
Anna nodded without speaking. The coroner came over to greet Chan.
“I’ve made my examination,” he said. “This is a pretty big thing, Charlie. I’d better send somebody to help you out.”
Chan smiled. “I have Kashimo,” he answered. “What more could any man ask? Tell Chief I will report entire matter to him at earliest convenience.” They stepped out on the lanai of the pavilion, and at the same moment Kashimo crept like a correspondence-school sleuth from a cluster of bushes at the corner of the building.
“Charlie - come quick,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Kashimo has discovered essential clue,” Charlie said. “Please join us, Mr. Coroner.”
They followed the Japanese through the bushes and out upon a public beach that bounded the property on the right. On that side of the pavilion, which stood flush with the dividing line, was a single window. Kashimo led them to this, and swept a flash-light over the sand.
“Footprints-s-s!” he hissed dramatically.
Charlie seized the light and knelt on the sand. “True enough, Kashimo,” he remarked. “These are footprints, and peculiar ones, too. Shoes were old and battered, the heels are worn down unevenly, and in sole of one shoe was most unfashionable hole.” He stood up. “I fear that fortune has not been smiling on owner of that footwear,” he added.
“I am one to find things,” remarked Kashimo proudly.
“You are,” smiled Charlie, “and for once you do not destroy clue the moment you come upon it. You are learning, Kashimo. Warm congratulations.”
They returned to the lawn of Shelah Fane’s house. “Well, Charlie, this is up to you,” the deputy said. “I’ll see you early in the morning - unless you want me to stay.”
“Your duty is accomplished,” Chan answered, “Or will be when you have made proper arrangements in city. Body will of course be taken at once to mortuary.”
“Certainly,” the deputy replied. “Well, good-by - and good luck.”
Chan turned to Kashimo. “Now great opportunity arises for you to perform your specialty,” he said.
“Yes-s-s,” Kashimo answered eagerly.
“Go to house, inquire for bedroom of Miss Shelah Fane, and search -“
“I go now,” cried Kashimo, leaping away.
“Stop!” commanded Charlie. “You are one grand apprentice detective, Kashimo, but you never pause to inquire what it is you sleuth for. On table of that room you will find large portfolio of photographs. I very much desire to see portrait of gentleman mounted on mat that is colored Nile green -“
“Nile is new word to me,” the Japanese complained.
“Yes - and I have no time for geography lesson now,” sighed Chan. “Bring me all photographs in room mounted on cardboard colored green. If none such is in portfolio, search elsewhere. Now be off. The portrait of a gentleman, remember. If you return with pretty picture of Fujiyama I will personally escort you back to private life.”
Kashimo sped across the lawn, and Charlie again entered the pavilion. Anna was standing in the center of the room.
“You made investigation?” he inquired.
“I did,” she said. “The pin that fastened the flowers is nowhere about.”
“A matter already known to me,” he nodded. “Otherwise the ornamental equipment is complete?”
“No,” she replied. “It isn’t.”
He regarded her with sudden interest. “Something is missing?”
“Yes - an emerald ring - a large emerald that Miss Fane usually wore on her right hand. She told me once that it represented quite a bit of money. And - it has disappeared.”
Chapter VII
THE ALIBI OF THE WATCH
Charlie sent the maid back to the house, and then sat down in the straight-backed chair before the dressing-table. The sole illumination in the little room came from two pink-shaded lamps, one on either side of the mirror. Thoughtfully he stared into the glass where, dimly reflected, he caught occasional glimpses of an ivory satin gown. Shelah Fane now lay on the couch where the coroner had placed her. All the loves and the hates, the jealousies, the glittering triumphs of this tempestuous career were ended tonight. A woman of flame, they had called her. The flame had flickered and died like a candle in the wind - in the restless trade-wind blowing from the Koolau Range.
Chan’s small eyes narrowed in an intense effort at concentration. In one of her more indiscreet moments, Shelah Fane had seen Denny Mayo murdered. For three years she had carried the secret about with her until - and this moment was even more indiscreet - she poured it into the willing ears of Tarneverro the Great, a crystal-gazer - a charlatan, no doubt. That same night, the black camel had knelt before her gate.
Carefully in his mind, the detective began to go over the points his investigation had so far revealed. He was not one to carry a note-book, but he took an envelope from his pocket, and with a pencil began to write a list of names on the back. He was thus engaged when he heard a step behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the lean mysterious figure of Tarneverro.
The fortune-teller came forward and dropped into a chair at Chan’s side. He stared at the detective, and there was disapproval in that stare.
“Since you have asked me to work with you in this affair,” he began, “you will perhaps pardon me if I say I think you have been extremely careless.”
Charlie’s eyes opened wide. “Yes?” he said.
“I refer to Miss Fane’s letter,” continued Tarneverro. “It may have been the answer to all our questions. In it the poor girl may have written the name we so eagerly seek. Yet you made no move to search the people in that room - you even pooh-poohed the idea when I offered it. Why?”
Chan shrugged. “You think, then, we have to deal with a fool? A miscreant who would take pretty complete pains to obtain the epistle, and then place it on his own person where a search would instantly reveal it? You are wrong, my friend. I had no taste for revealing how wrong you were, at the expense of further embarrassment for myself. No, the letter is hidden in that room, and sooner or later it will be found. If not - what of it? I have strong feeling that it contains nothing of the least importance.”
“On what do you base that feeling?” Tarneverro inquired.
“I have plenty as a base. Would Shelah Fane have written big secret down and then given it to servant who must pass it along to you? No, she would have awaited her opportunity and then delivered it to you with her own hand. I do not reprove you, but I believe you attach undue importance to that probably innocent epistle.”
“Well, the murderer certainly thought it important. You can’t deny that.”
“Murderer was in state of high excitement and took unnecessary risk. If he takes few more like that, we are at trail’s end.”
Tarneverro, with a gesture, dismissed the matter. “Well, and what have you discovered from all your questions?” He glanced at Chan’s notes.
“Not much. You perceived that I was curious to learn who was in Hollywood three years ago last month. Assuming that the story is true - the story you say Shelah Fane told you this morning -“
“Why shouldn’t it be true? Does a woman make a confession like that as a joke?”
“Never,” answered Chan, somewhat sharply for him. “And for that reason I am remarking I assume it to be true. It is, then, important to locate our many suspects in June three years ago. I have written here the names of all who were in Hollywood at that time, and consequently may have slain Denny Mayo. They are Wilkie Ballou, Rita his wife, Huntley Van Horn. And - ah, yes - Jessop, the butler. I regret that, overwhelmed by account of bloody shirt, I neglected to make inquiries of Miss Dixon.”
Charlie Chan [4] The Black Camel Page 7