Charlie Chan [4] The Black Camel

by Earl Derr Biggers

  Charlie shrugged. “I have not lived in Honolulu all these years in state of blindness. Do not worry. I move now on feet shod with velvet, and my voice drips oil and honey.”

  Kashimo came in. He walked with dragging step and had a discouraged air.

  “Well, where’s this fellow Smith?” demanded the Chief.

  “No place, sir,” said Kashimo. “Melted like ice.”

  “Melted, hell! You go out again, and don’t come back without him.”

  “Look everywhere,” Kashimo complained. “All funny joints, upstair, in cellar. Comb town. No Smith.”

  Charlie went over and patted him on the back. “If at first you have drawn blank, resume the job,” he advised. He took a slip of paper from a desk and began to write. “I give you a list of unsavory places,” he explained. “Maybe you overlook some. Perhaps, after all, I have better knowledge of city’s wickedness than honored member of Young Men’s Buddhist Association like yourself.”

  He handed his list to the Japanese, who took it and left, followed by Charlie’s kindly encouragement.

  “Poor Kashimo,” Chan remarked. “When there is no oil in the lamp, the wick is wasted. In dealing with such a one, friendly words bring best results. Now I go forth to wallow some more in bafflement.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” his Chief called after him.

  Charlie set out for the Manoa Valley home of the Ballous. The business district disappeared behind him, and he traveled a street lined with great houses set on rolling lawns. Above his head flamed flowering trees, now in the last weeks of their splendor. He sped past Punahou Academy, and as he penetrated farther into the valley, he left the zone of sunshine for one of darkness. Black clouds hung over the mountains ahead and suddenly, borne on the wind, came a wild gust of rain. It beat fiercely on the top of the little car and blurred the windshield. Yet a mile away, at Charlie’s back, Honolulu sparkled in the midday sun.

  He reached the handsome house of Wilkie Ballou, and Rita received him in the dark drawing-room. Her husband, she explained, was upstairs dressing for his afternoon golf. In Honolulu a real golfer pays no attention to rain; it may be pouring on his street, but bright and sunny round the corner. Rita’s manner was cordial, and Chan took heart.

  “I am so sorry to obtrude my obnoxious presence,” he apologized. “If you never saw me again, I feel sure you would like it well enough. But - mere matter of form - I must inflict little talk on every one present at sad affair last night.”

  Rita nodded. “Poor Shelah! How are you getting on, Inspector?”

  “I make splendid progress,” he informed her blithely. There was, he felt, no occasion to go into that. “Would you speak with me little while about days when you were famous Hollywood figure?”

  With bored eyes, Rita looked out at the rain lashing against the window. “I certainly will,” she said.

  “May I add that you broke heart of my eldest daughter, who is great film fan, when you retired from silvery sheet? No one, she moans, is ever so good as you were.”

  Rita’s face brightened. “She remembers me? That’s sweet of her.”

  “Your fine skill will never be forgotten anywhere,” Chan assured her, and knew that he had made a friend for life.

  “How can I help you?” she inquired.

  Chan considered. “You knew Miss Fane in Hollywood?”

  “Oh, yes, quite well.”

  “It is wisely forbidden to speak ill of those who have ascended the dragon, but sometimes we must let old rules go down the board. Was there at any time scandal in the lady’s life?”

  “Oh, no, none whatever. She wasn’t that sort, you know.”

  “But she had what you call love-affairs?”

  “Yes, frequently. She was emotional and impulsive - never without a love-affair. But they were all harmless, I’m sure.”

  “Did you hear that once she loved a man named - Denny Mayo?” Charlie watched Rita’s face closely, and he thought she looked a little startled.

  “Why, yes - Shelah was rather wild about Denny at one time, I believe. She took it rather hard when he was - killed. You knew about that, perhaps?”

  “I know all about that,” answered Chan slowly. But to his disappointment, the words seemed to leave the woman quite calm. “You had acquaintance with this Denny Mayo yourself, I think?”

  “Yes - I was in his last picture.”

  Chan had an inspiration. “It may be you have photograph of Mayo somewhere among possessions?”

  She shook her head. “No - I did have some old stills, but Mr. Ballou made me burn them. He said he wouldn’t have me mooning about over the dear, dead past when I was -” She stopped, her eyes on the door.

  Charlie looked up. Wilkie Ballou, in a golf suit, was in the doorway. He strode grimly into the room.

  “What’s all this about Denny Mayo?” he demanded.

  “Mr. Chan was simply asking me if I knew him,” Rita explained.

  “Mr. Chan should mind his own business,” her husband growled. He walked over and faced Charlie. “Denny Mayo,” he said, “is dead and buried.”

  Chan shrugged. “I am so sorry, but he does not stay buried.”

  “He stays that way as far as my wife and I are concerned,” Ballou answered, and there was a certain dignity about him as he said it.

  For a moment Chan looked sleepily into the hostile eyes of the millionaire. “Your alibi for the night of Mayo’s murder,” he ventured, “seems to have enjoyed a fine success.”

  Ballou flushed. “Why not? It was the truth.”

  “So naturally, it prevailed.” Chan moved toward the door. “I am sorry if I have disturbed you -“

  “You haven’t disturbed me in the least,” Ballou snapped. “Just what did you expect to find here, anyhow?”

  “I thought I might chance upon photograph of Denny Mayo.”

  “And why should you want his photograph?”

  “Some unknown person objects to my looking at it.”

  “Is that so?” said Ballou. “Well, you won’t find Mayo’s picture here. Or anything else that will interest you, for that matter. Good day, Inspector; and I must ask you not to call again.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I travel where duty takes me. Would much prefer to loll in station house - but can you study swimming on a carpet? No - you must go where waters are deep. Good day, Mr. Ballou.”

  Rita followed him into the hall. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to help you,” she remarked.

  “Thanks all same,” bowed Chan.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “I want to see you succeed. If there was only something I could do -“

  Chan’s eyes caught the flash of rings on her fingers. “There might be,” he remarked suddenly.

  “Anything,” she replied.

  “Last night you saw Miss Shelah Fane after long separation. Quick glance of women catches points men despise to notice. You recall all she was wearing, no doubt?”

  “Why, of course. She had on a stunning gown - ivory satin, it was -“

  “I speak mostly of jewels,” Chan told her. “What woman is so blind she fails to note other woman’s jewelry?”

  Rita smiled. “Not I. She had on a gorgeous string of pearls, and a diamond bracelet -“

  “And her rings?”

  “Only one. A huge emerald I remember seeing in Hollywood. It was on her right hand.”

  “This was when you last encountered her? The young people were already in the water enjoying warm swim?”

  “Julie and that boy were - yes.”

  Charlie bowed low. “My gratitude has no bounds. Now I must go on with my work. Good-by.”

  He went out into the perpetual valley rain, and turned his car toward the sunlit beach.

  Chapter XVIII

  THE BELL-MAN’S STORY

  Julie and Jimmy Bradshaw sat on the white sand of Waikiki and gazed at an ocean that stretched, apparently empty of life, from this curving shore all the way to the atolls of the South Seas
.

  “Well, I suppose I’d better be getting along downtown,” remarked the boy. He yawned, and dropping on his back, watched the white clouds drift lazily across a cobalt sky.

  “Picture of a young man filled with pep and energy,” Julie smiled.

  He shuddered. “Very poor taste, my girl, introducing words like that into a conversation at Waikiki beach. It must be that, after all, I have given you a very imperfect idea of the spirit of this place. Here we loaf, we dream -“

  “But you’ll never get anywhere,” Julie reproved.

  “I’m there already,” he answered. “Why should I bestir myself? When you’re in Hawaii you’ve no place to go - you’ve reached heaven, and a change couldn’t possibly be an improvement. So you just sit down and wait for eternity to end.”

  Julie shrugged. “Is that so? Well, I’m afraid I’m not built that way. Great for a vacation, yes - this place is all you say of it. But as a permanent residence - well -“

  He sat up suddenly. “Good lord, you mean I haven’t sold you on it? Me - the greatest descriptive writer in history - and I’ve failed to put over the big deal of my life. James J. Bradshaw strikes a snag - meets failure face to face - it seems incredible. Where have I slipped up, Julie? Haven’t I made you feel the beauty of this island -“

  “Beauty’s all right,” the girl replied. “But how about its effect on character? It seems to me that when you’ve stopped moving, you’re going back.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “I went to a Rotary Club luncheon once myself - over on the mainland. Boys, we gotta progress or perish. Last year we turned out ten million gaskets, this year let’s turn out fifteen. Make America gasket-conscious. Take it from me -“

  “What were you saying about getting back to the office?”

  He shook his head. “I thought I’d cast you for the role of Eve in this paradise, and what a serpent you turn out to be. Getting back to the office is something we never do over here. We don’t want to wake the poor fellows who didn’t go out.”

  “That’s just what I’ve been saying, Jimmy.”

  “But dear Mrs. Legree, you don’t need to be chained to an office desk in order to accomplish things. You can work just as well lying down. For instance, a minute ago I was well started on a new appeal to tourists. ‘Come - let the laughing lei girl twine her garlands of flowers about your shoulders. Try your skill at riding Waikiki’s surf, or just rest in lazy luxury -’”

  “Ah, yes - that’s what you prefer to do -“

  “‘Under the nodding coco-palms.’ Don’t you like our coco-palms, Julie?”

  “They’re interesting, but I think I prefer the redwoods. You draw a deep breath in a redwood forest, Jimmy, and you feel like going out and licking the world. Can’t you see what I mean? This place may be all right for people who belong here - but you - how long have you been in Hawaii?”

  “A little over two years.”

  “Did you intend to stay here when you came?”

  “Well, now - let’s not go into that.”

  “You didn’t, of course. You just took the line of least resistance. Don’t you ever want to go back to the mainland and make something of yourself?”

  “Oh - at first -” He was silent for a moment. “Well, I’ve failed to make the sale on Hawaii, I guess. That will always leave a scar on my heart, but there’s something more important. Have I sold myself? I’m keen about you, Julie. If you’ll say the word -“

  She shook her head. “Don’t let’s go into that, either, Jimmy. I’m not what you think me - I’m horrid, really - I - oh, Jimmy, you wouldn’t want to marry a - a liar, would you?”

  He shrugged. “Not a professional one - no. But a clumsy amateur like you - why, you do it as though you’d had no experience at all.”

  She was startled. “What do you mean?”

  “All that about the ring. Why, in heaven’s name, do you go on with it? I’ve been wise ever since this morning, and as for Charlie Chan - say, I admire the polite way he’s treated you. I don’t believe you’ve fooled him for a minute.”

  “Oh, dear - I thought I was rather good.”

  “What’s it all about, Julie?” the boy inquired.

  Tears were in her eyes. “It’s about - poor Shelah. She took me in when I was broke and without a friend - she was always so good to me. I’d - I’d have done anything in the world for her - let alone tell a little lie.”

  “I won’t ask you to continue,” Bradshaw remarked. “I don’t have to. Don’t look around. Inspector Chan of the Honolulu police is approaching rapidly, and something in his walk tells me that this is the zero hour for you. Brace up. I’m with you, kid.”

  Charlie joined them, amiable and smiling. “Not too welcome, I think. But anyhow I attach myself to this little group.” He sat down, facing the girl. “What is your opinion of our beach, Miss Julie? Here you are deep in the languid zone. How do you like languor, as far as you have got with it.”

  Julie stared at him. “Mr. Chan, you have not come here to talk to me about the beach.”

  “Not precisely,” he admitted. “But I am firm believer in leading up. Suitable preparation removes the sting of rudeness. Making an example, it would have been undecently abrupt for me to stride up and cry: ‘Miss Julie, why do you lie to me about that emerald ring?’”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You think I have been - lying?”

  “More than think, Miss Julie. I know. Other eyes than Jessop’s saw the ring on Miss Fane’s finger long after you immersed in waters of Waikiki last night.”

  She did not reply. “Better own up, Julie,” Bradshaw advised. “It’s the best way. Charlie will be your friend then - won’t you, Charlie?”

  “Must admit feeling of friendship would suffer a notable increase,” Chan nodded. “Miss Julie, it is not true that Miss Fane gave you that ring yesterday to obtain cash for it?”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” the girl insisted. “That much is true.”

  “Then she took it back later?”

  “Yes - just after she returned from her interview with Tarneverro, about noon.”

  “Took it back, and wore it when she died?”

  “Yes.”

  “After the tragedy, you again obtained possession?”

  “I did. When Jimmy and I found her, I went in and knelt beside her. It was then I took the ring.”

  “Why?”

  “I - I can’t tell you.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “I can’t, and I won’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Chan.”

  “I also get deep pain from this.” Charlie was silent for a moment. “Can it happen you removed the ring because name of ‘Denny’ was engraved inside?”

  “Wh-what do you know about Denny?”

  Chan sat up with sudden interest. “I will tell you, and perhaps you will grow frank. I have learned that Shelah Fane was in Los Angeles house the very night Denny Mayo was murdered there. Consequently, she knew name of killer. It was scandal in her past she was eager to conceal. Perhaps, to aid that concealment, you yourself wished name of Denny Mayo kept out of all discussions. A natural desire to shield your friend’s reputation. But as you see, your actions have not availed. Now you may speak, with no injury to your dear benefactor.”

  The girl was weeping softly. “Yes, I guess I might as well tell you. I’m so sorry you know all that. I’d have given anything to keep Denny Mayo out of this.”

  “You were aware, then, of that scandal in Miss Fane’s past?”

  “I suspected that something was terribly wrong, but I didn’t know what. I was quite young - I had just come to Shelah - at the time of Denny’s - accident. On the night it happened, Shelah arrived home in a state of hysteria, and I was there alone with her. I took care of her the best I could. For weeks she wasn’t herself. I knew that in some way she was connected with Mayo’s murder, but until this moment, I never learned the facts. I was young, as I say, but I knew better than to ask questions.”

  “Coming to yesterday -” Chan prompted.r />
  “It was just as I told you - yesterday morning she said she must get hold of money at once, and she gave me the ring to sell. Then she went down to the Grand Hotel to see Tarneverro, and when she came back she was sort of hysterical again. She sent for me to come to her room - she was walking the floor. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. ‘He’s a devil, Julie,’ she cried. ‘That Tarneverro’s a devil - I wish I had never sent for him. He told me things about Tahiti and on the boat - how could he know - he frightened me. And I’ve done something terribly foolish, Julie - I must have been mad.’ She became rather incoherent then. I asked her what it was all about. ‘Get the emerald,’ she told me. ‘We mustn’t sell it, Julie. Denny’s name is inside it, and I don’t want any mention of that name now.’”

  “She was hysteric, you say?”

  “Yes. She was often that way, but this was worse, somehow. ‘Denny Mayo won’t die, Julie,’ she said. ‘He’ll come back to disgrace me yet.’ Then she urged me to get the ring, and of course I did. She told me we’d find something else to sell later. Just then she was too upset to discuss it. In the afternoon, I saw her crying over Denny Mayo’s picture.”

  “Ah,” cried Chan, “that was portrait of Denny Mayo mounted on green mat?”

  “It was.”

  “Continue, please.”

  “Last night,” Julie went on, “when Jimmy and I made our terrible discovery in the pavilion, I thought at once of what Shelah had said. Denny would come back to disgrace her yet. Somehow, I thought, his death must be connected with Shelah’s. If only his name could be kept out of it - otherwise I didn’t know what scandal might be revealed. So I slipped Denny’s ring from her finger. Later, when I heard mention of the photograph, I ran upstairs and tore it into bits, hiding them under a potted plant.”

  Chan’s eyes opened wide. “So it was you who performed that act? And later - when pieces of photograph scattered into wind - was it you who concealed large number of them?”

  “Oh, no - you’ve forgotten - I wasn’t in the room when that happened. And even if I’d been there, I wouldn’t have been clever enough to think of that. Some one came to my aid at a critical moment. Who? I haven’t the least idea, but I was grateful when I heard about it.”