Chan sighed. “You have made everything a delay,” he remarked, “and caused me to waste much precious time. I can admire your loyalty to this dead woman -” He paused. “Haie, I would enjoy to know such a woman. What loyalty she inspired. An innocent girl obstructs the police in defense of her memory, a man who could not have been guilty pleads to be arrested as her murderer, doubtless from same motive.”
“Do you think Robert Fyfe took those lost bits of the photograph?” Bradshaw inquired.
Charlie shook his head. “Impossible. He had not yet arrived on scene. Alas! it is not so simple as that. It is not simple at all.” He sighed. “I fear I will be worn to human skeleton before I disentangle this web. And you” - he looked at the girl - “you alone have melted off at least seven pounds.”
“I’m so sorry,” Julie said.
“Do not fret. Always my daughters tell me I am too enormous for beauty. And beauty is, of course, my only aim.” He stood up. “Well, that is that. Jimmy, do not let this young woman escape you. She has proved herself faithful one. Also, she is most unexpert deceiver I have ever met. What a wife she will make for somebody.”
“Me, I hope,” Bradshaw grinned.
“I hope so, too.” Charlie turned to the girl. “Accept him, and all is forgiven between you and me. The seven pounds is gladly donated.”
She smiled. “That is an offer. Oh, Mr. Chan, I’m so happy that everything is settled between us. I didn’t like to deceive you - you’re so nice.”
He bowed. “Even the aged heart can leap at talk like that. You give me new courage to go on. On to what? Alas! the future lies hidden behind a veil - and I am no Tarneverro.”
He left them standing together beneath a hau tree, and walked slowly to his car. Emerging from the drive, he narrowly escaped collision with a trolley. “Wake up, there!” shouted the motorman in rage, and then, recognizing a member of the Honolulu police force, sought to pretend he’d never said it. Charlie waved to him and drove on.
The detective was lost in a maze of doubt and uncertainty. The matter of the emerald ring was clear at last - but still he was far from his goal. One point in Julie’s story interested him deeply. It had been Denny Mayo’s picture that he had sought to put together the previous night.
Up to now he had thought himself balked in that purpose by some one who did not wish him to know the identity of the man over whose portrait Shelah had wept so bitterly. But might the motive not have been the same that prompted the destruction of the pictures at the library? The same person, undoubtedly, had been busy in both instances, and that person was bitterly determined that Inspector Chan should not look upon the likeness of Denny Mayo. Why?
Charlie resolved to go back and relive this case from the beginning. But in a moment he stopped. Too much of a task for this drowsy afternoon. “Much better I do not think at all,” he muttered. “I will cease all activity and put tired brain in receptive state. Maybe subconscious mind sees chance and leaps on job during my own absence.”
In such a state of suspended mental effort he turned his car into the drive of the Grand Hotel and, parking it, walked idly toward the entrance. A stiff breeze was blowing through the lobby, which was practically deserted at this hour of the day.
Sam, the young Chinese who rejoiced in the title of head bell-man, was alert and smiling. Charlie paused. There was a little matter about which he wished to question Sam.
“I hope you are well,” he said. “You enjoy your duties here, no doubt?” Leading up, he would have called it.
“Plenty fine job,” beamed Sam. “All time good tips.”
“You know man they call Tarneverro the Great?”
“Plenty fine man. Good flend to me.”
Charlie regarded the boy keenly. “This morning you spoke to him in Cantonese. Why did you do that?”
“Day he come, he say long time ago he live in China, knows Chinese talk plitty well. So he and I have talk in Cantonese. He not so good speaking, but he knows what I say allight.”
“He didn’t seem to understand you this morning.”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. This moahning I speak all the same any othah day he has funny look an’ say don’ unnahstand.”
“They are peculiar, these tourists,” Chan smiled.
“Plenty funny,” admitted Sam. “All same give nice tips.”
Charlie strode on to the lounge, and through that to the terrace. He sat down there.
His vacation from thinking had been brief indeed, for now he was hard at it again. So Tarneverro understood the Cantonese dialect. But he did not wish Charlie Chan, whom he was so eager to assist in the search for Shelah Fane’s murderer, to know that he understood it. Why was that?
A smile spread slowly over Charlie’s broad face. Here at last was a fairly simple question. Tarneverro’s initial act in helping to solve the murder had been the pointing out of the fact that the watch had been set back, and that the alibis for two minutes past eight were consequently worthless.
But would he have done that if he had not first overheard and understood Charlie’s conversation with the cook - if he had not known that Wu Kno-ching had seen Shelah Fane at twelve minutes past eight and that the gesture with the watch was, accordingly, useless? His prompt display of detective skill had seemed, at the time, to prove his sincerity. But if he understood Cantonese, then he was simply making a virtue of necessity and was not sincere at all.
Charlie sat for a long time turning the matter over in his mind. Was his eager assistant, Tarneverro the Great, quite so eager as he appeared to be?
Chapter XIX
TARNEVERRO’S HELPING HAND
Val Martino, the director, came down the steps from the hotel lounge, a dashing figure in his white silk suit and flaming tie. He might have been the man on the cover of some steamship folder designed to lure hesitating travelers to the tropics. His gaze fell on Charlie, lolling at ease in a comfortable chair and looking as though he had not a care in the world. The director came over immediately.
“Well, Inspector,” he remarked, “I scarcely expected to see you in such a placid mood just now. Unless you have already solved last night’s affair?”
Chan shook his head. “Luck is not so good as that. Mystery still remains mystery, but do not be deceived. My brain moves, though my feet are still.”
“I’m glad of that,” Martino replied. “And I hope it gets somewhere soon.” He dropped into a chair at Charlie’s side. “You know that thing last night just plain wrecked two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of picture for me, and I ought to hurry to Hollywood on the next boat and see what’s to be done about it. Whoever killed Shelah certainly didn’t have the best interests of our company at heart, or he’d have waited until I finished my job. Oh, well - it can’t be helped now. But I must get away as soon as possible, and that’s why I’m plugging for you to solve the problem at once.”
Chan sighed. “Everybody seems to suffer from hurry complex. An unaccustomed situation in Hawaii. I am panting to keep in step. May I ask - what is your own idea on this case?”
Martino lighted a cigarette. “I hardly know. What’s yours?” He tossed the match on to the floor, and the old Chinese with the dust-pan and brush came at once, casting a look at Charlie which seemed to say: “This is exactly the sort of person I would expect to find in your company.”
“My ideas do not yet achieve definite form,” Chan remarked. “One thing I do know - I am opposed in this matter by some person of extreme cleverness.”
The director nodded. “It looks that way. Well, there were several clever people at Shelah Fane’s house last night -“
“Yourself included,” Charlie ventured.
“Thanks. Naturally, that had to come from you. But it’s true enough.” He smiled. “I am speaking, of course, in confidence when I say there was another man present of whose cleverness I have never had the slightest doubt. I don’t like him, but I’ve always thought him pretty smooth. I refer to Tarneverro the Great.”
C
han nodded. “Yes, he is plenty quick. One word with him, and I had gathered that.”
The director flicked the ash from his cigarette on to the floor. The old Chinese brought an ash-tray and set it close beside him on the small table.
“There are all kinds of seers and crystal-gazers fattening on the credulity of Hollywood,” Martino continued. “But this man is the ace of the lot. The women go to him; and he tells them things about themselves they thought only God knew. As a result -“
“How does he discover these things?” Charlie asked.
“Spies,” the director answered. “I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he has spies working for him night and day. They pick up interesting bits of news about the celebrities, and pass them along to him. The poor little movie girls think he’s in league with the powers of darkness, and as a result they tell all. That man knows enough secrets to blow up the colony if he wants to do it. We’ve tried to run him out of town, but he’s too smart for us. You know, I’m rather sorry I stopped Jaynes last night when he wanted to beat Tarneverro up. I believe it would have been a grand idea. But on the other hand, Shelah’s name would have been dragged into it, and remembering that, I broke up the row. The pictures are my profession, there are lots of fine people in the colony, and I don’t like to see them suffer from harmful publicity. Unfortunately the decent ones must share the disgrace when the riffraff on the fringe misbehaves.”
“Was it your intention,” Chan inquired, “to hint that Tarneverro the Great may have killed Shelah Fane?”
“Not at all,” responded Martino hastily. “Don’t get me wrong. I was only trying to point out that if you sense a clever opponent in this affair, you should remember that there are few men cleverer than the fortune-teller. Further than that, I say nothing. I don’t know whether he did it or not.”
“For the time between eight and eight-thirty last night,” Chan informed him, “Tarneverro has most unshakable alibi -“
Martino stood up. “He would have. As I told you, he’s as slick as they come. Well, so long. Good luck to you - and I mean that with all my heart.”
He strolled off toward the glittering sea and left Chan to his thoughts. In a few moments the detective arose with sudden decision and went to the telephone booth in the lobby. He got his Chief on the wire.
“You very much busy now?” he asked.
“Not especially, Charlie. I’ve got a date with Mr. and Mrs. MacMaster here at five-thirty, but that’s an hour away. Is anything doing?”
“Might be,” Chan answered. “I can not tell. But I will shortly require backing of your firm authority for little investigation at Grand Hotel. Pretty good idea if you leaped into car and rode out here at once.”
“I’ll be right with you, Charlie,” the Chief promised.
Going to the house phone, Charlie called the room of Alan Jaynes. The Britisher answered in a sleepy tone. The detective informed him that he was coming up immediately to talk with him and then stepped to the hotel desk.
“Without calling room, can you ascertain if Mr. Tarneverro is in residence?” he asked.
The clerk glanced at the letter box. “Well, his key isn’t here,” he said. “I guess that means he’s in.”
“Ah, yes,” nodded Chan. “If you will be so kind, do this big favor for me. Secure Mr. Tarneverro on wire, and say that Inspector Chan passed through here in too great rush to bother himself. But add that I desire to see Mr. Tarneverro soon as can be in lobby of Young Hotel downtown. Say it is of fierce importance and he must arrive at once.”
The clerk stared. “Downtown?” he repeated.
Chan nodded. “The idea is to remove him from this hotel for a brief space of time,” he explained.
“Oh, yes,” smiled the clerk. “I see. Well, I suppose it’s all right. I’ll call him.”
Charlie went up to the room occupied by Alan Jaynes. The Britisher admitted him, yawning as he did so. He was in dressing-gown and slippers, and his bed was somewhat disheveled.
“Come in, Inspector. I’ve just been having forty winks. Good lord - what a sleepy country this is!”
“For the malihini - the newcomer - yes,” Chan smiled. “We old-timers learn to disregard the summons. Otherwise we would get nowhere.”
“You are getting somewhere, then?” Jaynes asked eagerly.
“Would not want to say that, but we are traveling at good pace - for Hawaii,” responded Charlie. “Mr. Jaynes, I have come to you in spirit of most open frankness. I am about to toss cards down flat on table.”
“Good,” Jaynes said heartily.
“This morning you told me you had never been in pavilion, never even loitered in neighborhood of place?”
“Certainly I did. It’s the truth.”
Charlie took out an envelope, and emptied on to a table the stub of a small cigar. “How, then, would you explain the fact that this is found just outside window of room in which Shelah Fane met sudden death?”
Jaynes looked for a long moment at this shabby bit of evidence. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he remarked. He turned to Chan, an angry light in his eyes. “Sit down,” he said. “I can explain it, and I will.”
“Happy to hear you say that,” Chan told him.
“This morning, when I was in my bath,” the Britisher began, “about eight o’clock, it must have been, some one knocked on my door. I thought it was the house-boy, and I called to him to come in. I heard the door open, and then the sound of footsteps. I asked who it was, and - why the devil didn’t I break his neck last night?” he finished savagely.
“You have reference to the neck of Tarneverro the Great?” Charlie inquired with interest.
“I have. He was here in this room, and said he wanted to see me. I was rather taken aback, but I told him to wait. I stood up in the tub and began a brisk rub-down - will you come with me to the bathroom, Mr. Chan?”
Surprised, Chan rose and followed.
“You will observe, Inspector, that there is a full-length mirror affixed to the bathroom door. With the door slightly ajar - like this - a person standing in the bath has a view of a portion of the bedroom - the portion which includes the desk. I was busy with my rub-down when I suddenly saw something that interested me keenly. A box of those small cigars was lying on the desk, with a few gone. I saw, in the mirror, Mr. Tarneverro walk over and help himself to a couple of them. He put them in his pocket.”
“Good,” remarked Chan calmly. “I am much obliged to the mirror.”
“At first I thought it was merely a case of petty pilfering. Nevertheless, I was deeply annoyed, and I planned to go out and order him from my room. But as I finished drying myself and got into my dressing-gown, it occurred to me that something must be in the air. I decided to say nothing, lie low, and try to find out, if possible, what the beggar was up to. I didn’t guess - I’m a bit dense, I’m afraid - it never popped into my mind that he wanted to involve me in Shelah’s murder. I knew he had no love for me, but somehow - that’s not the sort of thing -
“Well, I came out and asked him what he wanted. He looked me boldly in the eye and said he had just dropped in to urge that I let bygones be bygones, and shake hands on it. No reason why we shouldn’t be friends, he thought. Felt that Miss Fane would wish it. Of course, I was aching to throw him from the window, but I controlled myself. Out of curiosity, I invited him to have one of my cigars. ‘Oh, no, thanks,’ he said. ‘I never use them.’
“He ran on about Miss Fane, and how it would be best if we dropped our enmity of last night. I was cool but polite - I even shook hands with him. When he had gone, I sat down to think the thing out. What could have been his purpose in taking those cigars? As I say, I couldn’t figure it. Now, of course, the matter is only too clear. He proposed to scatter a few false clues. By gad, Inspector - why should he take the trouble to do that? There’s just one answer, isn’t there? He murdered Miss Fane himself.”
Chan shrugged. “I would be happy to join you in thinking that, but first several matters must be wiped aw
ay. Among others - an air-tight alibi.”
“Oh, hell - what’s that?” Jaynes cried. “A clever man always has an alibi.” His heavy jaws snapped shut. “I appreciate what Mr. Tarneverro tried to do for me - I do, indeed. When I see him again -“
“When you see him again, you will make no noise,” Charlie cut in. “That is, if you wish to be of help.”
Jaynes hesitated. “Oh - very good. But it won’t be easy. However, I’ll hold my tongue if you say so. Was there anything else you wanted?”
“No, thanks. You have supplied me with plenty. I go on my way with renewed energy.”
Waiting for the elevator, Chan thought about Jaynes’ story. Was it true? Perhaps. It seemed a rather glib explanation, but was the Britisher clever enough to concoct such a tale on the spot? He appeared to be a stolid, slow-thinking man - always going somewhere to be by himself and figure things out. Could such a man - Charlie sighed. So many problems!
He stepped cautiously from the elevator and peered round the corner. The coast seemed to be clear and he went to the desk. “Has Mr. Tarneverro departed?” he inquired.
The clerk nodded. “Yes - he went out a moment ago, in a great hurry.”
“My warmest thanks,” Charlie said.
His Chief was coming up the hotel steps, and he went to greet him. Together they sought out a secluded corner.
“What’s up?” the Chief wanted to know.
“Number of things,” Chan replied. “Mr. Tarneverro bursts into investigation and demands our strict attention.”
“Tarneverro?” The Chief nodded. “That fellow never has sounded good to me. What about him?”
“For one point,” Charlie answered, “he understands Cantonese.” He told of making that discovery, which had served to turn his thoughts toward the fortune-teller. “But since I called you, even more important evidence leaps up,” he added. Briefly he repeated Jaynes’ story about the cigars.
The Chief whistled. “We’re getting there, Charlie,” he cried.
Charlie Chan [4] The Black Camel Page 19