“Mayo!” cried Chan. He and the Chief exchanged a triumphant glance.
“Yes. He told you this morning he was alone when he came to work for us. I can’t think why he said that - it wasn’t true. You see, he and his brother came to us together.”
“His brother?”
“Yes, of course - his brother, Denny Mayo.”
Chapter XXI
THE KING OF MYSTERY
Chan’s breath came a little faster as he listened to this unexpected bit of news. Tarneverro was Denny Mayo’s brother! No wonder, then, that the fortune-teller had been so eager to learn from Shelah Fane the name of Mayo’s murderer. No wonder he had offered to help Chan to the limit of his ability in the task of finding out who had silenced Shelah just as she was, supposedly, on the point of telling.
And yet - had he carried out that promise to assist? On the contrary, he had evidently been placing in Chan’s way every obstacle possible. Puzzles, puzzles - Charlie put his hand to his head. This man Tarneverro was the king of mystery.
“Madam, what you say is very interesting,” the detective remarked. His eyes brightened. On one point, at least, light was breaking. “Will you be kind enough to tell me - was there resemblance in features between those two men?”
She nodded. “Aye, there was, though many people might not have noticed, because of the difference in age and coloring. Denny was blond, and Arthur very dark. But the first time I saw them, standing side by side in my kitchen, I knew they were brothers.”
Chan smiled. “You have contributed something to our solution, madam, though up to moment of present speaking, only the gods know what. I think that is all we now require of you. Do I speak correctly, Chief?”
“Yes, that’s right, Charlie. Mr. MacMaster, I’m obliged to your wife and you for this visit.”
“Not at all, sir,” the old man answered. “Come, Mother. I - I’m not quite comfortable about this. Perhaps you’ve talked a wee bit too much.”
“Nonsense, Thomas. No honest man is ashamed of his name - and I’m sure Arthur Mayo is honest. If he’s not, he’s sore changed from what he was when we knew him.” The old lady rose.
“As for the alibi,” her husband said stubbornly, “we stick to that - through thick and thin. Tarneverro was with us from eight to eight-thirty, and if the murder was done in that half-hour, he didn’t do it. To that I’ll swear, gentlemen.”
“Yes, yes - I suppose you will,” the Chief replied. “Good evening, sir. Madam - a great pleasure to meet you.”
The old couple went out, and the Chief looked at Charlie. “Well, where are we now?” he inquired.
“Tangled in endless net, as always,” Chan answered. “One thing I know - Tarneverro waits for me at Young Hotel. I will call him at once and request his presence here.”
When he had done so, he came back and sat down beside his superior. His brows were contracted in thought.
“The case spreads itself,” he remarked. “Tarneverro was Denny’s brother. That ought to give us big boost toward our solution, but other way about, it only increases our worry. Why did he not tell me that? Why has he, as matter of fact, fiercely struggled to keep it from me? You heard what lady said about resemblance. That explains at once why all pictures of Mayo were torn to bits. Tarneverro was willing to travel long length to make sure we do not discover this fact just related to us.” He sighed. “Anyhow, we have learned why portraits were destroyed.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t get us anywhere,” the Chief replied. “If it was his brother who was killed, and he was on the point of asking you to arrest the murderer as soon as Shelah Fane revealed the name, I’d think that he would naturally tell you of his connection with Mayo - especially after the news of Miss Fane’s death. It would have been a logical explanation of his interest in the case. Instead of telling you, he tries desperately to keep the relationship hidden.” The Chief paused. “Strange none of these Hollywood folks ever noticed a resemblance between Mayo and the fortune-teller.”
Chan shook his head. “Not likely they would. The two visit town at widely separated times, and were not seen together there. Many people, Mrs. MacMaster said, would not note the resemblance, but Tarneverro flatters me by assuming I am one who would. As for others, he knows well it is the kind of likeness almost no one sees until it is pointed out. Then everybody sees it. Human nature is like that.”
“Human nature is getting to be too much for me,” growled the Chief. “What course do you propose to take with this fortune-teller when he gets here?”
“I plan to walk softly. We will say nothing about his many misendeavors, but we will speak of this thing we have just learned. What reasons will he give for his silence? They may have vast significance.”
“Well, I don’t know, Charlie. It might be better to keep him in the dark even on that point.”
“Not if we pretend we hold no suspicion whatever. We will assume instead a keen delight. Now we know he has every reason to help us, and the skies brighten above our weary heads.”
“Well, you handle him, Charlie.”
A few moments later Tarneverro strode debonairly into the room. His manner was aloof and a bit condescending, as though he found himself in quaint company but was man of the world enough to be at home anywhere. He nodded at Charlie.
“Ah, Inspector, I waited for you a long time. I’d about given you up.”
“A thousand of my humblest apologies,” Chan returned. “I was detained by heavy weight of business. May I present my honored Chief?”
The fortune-teller bowed. “A great pleasure. How are you getting on, Inspector? I’ve been very eager to know.”
“Natural you should be. Only a moment ago did we upearth fact which makes us realize how deep your interest is.”
Tarneverro glanced at him keenly. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean we discover that Denny Mayo was your brother.”
Tarneverro stepped over and laid his walking-stick on a desk. The act, it seemed, gave him a moment for thought.
“It’s true, Inspector,” he remarked, facing Chan again. “I don’t know how you found it out -“
Charlie permitted himself a quiet smile of satisfaction. “Not many things remain buried through investigation such as we are making,” he remarked gently.
“Evidently not.” Tarneverro hesitated. “I presume you are wondering why I didn’t tell you this myself?”
Chan shrugged. “Undoubtedly you possessed good reason.”
“Several reasons,” the fortune-teller assured him. “For one thing, I didn’t believe that such knowledge would help you in any way in solving the case.”
“Which is sound thinking,” Chan agreed readily. “Still - I must confess slight hurt in my heart. Frankness between friends is like warm sun after rain. The friendship grows.”
Tarneverro nodded and sat down. “I suppose there’s a great deal in what you say. I’m rather sorry I kept the relationship to myself, and I apologize most humbly. If it’s not too late, Inspector, I will give you the whole story now -“
“Not at all too late,” Chan beamed.
“Denny Mayo was my brother, Inspector, my youngest brother. The relationship between us was more like that of father and son. I was intensely fond of him. I watched over him, helped his career, took pride in it. When he was brutally murdered, the shock was a terrible one for me. So you can easily understand why I say” - his voice trembled with sudden passion - “that to avenge his death has been for three years my chief aim - indeed my only aim. If the person who killed Shelah Fane is the same man or woman who murdered Denny - then, by heaven, I can not rest until justice is done.”
He rose and began to pace the floor.
“When I heard the news of Denny’s murder, I was playing in a London production. There was nothing I could do about it at the moment - I was too far away. But at my earliest opportunity I went to Hollywood, determined to solve the mystery of his death. I thought that the chances of my doing so would be better if I di
d not arrive in the picture colony as Denny’s brother, but under an assumed name. At first I called myself Henry Smallwood - it was the name of a character I had lately played.
“I looked around. The police, it was evident, were completely at sea on the case. Gradually I became impressed by the number of seers and fortune-tellers of various sorts in Hollywood. They all seemed to be prospering, and it was rumored that they were the recipients of amazing confidences and secrets from the lips of the screen people.
“A big idea struck me. In my younger days I had been an assistant to Maskelyne the Great, one of a long line of famous magicians, and a man of really remarkable powers. I had some talent in a psychic way, had told fortunes as an amateur and had the nerve to carry the thing through. Why not, I thought, take an impressive name, set myself up as a crystal-gazer, and by prying into Hollywood’s secrets, seek to solve the mystery of poor Denny’s death? The whole thing looked absurdly simple and easy.”
He sat down again.
“So for two years, gentlemen, I have been Tarneverro the Great. I have listened to stories of unrequited love, of overwhelming ambition, of hate and intrigue, hope and despair. It has been interesting, many secrets have been whispered in my ear, but until recently the one big secret I longed to hear was not among them. Then, out of a blue sky, yesterday morning at the Grand Hotel, my moment came. I finally got on the trail of Denny’s murderer. It took all my will power to control myself when I realized what was happening. Shelah Fane told me she was in Denny’s house that night - she saw him murdered. I had difficulty restraining myself - I wanted to leap upon her then and there and wring the name of his killer from her reluctant lips. Three years ago I would have done it - but time - well, we grow calmer with the passage of time.
“However, once I discovered she knew, I would never have left her until she told. When you saw me last night, Inspector, my hopes were running high. I proposed to take you with me to her home after the party, and between us I felt certain we could drag out that name at last. I intended to hand the guilty person over to you immediately, for” - he looked at the Chief - “I need hardly tell you that I have never thought of avenging the crime in any other manner. From the first, I proposed to let the courts deal with Denny’s killer. That was, of course, the only sane way.”
The Chief nodded gravely. “The only way, of course.”
Tarneverro turned toward Chan. “You know what happened. Somehow this person discovered that Shelah was on the verge of telling, and silenced her for ever. On the very threshold of triumph, I was defeated. Unless you find out who killed poor Shelah, my years of exile in Hollywood will very likely go for nothing. That’s why I’m with you - that’s why I want” - his voice trembled again - “the murderer of Shelah Fane more than I’ve ever wanted anything in all my life before.”
Charlie looked at him with a sort of awe. Was this the man who had been scattering all those false clues about the place?
“I am glad of this frankness, lately as it arrives,” the detective said, with an odd smile.
“I should have told you at once, I presume,” Tarneverro continued. “I was, as a matter of fact, on the point of explaining my relationship to Denny as we rode down to Shelah’s house. But, I reflected, the information would not help you in the least. And I did not want it to become known why I was telling fortunes in Hollywood. If it did, of course my career there would be ended. Suppose, I said to myself, Inspector Chan fails to find Shelah Fane’s murderer. In that case I must go back to Hollywood and resume my quest. They are still coming to me with their secrets. Diana Dixon consulted me to-day. That is why, until Denny’s murderer is found, I do not want my real name made public. I rely on you gentlemen to be discreet.”
“You may do so,” Chan nodded. “Matter remains buried as though beneath Great Wall of China. Knowing how firmly you are with us in this hunt adds on new hope. We will find Shelah Fane’s murderer, Mr. Tarneverro - and your brother’s all same time.”
“You are making progress?” asked the fortune-teller eagerly.
Charlie regarded him fixedly. “Every moment we are approaching nearer. One or two little matters - and we are at journey’s end.”
“Good,” said Tarneverro heartily. “You know now my stake in the affair. I hope you will forgive me that I didn’t reveal it fully at the start.”
“Explanation has been most reasonable,” smiled Chan. “All is forgiven. I think you may now be excused.”
“Thank you.” Tarneverro glanced at his watch. “It is getting on toward the dinner hour, isn’t it? I’m sorry that what I have told you is of no vital importance in your search. If there were only some really valuable contribution that I could make -“
Chan nodded. “Understand your feeling plenty well. Who knows? Your opportunity may yet arise.” He escorted Tarneverro from the room, and out the front door of the station house.
When he returned, the Chief was slumped down in his chair. He looked up with a wry smile. “Well,” he remarked, “what was wrong with that picture?”
Charlie grinned. “Pretty much everything,” he responded. “Tarneverro plenty queer man. He wants to help - so he robs cigar from Mr. Jaynes and drops same outside pavilion window. He thirsts for my success - so he writes note that causes me to waste time on innocent Mr. Van Horn. He has mild little reason, of no importance, for not telling me he is Denny Mayo’s brother - but he rages about destroying pictures of Denny as though he would keep matter from me or die in the attempt. He beholds letter in which may be written name of Denny’s killer, and when I am about to open it, he kicks out light and smashes me in face.” Chan rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “Yes, this Tarneverro plenty peculiar man.”
“Well, where do we go from here?” the Chief inquired. “It begins to look like one of your stone walls, Charlie.”
Chan shrugged. “In which case, we circle about, seeking new path. Me, I get renewed interest in beachcomber. Why was he in pavilion room last night? More important yet, what was conversation he overheard between Shelah Fane and Robert Fyfe, for suppression of which Fyfe pays handsome sum?” He moved toward the door. “Kashimo has now played his game of hide-and-seek long time enough. I go to bestow inside small quantity of provisions, and after that I myself will do a little scouring of this town.”
“That’s the talk,” his Chief cried. “You go after that beachcomber yourself. I’ll eat downtown too, and come back here as soon as I’ve finished. You’ll find me here any time after seven.”
Charlie went to the telephone and called his house, getting his daughter Rose on the wire. He announced that he would not be home for dinner. A sharp cry of protest answered him.
“But, Dad, - you must come home. We all want to see you.”
“Ah - at last you begin to feel keen affection for poor old father.”
“Sure. And we’re dying to hear the news.”
“Remain alive a small time longer,” he advised. “There are no news as yet.”
“Well, what have you been doing all day?” Rose wanted to know.
Chan sighed. “Maybe I should put my eleven children on this case.”
“Maybe you should,” she laughed. “A little American pep might work wonders.”
“That is true. I am only stupid old Oriental -“
“Who says you are? I never did. But Dad, if you love me, please hurry.”
“I will speed,” he answered. “If I do not, I perceive I can not come home tonight.”
He hung up the receiver and went to a near-by restaurant, where he ate a generous dinner.
Refreshed and fortified, he was presently strolling down King Street toward Aala Park. Dusk was falling over that littered stretch of ground, the campus of the undergraduates in the hard school of experience. They lolled about on the benches, some of them glancing up at Charlie with hostile eyes under discreetly lowered lids. There was muttering as he passed, an occasional curse from the lips of some one who had met the detective under circumstances none too pleasant. He paid n
o attention to any of them - he was seeking a man in a velvet coat and duck trousers that had once been white.
The Park yielded nothing. He crossed to a street of mean shops and shabby business. Above his head, on a fragile balcony, an enormous Filipino woman in a faded kimono puffed on an after-dinner cigar. Charlie moved along into a section of Honolulu quite unknown to tourists who breathed the pure air of the beach and raved about the beauty of these islands.
There was no beauty in the River District, only squalor and poverty; seven races jumbled together in an international slum. He heard voices raised in bitter argument, the weeping of children, the clatter of sandals, and, even here, the soft whine of Hawaiian music. The Song of the Islands floated lazily on the fetid air. Over a doorway that led to a dark and dirty stair, he saw the sign: “Oriental Cabaret.”
He paused for a moment in the glare of the lights that formed this sign. A girl was approaching, dark-skinned, slender, graceful. He stood aside to let her pass, and saw her face. The tropics, lonely islands lost in vast southern seas - a lovely head against a background of cool green. Quickly he followed her up the stairs.
He came into a bare room with a sagging roof. There were many tables with blue and white checkered cloths; painted girls were eating at the rear. A suave little proprietor came forward, rubbing his hands with outward calm, but somewhat disturbed inside.
“What you want, Inspector?”
Charlie pushed him aside and followed the girl he had seen below. She had taken off her hat and hung it on a nail; evidently she worked here.
“Begging your pardon,” Chan began.
She looked at him, fear and defiance mingling in her smoldering eyes. “What you want?”
“You are acquainted with haole - white man - Smith, the beachcomber?”
“Maybe.”
“He painted your portrait - I have seen it. A beautiful thing.”
The girl shrugged. “Yes, he come here, sometimes. I let him make the picture. What of it?”
“Have you seen Mr. Smith lately?”
Charlie Chan [4] The Black Camel Page 21