Charlie Chan [4] The Black Camel

by Earl Derr Biggers

  Fyfe stood up, and pushed the money away. “Oh, that’s all right. It was a rather good painting - that’s how I feel about it. Keep the money and get yourself some decent clothes.”

  Smith’s pale gray eyes shone with gratitude. “By heaven - you’re a gentleman. It does a fellow good to meet you. I feel something stirring within me - can it be a great resolve? They tell me there’s a scarcity of stewards on the boats. Tomorrow morning I’ll buy myself some new things, and sign on for the trip to the coast. San Francisco - it’s only a short walk from there to Cleveland. Yes - by the lord - I’ll do it.”

  “Good luck to you,” Fyfe answered.

  “Thanks. May I trouble you - one more cigarette? You’re very kind.” He moved to the door, stopped and came back. “Somehow, Chief, I don’t like to leave you. Will you do me a favor?”

  The Chief laughed. “I might,” he said.

  “Lock me up until morning,” the beachcomber went on. “Don’t let me go into the street with all this money on me. I might be held up, or possibly - possibly - What I mean is, put me in a safe place overnight, and the chances of getting rid of me tomorrow will be a lot better than they look right now.”

  “With pleasure,” nodded the Chief. “Come with me.”

  Smith waved a hand at Charlie Chan. “Remind me in the morning, Inspector, I owe you a dime - ten cents.” He followed the Chief from the room.

  Charlie turned to Fyfe. “You are now in demand at playhouse. I am deeply grateful for all you have told.”

  “Mr. Chan - if you could only keep this thing about Shelah from reaching the public -“

  Charlie shook his head. “I am so sorry, but I fear same can not be done. The matter has vital connection with her murder.”

  “I suppose it has,” Fyfe sighed. “Well, anyhow, you’ve been mighty decent to me, and I appreciate it.”

  Chan bowed him out.

  Left alone, the detective stared thoughtfully into space. He was standing thus when the Chief strode again into the room. For a moment they regarded each other.

  “Well,” the Chief said, “so Tarneverro’s story was a lie. And you’ve based your whole investigation on it. It’s not like you, Charlie, to be tricked like that.”

  Chan nodded. “If I had time to do so, I would droop my head in shame. However, I choose now to forget the past. From this point on, my investigation takes new turn -“

  “What do you mean - from this point on?” his Chief demanded. “The case is ended - don’t you know that?”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m sure of it. In the morning Shelah Fane tells Tarneverro she killed Denny Mayo. Mayo was his brother. In the evening, she’s found murdered. What could be simpler than that? I’m going to arrest the fortune-teller at once.”

  Charlie raised his hand. “No, no - I advise against that. You forget his alibi, solid as stone wall, not to be shaken.”

  “We’ll have to shake it. It’s evidently false. It must be. Either those old people are lying to save him, or else he tricked them as he tricked you -“

  “I do not think so,” Chan said stubbornly.

  “What’s the matter with you, Charlie? Losing your grip? We never had a clearer case than this. The little matter of the alibi -“

  “Something else, too,” Chan reminded him. “Why did Tarneverro say he would call me down the beach to arrest a murderer? His words stick in my mind and will not be unlodged. I tell you firmly, this problem not yet solved.”

  “I can’t understand you, Charlie.”

  “Only one thing made clear by Mr. Fyfe’s interesting story. I know now why Mr. Tarneverro did not wish me to open letter written by Shelah Fane. He feared I would learn at once his tale of seance with the lady was false in details, and house of cards would tumble about his ears. Fortunate for him, letter when finally opened was so worded as to add strength to his lie. ‘Please forget what I told you this morning. I must have been mad - mad.’ Then he knew that blow struck in the dark was not needed, after all. Must have wished to give himself a few resounding kicks.” Chan paused. “Yes, Mr. Tarneverro has muddled me with his deceit from very start. Still, I do not believe him guilty of murder.”

  “Well, what do you propose to do?” the Chief demanded. “Just sit here and twiddle your thumbs, with me to help you?”

  “I am no thumb-twiddler,” replied Chan with spirit. “I propose to act.”

  “On what? We have no more clues.”

  Charlie took the diamond pin from his pocket. “We have this.” He handed it over. “Will you kindly oblige by making study of same?”

  The Chief examined it. “The pin itself is broken in the middle, isn’t it? Half of it seems to be gone.”

  Chan nodded. “Undubitably gone. And when we find that missing end, our case is solved.”

  The Chief looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “How was pin broken? When watch was smashed, murderer wished to provide further evidence of struggle that might make smashing of watch more probable. So he tore off orchid flowers and trampled them beneath foot. When he ripped off flowers, pin unfastened and came with them. No doubt it lay on floor, point uppermost. Perhaps that point drove deep into heel of murderer’s shoe, and broke off there. Did this happen, and did it go unnoticed by killer? It might. If so, there may be telltale scratches on polished floors of house at Waikiki. I speed there at once to look for same.”

  The Chief pondered. “Well, there might be something in it, at that. I’ll give you a chance to find out. Go along, and I’ll wait here for news.”

  In the doorway, Charlie encountered Kashimo. The little Japanese was worn and dispirited. “Have combed town twenty, maybe fifty, times. Mr. Smith no longer exists.”

  “A fine detective you are,” growled the Chief. “Smith is out there in a cell now. Charlie found him.”

  Disappointment and distress showed in the eyes of the Japanese. Charlie paused at the door and came back. He patted the little man’s shoulder.

  “Cheer yourself up,” he said kindly. “Be good boy, attend all meetings of Y.M.B.A., and you will yet win success. Nobody is perfect. Take look at me. Twenty-seven years on force, and I am nowhere near so clever as I thought I was.”

  He walked slowly from the room.

  Chapter XXIII

  THE FATEFUL CHAIR

  Charlie rode out to the beach for what he hoped would be his final call at Shelah Fane’s house. The moon had not yet risen, the sky was purple velvet pierced by ineffectual stars, the flowering trees hid their beauty somewhere in the calm breathless dark. Twenty-four hours ago, in this same period of impenetrable night before the coming of the moon, the black camel had knelt at Shelah Fane’s gate.

  Though he knew now the secret in the woman’s past, knew that she had done a grievous wrong, he still thought of her with the deepest sympathy. She had never stood in court to answer for her crime, but she had suffered none the less. What torture those three years must have been! “Perhaps in the end I may find a little happiness. I want it so much” - thus she had written in her last pitiful note. Instead she had found - what? The black camel waiting to carry her away into the unknown.

  Whatever the motive behind her murder may have been, Chan reflected, the act itself was heartless and cruel. He was firmly resolved that the person who had killed her should be found and made to pay. Found - but how? Would the little pin resting in his pocket come nobly to his aid? He hoped desperately that it would, for it was his sole reliance now.

  The banyan tree’s shade was like ink on the front lawn of the huge rambling building that had been the famous star’s last home. Chan parked his car, switched off its lights, and leaped nimbly to the ground.

  Jessop, serene and dignified as ever, let him in. “Ah, Constable, I was rather expecting you. What a pleasant evening to be abroad. Mild and fragrant, I should call it, sir.”

  Chan smiled. “I am too busy man, Jessop, to have concern with perfumes of the night.”

  “Ah, yes, I presume your
time is fairly well occupied, Constable. Is there - if I may make bold to inquire - any news regarding the homicide?”

  Chan shook his head. “Not up to present moment.”

  “I regret to hear that, sir. The young people are on the beach - Miss Julie and Mr. Bradshaw, I mean. Whom did you wish to interrogate?”

  “I wish to interrogate the floors of this house,” Chan told him.

  Jessop raised his white eyebrows. “Indeed, sir. My old father used to say that walls have ears -“

  “Floors, also, may repeat a story,” Charlie returned. “If you have no inclination for objecting, I will begin in living-room.”

  He pushed through the heavy curtains. Diana Dixon was sitting at the piano, softly playing. She got up.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “You want somebody?”

  “I want somebody very much,” Chan nodded. “At end of trail I hope to find him - or her.”

  “Then you haven’t yet discovered who killed poor Shelah?”

  “I have not. But subject is unhappy one. Why are you not on beach? That is place for youth at this hour?”

  Diana shrugged. “What’s the beach without a man? And there aren’t enough to go round, evidently.”

  “A situation rare in your neighborhood, I will wager,” Charlie smiled.

  “Oh, a change does us all good.” She watched him as he stood there, looking impatiently about the room. “What are you going to do now? I’m so thrilled by all this -“

  “Now, I am going to be unbearably rude,” he replied. “I find myself in uncredible position of wanting to dispense with your company. Will you kindly wait on the lanai?”

  She pouted. “I hoped you were going to ask me to help you.”

  “In such charming company as yours, I fear I could not keep mind on work.” He held open the French window. “As a very great favor, please -“

  With obvious reluctance she went out, and he closed the window after her. He did not wish to appear undignified in the presence of a witness, and it was his intention now to be undignified indeed. He turned on all the lights in the room and with some difficulty, got down on his knees. Taking a magnifying-glass from his pocket, he began a close scrutiny of the highly polished floor wherever it was uncovered by rugs.

  For a long time he crept about, until his knees ached. But he did not mind that, for his efforts were richly rewarded. Here and there he encountered numerous little scratches which had been, without doubt, recently made. He breathed hard, and his black eyes shone with satisfaction.

  Suddenly a brighter idea struck him. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the dining-room. The table, he was happy to note, was the same size it had been on the previous evening. Jessop was putting away silver in the sideboard. He turned.

  “I observe,” Chan remarked, “that you have not yet reduced size of dining table.”

  “I couldn’t, sir,” replied the butler. “All the leaves are already out. The former occupants of this house, it would appear, were of a most hospitable temperament.”

  “Just as well,” nodded Chan. He was pleased to see that the big table stood on the bare floor; the room was without rugs save for a small one that lay in the doorway. “Do me a great favor, if you will, Mr. Jessop. Kindly place ten chairs about this board, in identical positions they occupied last night.”

  Puzzled, Jessop obeyed. When he had finished, Charlie stood for a moment in deep speculation.

  “They now stand just as they did when you served dinner guests with coffee, some twenty-two hours ago?”

  “Precisely,” the butler assured him.

  Without a word, Charlie pulled back a chair and disappeared beneath the table. One by one, mute evidence of his activity there, the chairs were pushed away, while Jessop stared with an amazement rarely seen on his imperturbable face. With a flash-light added to his equipment, Chan made the long circuit. Finally he came up as though for air.

  “Were place-cards used for last night’s dinner?” he inquired.

  “No, sir. It was a rather informal affair, and Miss Fane told me she would seat the guests herself.”

  “Then when they came in here for coffee, they sat in no prearranged order?”

  “Oh, no, sir. They just sat anywhere their fancy dictated.”

  “Is there chance you happen to remember who sat in which place?”

  Jessop shook his head. “I’m sorry, Constable. It was a somewhat disturbing evening. I was a bit - unnerved, I fear.”

  Charlie laid his hand on the chair at the right of the one the hostess would no doubt have occupied. “You can not, then, tell me who it was reclined here?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Chan. One of the gentlemen. I fancy. But - I - I really don’t know.”

  Charlie studied a moment. “Thank you so much. The telephone is in the hall closet, I believe?”

  “Yes, sir. I will show you -“

  “No need to trouble,” Chan told him. “I will find it.”

  He went out to the hall and shutting himself in the hot cubby-hole under the stairs, made numerous calls. Finally he rang up his Chief.

  “Inspector Chan speaking,” he said. “May I humbly suggest that you bring one other good man with you, and come immediately to house of Shelah Fane?”

  “Something doing, Charlie?” asked the Chief.

  Chan pulled the door shut as far as it would go. Little beads of perspiration began to pop out on his forehead.

  “Pin is about to lead us to success,” he replied in a low voice. “On floor of living-room repose plenty fresh scratches. What is more, during time of investigation last night, guests who expected to enjoy dinner sat down round dining table for abbreviated repast. Floor is bare beneath table, and in front of one chair - and only one - more scratches are in evidence.”

  “Who sat in that chair?” the Chief demanded.

  “The murderer of Shelah Fane,” Chan answered. “The name I do not yet know. But I have just now summoned to house six guests, who, with three already here, make up complete list. When all are assembled we lead them to dining-room and ask them, please; to sit where they did last night. Chair of dead hostess was at head of table, facing door to hall. Note who sits down in chair at right of hostess. Same will be person we so hotly seek.”

  The Chief laughed. “Going to make a big drama out of it, eh, Charlie? Well, that’s all right with me, so long as it means success. I’ll be with you pronto.”

  Chan returned to the hall, mopping his brow. He caught a glimpse of the coat-tails of Jessop, hastily disappearing through the curtains of the dining-room door. With an idle step he moved along, and came finally to the lanai, where he encountered Miss Dixon.

  “Living-room is again at your disposal,” he bowed.

  She rose and came toward him. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked eagerly.

  He shrugged. “Who in this world finds what he looks for? Success - what is it? A bubble that explodes when touched by human hand.” And he strolled off toward the beach.

  At his right, as he crossed the lawn, lay the pavilion, dark and empty tonight. Close by the sea, seated together in a beach chair intended for one person only, he came upon Julie and Jimmy Bradshaw. The boy rose.

  “Why, it’s good old Charlie,” he cried. “Honolulu’s noted sleuth. How are you, and what’s the news?”

  “News seems to be that spell of Waikiki Beach is still intact,” Chan answered. “I am so sorry to interrupt this touching scene.”

  Bradshaw held out his hand. “Shake, Charlie. You’re the first to hear about it. I’m going to be married. And oh, yes, - Julie is too.”

  “Plenty good news,” returned Chan heartily. “May you have half the happiness I wish you - the full amount would be impossible.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Chan,” Julie said.

  “You’re a great old scout,” Bradshaw remarked. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss this beach, too -“

  “What is that? You leave Honolulu?”

  “Oh - sure.”
/>   “You depart from this lovely spot, about which you have written one million words -“

  “I’ve got to, Charlie. Have you ever stopped to think about the effect of all this languid beauty on a young man’s character? Devastating, that’s what it is. On this crescent beach, fanned by the warm breath of the south, and so on - what happens to him? He droops, he stagnates, he crumbles. No more coco-palms for me. Redwoods, Charlie. Do you know about the redwoods? They brace you up. They’re my trees hereafter. A big lumber and sap man from the West - that’s going to me my role.”

  Chan grinned. “You have failed to win Miss Julie to your views on Hawaii?”

  “It looks that way. Sold it to fifty thousand tourists, but not to the girl I love. That’s life, I suppose.”

  “When you go from here, you will leave much beauty behind,” Charlie said. “But you will also take much beauty with you, since Miss Julie goes along.”

  “Which remark, Mr. Bradshaw,” Julie laughed, “should have come from you.”

  “It would have, presently,” he answered.

  Chan stood staring at the rising moon, the curve of lights along the whispering shore. The sad music of Hawaii came drifting up from the Moana courtyard. “To be young, in love, and on this beach,” he said. “What greater happiness than that? Taste it to the full. It happens once, then time moves on. Moment comes when gold and pearls can not buy back the raven locks of youth.”

  “Why, Charlie, - you’re getting sentimental,” Bradshaw cried.

  Chan nodded. “I think of my own courtship on this shore - so long ago. How long, you wonder? I am now father of eleven children - judge for yourself.”

  “You must be very proud of them,” Julie ventured.

  “As proud as they will permit,” Chan answered. “At least, I have done my part to link past with future. When I move on, leaving eleven offspring, can any man say I have not been here? I think not.”

  “You’re certainly right on that,” Bradshaw assured him.

  “May I speak with you in private for a moment?” Charlie said. He walked with the boy back toward the lights of the house.