The Black Camel

by The Black Camel [lit]

  "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 to-night. 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."

  "She has been in Hollywood six years," the fortune-teller informed him. "I know from what she has told me during the readings I have given her."

  "One more." Charlie wrote down the name. "I may, I presume, add Miss Julie - though very young at the time. Of these, for the hour of two minutes past eight to-night, two have been accounted for. Jessop presents plenty good alibi and Huntley Van Horn has perfect one, to which I myself can swear. Other things I learned - not very important - but it struck my mind, as it must have struck yours, that Mr. Alan Jaynes was breathless with anxiety to leave Hawaii to-night. Do not forget - it is within bounds of possibility that Denny Mayo murder had nothing to do with death of Shelah Fane. This Jaynes was in overwrought state; his may be fiercely jealous nature; he may have looked at those orchids, the gift of another, on the lady's shoulder, and -"

  "But he, too, has the alibi of the watch," Tarneverro suggested.

  "Alas! yes," Chan nodded.

  For a moment they sat in silence. Then Tarneverro rose, and walked slowly toward the couch. "By the way,
" he said casually, "have you made a thorough examination of this watch?"

  "So sorry." Chan rose and followed him. "You now call my attention to fact that I have neglected most obvious duty." Tarneverro was bending over, but Chan stopped him. "I will remove it at once and have careful look at it - though I am so dense I do not quite grasp your meaning."

  Taking a linen handkerchief from his pocket, he spread it over his left hand. With his other hand he unfastened the narrow black ribbon from Shelah Fane's wrist, and lifting the costly little watch, laid it on the handkerchief. He went back and stood directly under one of the lights, staring down at the timepiece.

  "Haie, I seem in stupid mood to-night," he sighed. "I am still at sea. Crystal is broken, watch has ceased to function at precisely two minutes past eight -"

  "Permit me," said Tarneverro. "I will be more explicit." He took both handkerchief and watch, and with the linen always between his fingers and the metal, turned the stem of the fragile timepiece. At his touch, the minute hand moved instantly.

  A flash of triumph shone in the fortune-teller's eyes. "That," he cried, "is more than I dared to hope for. The murderer has been guilty of a small error - it was very kind of him. He adjusted the stem so that the time shown on the face of the watch could be altered at will - and in his haste he forgot to readjust it. Surely I needn't tell you what that means."

  Charlie gave him a look of enthusiastic approval. "You are detective of the first class yourself - give me credit that I noted same this morning. I can never cease to be grateful to you. Of course I grasp meaning now."

  Tarneverro laid the watch down on the glass top of the dressing-table. "I think we may be sure of one thing, Inspector," he remarked. "At whatever hour the murder took place, it was certainly not at two minutes past eight. We are dealing with a clever man. After he had killed Shelah Fane he removed her watch, set the time back - or perhaps forward - to two minutes past eight, and then smashed the thing as though to indicate a struggle." The fortune-teller's eyes lighted; he pointed to the corner of the dressing-table. "That's the explanation of the nick in the glass. He banged the watch against that corner until he had stopped its running."

  Chan was instantly on the floor. "There is no glass beneath," he said.

  "No, no," Tarneverro continued. "There wouldn't be. The broken glass was naturally found where Miss Fane fell. And why? Because this unknown person removed the watch with a handkerchief, as you have done; he swung it against the table in that handkerchief to catch the bits of crystal, and carried the wrecked remains intact to the spot where he wanted them. A bright boy, Inspector."

  Charlie nodded. Obvious chagrin was in his manner. "But you are brighter boy. Almost I am on verge of resigning in disgust at my own stupidity. You should take my badge, Mr. Tarneverro, for you are the smart detective on this case."

  Tarneverro gave him an odd look. "You think so, do you? I'm afraid you exaggerate - the matter was really simple enough. It came into my mind that too many of us had alibis in this affair. I thought how easy it would be to change the time on the face of a watch. That is what happened here. The murderer set it at a moment then past, for which he had already established an alibi - or at a future time for which he proposed to get an alibi forthwith. However, when a man is excited he is likely to slip up somewhere - and this chap stumbled when he forgot to push down that little stem before he left."

  Chan sighed. "I am, as I remarked, bubbling with gratitude toward you, and yet I am appalled. Whole flock of alibis is now quite ruined, and the field broadens like some boundless prairie. Van Horn's alibi is gone, the alibis of Martino and of Jaynes, they are gone too, and - begging humble pardon, Mr. Tarneverro - you have likewise destroyed the alibi you yourself possessed."

  The fortune-teller threw back his head and laughed. "Do I need an alibi?" he cried.

  "Perhaps not," Charlie grinned. "But when a tree falls the shade is gone. Who knows? Even you might regret the loss of that shade in time."

  "It may happen that I have another tree," suggested Tarneverro.

  "If that is true, I congratulate you." Charlie glanced around the room. "I must have poor unfortunate lady removed now to house, then lock this place until finger-print expert can do work early in morning. You will observe we do not move with vast speed here in Hawaii. It is our lovely climate." He put the watch in the dressing-table drawer, and he and Tarneverro went out, Chan again locking the door. "We will now continue to living-room, which we will seek to obtain to ourselves. Perhaps there you will deign to keep on with remarkable research. I travel in luck to-night. What could I do without you?"

  A little group of chairs on the lawn indicated the whereabouts of most of the guests. In the living-room they came upon Julie and Jimmy Bradshaw, seated close together. The girl had evidently been crying, and Mr. Bradshaw's manner suggested that he played the role of comforter. Chan gave Julie the key to the pavilion, and told her gently what must be done. She and the boy went out to seek the aid of the servants.

  When they had gone, Charlie walked thoughtfully up and down the big room. He peered into receptacles that held flowers and plants, opened the few books he came upon and ruffled the pages.

  "By the way," Tarneverro remarked, "have you made an inspection of Miss Fane's bedroom?"

  "Not yet," Chan answered. "So much to do, and only you and I to do it. I have sent Kashimo, our Japanese sleuth hound, on an errand, from which he will doubtless return in course of week or two. As for myself -" He was walking across a rug, and paused. "As for myself -" he repeated. He rubbed his thin-soled shoe back and forth over a spot in the rug. "As for myself," he added a third time, "I have plenty good business here."

  He stooped and threw back the rug. There on the polished floor lay the big envelope that had been snatched from his hand earlier in the evening. One corner was missing, but otherwise the letter was intact.

  "Fortunate that Miss Fane preferred such thick note-paper," Charlie said. He picked up the envelope. "I fear I can not offer my unknown friend warm congratulations on his originality this time. But he was very hurried gentleman when this matter engaged his attention - I must remember that."

  Tarneverro came close, his dark eyes gleaming. "By gad - Shelah's letter. And addressed to me, I believe?"

  "I remind you again that the police are in charge," Chan said.

  "They were in charge before," Tarneverro answered.

  "Ah, yes. But history will not repeat just yet." Charlie removed the note from the envelope, and read. He shrugged his shoulders, and passed the missive to the fortune-teller. "Once I was right," he remarked.

  Tarneverro looked down at the huge sprawling handwriting of one who was generous of note-paper as of all things. He frowned at what he saw.

  "Dear Tarneverro:

  "Please forget what I told you this morning. I must have been mad - mad. I intend to forget it - and so must you - oh, Tarneverro, promise me you will. Pretend that I never said it. I shall refuse poor Alan to-night - it will break my heart - but I'll do it. I am going on alone - perhaps in the end I may even find a little happiness. I want it so much.

  "Yours ever

  "Shelah Fane."

  "Poor Shelah!" The fortune-teller stood for a moment, staring at the letter. "She hadn't the courage to go through with it - I might have known. A pitiful letter - I don't believe I would have insisted, after all." He crushed the paper in his hand fiercely. "The murderer of Denny Mayo was safe - she wasn't going to tell on him - he killed her for nothing. She's gone, and she might be here. By heaven - I'll get him if it's the last act of my life!"

  Chan smiled. "I have a similar ambition, though I trust the accomplishment will not finish off my existence." His Japanese assistant came stealthily into the room. "Ah, Kashimo, have you enjoyed pleasant week-end upstair?"

  "Pretty hard job, but I got him," Kashimo announced proudly. "Found in jar under potted plant."

  Chan reached out his hand. To his surprise Kashimo proffered, not the photograph Charlie expected,
but a handful of torn bits of glazed paper and of heavy green cardboard. Some one had ripped the portrait on the green mat to bits, and then attempted to conceal the wreckage.

  "What have we now?" Chan said. He stood looking in wonder at the handful of scraps that he held. His eyes sought Tarneverro's. "Here is a matter worthy of consideration. Person unknown does not wish me to look upon the photograph over which Shelah Fane wept this afternoon. Why? Is it then portrait of the man you had asked her to betray?"

  "It may have been," Tarneverro agreed.

  "Course now becomes clear," Charlie announced. "I must view this photograph, so with all patience at my command, I propose to fit these scraps together again." He pulled a small table up before the windows that faced the street.