Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/121

“And you live——”

Mr. Smith hesitated. “To put it crudely, Officer, I’m afraid I’m on the beach.”

Charlie smiled. “Ah, you uphold noble tradition. What would Waikiki be without beach-comber?” He went to the window that led to the lanai and summoned Kashimo. “Kindly search this gentleman,” he directed.

“By all means,” the beach-comber agreed. “And if you find anything that looks like money, in heaven’s name let me know about it at once.”

Kashimo’s search revealed little—a piece of string, a comb, a rusty pocket-knife, and an object which at first glance looked like a coin, but which turned out to be a medal. Charlie took this and studied it.

“Temple bronze medal, Third Prize, Landscapes in Oils,” he read. “The Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts.” He looked inquiringly at Smith.

The beach-comber shrugged. “Yes,” he said. “I see I shall have to confess it all now—I’m a painter. Not much of a one at that—the third prize only, you will observe. The first medal was of gold—it might have come in handy of late, if I’d won it. But I didn’t.” He came a bit nearer. “If it’s not asking too much—just what is the reason for this unwarranted intrusion into my affairs? Can’t a gentleman go about his business in this town without being pawed by a fat policeman, and searched by a thin one?”

“We are sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Smith,” Charlie replied politely. “But tell me—have you been on the beach to-night?”

“I have not. I’ve been in town. I walked out—for reasons which we needn’t take up now. I was going along Kalakaua when this cop——”