Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/133

Charlie studied him thoughtfully. “I think not. You may go along. You and I will talk together when I have more leisure.”

“Any time, Inspector.” Fyfe went to the curtains, and held them open. “I am stopping at the Waioli Hotel, on Fort Street,” he added. “Drop in at your convenience, won't you? Good night.” He went into the hall, where Spencer could be heard talking with the maid. The door slammed behind him, and a second later, the two policemen and Smith also departed.

Charlie stood regarding the tired group in the living-room. “Accept my advice and take heart,” he said. “We give Mr. Spencer generous handicap on journey to pier, and then I find great joy releasing this company at last. While we are waiting, there are one or two matters. Since first I spoke with you, it has been found necessary to alter views. Then hour of tragedy was thought certain at two minutes past eight. Now we must advance and say, dreadful event happened some time between twelve minutes past eight and the half-hour. Eighteen minutes there—eighteen important minutes. Each of us must ask himself: What was I doing in those eighteen minutes?”

He paused. His eyes were bright, his manner quite keen and alive—for him. The Chinese are at their best at night; it is their favorite time. But he was alone in his vigor, the others were exhausted and drooping, the make-up of the women stood out, unnatural and far from pleasing, against the pallor of their weariness.

“Eighteen important minutes,” Chan repeated. “Miss Dixon, Miss Julie and Mr. Bradshaw disported gaily in breakers, visiting beach occasionally. On that