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mentioned the handkerchief with the telltale slivers of glass found in Martino’s pocket, and Jimmy Bradshaw’s somewhat belated claim to its ownership. He was by this time rather out of breath. “So matter stands at present,” he finished.

His Chief was looking at him with an amused smile. “Well, Charlie, sometimes I’ve thought you weren’t entirely satisfied here since your return from the mainland,” he said. “Pretty quiet, you thought it. No big cases like over there. Just chasing a few scared gamblers down an alley—not very thrilling, was it? Honolulu didn’t seem to be big enough for you any more. I guess it’s big enough to-night.”

“I experience uncomfortable feeling maybe it is too big,” Chan admitted. “How will I come out of this? Considerable puzzle, if inquiry is made of me.”

“We mustn’t let it stump us,” replied the Chief briskly. He was an intelligent man, and he knew where to lean. He foresaw that he was going to do some heavy leaning in the next few days. With an appraising glance, he surveyed his assistant. Charlie looked sleepy and somewhat worn—nothing alert, nothing clever in his appearance now. The Chief consoled himself with memories. Chan, he reflected, was ever keener than he looked.

He considered. “This Tarneverro, Charlie,—what sort of fellow is he?”

Chan brightened. “Ah, perhaps you go to heart of the matter. Tarneverro appears dark as rainy night, but it is his business to act so. He owns a quick mind. And he seems fiercely eager to assist poor policeman like me.”

“A bit too eager, maybe?”