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chap—a notorious bachelor—the despair of all the women. No breath of scandal has ever touched him. I have always admired the fellow, though heaven knows he has never been any too friendly to me. He’s an intelligent chap, with excellent taste—a bit conceited, perhaps, but no man could receive the adulation he does, and escape that.” He considered a moment. “No, Inspector,” he added with sudden decision, “in spite of the fact that his opportunities were excellent, as you point out, I can not see Huntley Van Horn as our quarry in this affair.”

Charlie rose. “Thank you for this little conversation.” He glanced at his watch. “Now I must haste to home of Shelah Fane. You will accompany me?”

“I’m sorry,” Tarneverro replied, “but I am not at liberty to do so just at present. You'll let me know of any new developments, won’t you? It isn’t mere curiosity on my part. If we are to work together I must, of course, know what you are doing.”

“We will encounter from time to time,” Chan assured him. They walked to the hotel door.

The head bell-man said something to Tarneverro in Cantonese, and the fortune-teller regarded him with a blank uncomprehending look. “What does he say?” he inquired of Charlie.

“He makes most respectful inquiry after your health this splendid morning,” Chan translated.

“Oh, I’m fine, Sam,” Tarneverro smiled. There was a puzzled expression on Sam’s broad face. “So long, Inspector,” the fortune-teller continued. “Ring me up if you strike anything new. I’ll be hunting about myself—anything I can do—well, I’m with you to the finish, as I told you.”