Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/242

Chan sighed. “Everybody seems to suffer from hurry complex. An unaccustomed situation in Hawaii. I am panting to keep in step. May I ask—what is your own idea on this case?”

Martino lighted a cigarette. “I hardly know. What’s yours?” He tossed the match on to the floor, and the old Chinese with the dust-pan and brush came at once, casting a look at Charlie which seemed to say: “This is exactly the sort of person I would expect to find in your company.”

“My ideas do not yet achieve definite form,” Chan remarked. “One thing I do know—I am opposed in this matter by some person of extreme cleverness.”

The director nodded. “It looks that way. Well, there were several clever people at Shelah Fane’s house last night.”

“Yourself included,” Charlie ventured.

“Thanks. Naturally, that had to come from you. But it’s true enough.” He smiled. “I am speaking, of course, in confidence when I say there was another man present of whose cleverness I have never had the slightest doubt. I don’t like him, but I’ve always thought him pretty smooth. I refer to Tarneverro the Great.”

Chan nodded. “Yes, he is plenty quick. One word with him, and I had gathered that.”

The director flicked the ash from his cigarette on to the floor. The old Chinese brought an ash-tray and set it close beside him on the small table.

“There are all kinds of seers and crystal-gazers fattening on the credulity of Hollywood,” Martino continued. “But this man is the ace of the lot. The women go to him, and he tells them things about themselves they thought only God knew. As a result——”

“How does he discover these things?” Charlie asked.