Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/273

He paused for a moment in the glare of the lights that formed this sign. A girl was approaching, dark-skinned, slender, graceful. He stood aside to let her pass, and saw her face. The tropics, lonely islands lost in vast southern seas—a lovely head against a background of cool green. Quickly he followed her up the stairs.

He came into a bare room with a sagging roof. There were many tables with blue and white checkered cloths; painted girls were eating at the rear. A suave little proprietor came forward, rubbing his hands with outward calm, but somewhat disturbed inside.

“What you want, Inspector?”

Charlie pushed him aside and followed the girl he had seen below. She had taken off her hat and hung it on a nail; evidently she worked here.

“Begging your pardon,” Chan began.

She looked at him, fear and defiance mingling in her smoldering eyes. “What you want?”

“You are acquainted with haole—white man—Smith, the beach-comber?”

“Maybe.”

“He painted your portrait—I have seen it. A beautiful thing.”

The girl shrugged. “Yes, he come here, sometimes. I let him make the picture. What of it?”

“Have you seen Mr. Smith lately?”

“Not for long time—no”

“Where does he live?”

“On the beach, I think.”

“But when he has money—where then?”

The girl did not reply. The proprietor came forward. “You tell him, Leonora. Tell Inspector what he asks you to.”