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“Fine,” approved the Chief. He saw the territory saved the expense of a long trial.

“You’re mad, Anna,” cried the fortune-teller.

She shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I wrecked all your plans, I fancy. I spoiled everything for you. Forget me and go your way alone.”

Her tone was bitter and cold, and Tarneverro, rebuffed, turned away from her. Charlie offered her a chair. “Sit down, madam. I desire to make brief interrogation. It is true that Tarneverro brought you to Hollywood?”

“Yes.” She accepted the chair. “I'll take it from the beginning, if you like. While Denny was acting in the pictures. I continued to dance in London music-halls. I was doing well, when I had that accident—I broke my ankle—I couldn’t dance any more. I wrote to Denny about it, and asked if I could come to him. I didn’t rece1ve any answer—and then I heard he had been killed.

“Arthur—Denny’s brother here—was also playing in London at that time. He was kind to me—loaned me money—and then he told me he was going out to the States to learn who had killed poor Denny, if he could. After a time he wrote that he had set up in Hollywood as a fortune-teller, calling himself Tarneverro. He said he needed—help—that he could use me if I was willing to go into service. I had taken a position as wardrobe mistress with a manager for whom I used to dance. It was hard work—and the memories—I longed to get away from it all.”

“So you went to Hollywood,” prompted the Chief.

“I did, and I met Tarneverro secretly. He said he would place me with Miss Fane. He advised her to