Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/60

DOWN at the Grand Hotel, Charlie Chan was well started on what he perceived was going to be an excellent dinner. The hour of Rotarian oratory was not near enough to worry him, the food was good and he felt at peace with the world. He did not know the name of the small fish that lay on the plate before him, but one taste had led him to approve most heartily of its quality. He was leaning forward to apply himself with increased diligence to the task at hand, when a bell-boy touched him on the shoulder.

“You are wanted on telephone very quick,” said the boy.

A sense of vague unrest troubled him as he walked down the long lobby to the telephone booth. He would have preferred a life of quiet meditation, but a ruthless fate was always breaking in upon him with some new problem that must be solved. What now, he wondered, as he entered the booth and pulled the door to behind him.

He was greeted by an excited young voice. “Say, Charlie—this is Jim Bradshaw of the Tourist Bureau. Huntley Van Horn told me I could find you at the hotel.”

“Yes—and now you have found me. What is it that has brought you to this state of high disturbance?”