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“Yes, yes,” Chan said hurriedly. “I must see him. Come, Mr. Tarneverro. Speed is necessary.” He led the fortune-teller out to the drive, where his battered flivver was waiting. “The vehicle is none too grand,” he apologized, “but it moves. Will you kindly leap inside?”

Silently Tarneverro climbed into the little two-seater. Charlie started the car.

“This is a terrible thing,” the fortune-teller said. “Poor Shelah—I can scarcely realize it.”

Charlie shrugged. “Time to be philosophical,” he suggested. “You have perhaps heard old Eastern saying. ‘Death is the black camel that kneels unbid at every gate.’ Sooner or later—does it matter which?”

“I know, I know,” Tarneverro continued. “But, in a way, I’m afraid I’m responsible for this. Oh, lord, the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. Poor Shelah’s blood is on my head.”

“Your remarks have interesting sound,” Charlie remarked, as the car moved through the hotel gates on to the avenue. “Explain, if you will be so kind.”

“This evening,” the fortune-teller went on, “I told you I might call on you to make an arrest in a very important murder case. I fully expected to do so. I'll tell you what I meant by that, as briefly as possible.

“Shelah Fane had cabled me from the ship, asking me to meet her here. It seems that this fellow Jaynes had proposed to her, and she wanted my advice. For some time past she had been in the habit of coming to me with all her problems. She loved Jaynes, she wanted to marry him—but she was afraid of what the future might hold in store. She feared that at