The Black Camel/Chapter 15

CHARLIE took an empty envelope from his pocket and carefully placed his latest discovery inside it. He and the boy again penetrated the bushes and entered the pavilion. Hettick was sitting idly by the dressing-table, with the paraphernalia of his calling spread out before him.

Dropping down on a wicker chair, Chan glanced around the room where, only the night before, he had encountered tragedy. The detective’s face was placid and serene; he might have been awaiting the luncheon bell untroubled by any problem. Through an enormous plate-glass window he watched a liner from the coast move slowly into port.

“You have enjoyed no luck here, Mr. Hettick?” he inquired.

“Not much,” replied Hettick. “The things on the table are covered with prints—all those of the murdered woman herself. I got her record at the mortuary this morning. By the way, the coroner asked me to tell you he has postponed the inquest until to-morrow. He expects you to have something by then.”

Chan shrugged. “Thank him for the compliment. Also inform him I will exchange places with him at any moment.” His gaze returned to the room; the wood​work, he noted, had recently been painted white. Suddenly he rose and stepped to the small window opening on the beach. “You have not tested this sill, I believe,”he remarked.

“No—as a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Hettick answered. “I meant to, but it slipped my mind.”

Chan grinned. “Mind gets so slippery in warm climate. May I humbly suggest you do so now?”

Hettick came over and covered the sill with his lamp black. With practised hand he applied the camel's-hair brush.

Charlie and the boy crowded close. “Ah!” cried Chan. On the smooth white surface of the sill were the marks of some one’s fingers and thumb.

“These were not made by Shelah Fane?’ Charlie inquired.

“No,” answered Hettick. “Those were left by a man’s hand.”

Chan stood, deep in thought. “Recent, too. We achieve some progress now. A man’s hand. A man opened that screen, climbed up on sill. Why? To enter room, of course. When? Last night, when murder was in atmosphere. Yes, we move, we advance.” He paused. “What man?” In his coat pocket,his fingers touched the envelope containing the cigar stub. He turned with sudden decision. “One thing is certain. I must without delay obtain thumb prints of Alan Jaynes.” Smiling at Jimmy Bradshaw, he added: “Police have fine clue and promise early arrest. But if you publish one word of this, I recall matter of your laundry and put you in jail at once.”

“I won't use it, Charlie,” promised the boy. “What are you going to do now?”

​“I propose to leave you with nobody for company—except Miss Julie. And who is she?”

“Wait a minute, and I'll tell you. She’s the most——”

“Later,” cut in Chan. “Much later. Mr. Hettick, I request that you remain here until my return. Your keen eye will be required. I am off for session at Grand Hotel.”

He left the pavilion, and the boy followed. As Charlie passed out of sight around the corner of the house, Bradshaw went over to where Julie sat. He dropped down beside her.

“Has that funny policeman gone?” she askedeagerly.

“For a few minutes. He'll be back before he’s missed.” Looking up at her, the boy thought he saw an expression of fear cross her delicate face. He wondered. “Charlie has just made an important discovery outside the pavilion window,” he added.

“W-what?” she inquired.

“I don’t believe he’d like to have me tell you,” Bradshaw answered. “Not just yet, at any rate. But—what about this Alan Jaynes? You don’t know him very well, do you?”

“Scarcely at all,” the girl replied. “I never saw him until yesterday morning. Shelah met him in Tahiti—I believe she was very fond of him. But Shelah was fond of—so many people. She was even—fond of me.” Without warning Julie turned away her head and burst into tears.

Bradshaw got up and laid a hand on her heaving shoulder. “Now—now,” he said uncomfortably. “You mustn’t do that. You're ruining all my press stuff. ​Waikiki, the abode of peace, the crescent beach where happiness rules supreme. Suppose one of these touristswho took me at my word should see you.”

“I—I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m not happy; I can’t be.”

“No, of course you can’t—not at this moment, I mean. But why not look ahead to all the happiness that’s coming, and draw a little advance on that?”

“I’ll—I’ll never be happy again,” she told him.

“Nonsense. I’m going to make the world as glamourous for you as I’ve made this town in the Tourist Bureau ads. When we’re married——”

She pushed him away. “We'll never be married. Oh, it’s terrible. I’m horrid, really—and you don’t suspect. You'll hate me—when you know.”

“Do tell! Look at me.” He leaned over and kissed her.

“You mustn’t,” she cried.

“I’ve got to,” he smiled. “It’s my duty. I’ve advertised this place for its romance, and romance there must be if I have to attend to it myself. Now listen to me—inside a week or less all this will be over, and you can begin to forget. Charlie Chan is going to solve the puzzle at any minute——”

“Oh—do you think so?”

“He’s sure to. You can’t keep anything from Charlie.”

“I wonder,” said the girl.

“I know,” Bradshaw replied firmly.

Scarcely sharing Bradshaw’s confidence, Chan was at that moment entering the lobby of the Grand Hotel. He waved a hand toward the bell-man, and went at once to the desk.

​“I arrive again,” he remarked to the clerk. “For a non-paying guest, | am plenty much in evidence around this place. Will you give me number of room occupied by Mr. Alan Jaynes, if you will be so good?”

The clerk smilingly gave it to him, and pointed out the house telephones at the right of the desk. Charlie was relieved to hear the Britisher’s answering voice. He politely requested a moment’s conversation, and Jaynes replied that he would come down immediately.

Charlie walked with unaccustomed speed to the lounge. A small Filipino bell-boy was there alone, and the detective summoned him.

“I wish to be served with two of your delicious orange-juice drinks,” he announced.

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy.

“I will also accompany you while you secure same.” The boy appeared taken back, but it was not his rôleto argue. From out of the jungle he had come to learn that the guest is always right.

Charlie followed his small guide to the serving pantry, where they encountered a man in a white apron.

“Inspector Chan, of the Honolulu police,’ Charlie explained briefly. “I have just engaged to purchase two juices of the orange. Will you hand me the glasses in which you propose to place same, please?”

The servant was too weary to be surprised. The climate, as he often explained to his wife, had got him. He produced the glasses and Charlie, removing an immaculate handkerchief from his pocket, began to polish them briskly.

“This action, I hasten to say, involves no criticism of you,” he remarked. “But I am reading lately about germs.” He grinned. “A very dangerous form of ​animal life.” It could be noted, however, that it was only the outside of the tumblers that concerned him. He completed the task, set the objects of his attention carefully down on the tray the boy had brought, and reaching into his pocket, handed a quarter to the serving man. “You will do me great favor if you will fill these receptacles without placing fingers on same.” He turned to the boy. “That also applies to you. Do you understand? You are not to touch those glasses. Set tray on table as it is. Otherwise, when moment arrives for your tip, I develop far-away look in eye and can not see you.”

Returning to the lounge, Charlie found the Britisher already there. “Ah—Mr. Jaynes,” he said. “I am happy to see you again, You had good night’s rest, I hope?”

Jaynes stared at him. “No,” he replied, “I didn’t; but what of it?”

“So sorry,” Chan cried. “Waikiki is famous sleeping place, and being old resident of Honolulu, I experience deep pain when it fails to live up to reputation. Will you do me the honor to join me on this sofa?”

He dropped down on the seat, which creaked protestingly beneath him.

“Harsh voice of furniture proclaims to world my excessive avoirdupois,” he continued affably. “I diet and I fast, but to no avail. What is to be, will be. Man—who is he to fix own weight upon the scales? All that is determined elsewhere.”

Jaynes sat down beside him. “What can I do for you this morning, Inspector?” he inquired.

“You can accept, if you will be so kind, renewed ​apologies for detaining you on this island. Some people pronounce it Paradise, but even Paradise, I can appreciate, looks not so good when one is panting to travel elsewhere. Again my warm regrets. I assure you I apply myself with all possible speed to task of clearing up mystery, so that you may make quick exit.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” nodded Jaynes. He took out a case and offered Charlie one of his little black cigars. “No?” He lighted one himself. “You are making progress, I hope?”

“I encounter difficulties,” Charlie admitted. “Those who know, don’t talk; those who talk, don’t know. But that is always to be expected in my work. Within last hour I think I see faint glimmer of light ahead. Ah——” The Filipino boy had arrived with the tray; he set it down on a small table before them. “I should have said, Mr. Jaynes, that I am on orange-juice diet, and the hour of the drink is here. I have ventured to order same for you.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” replied the Britisher. “I don’t believe——”

“Same is all prepared,” Charlie protested, and a note of imminent offense crept into his voice. “The beverage is harmless. You are not going to refuse?”

“Well—thank you,” said Jaynes. At the moment he wanted nothing less, but he knew how easily the feelings of a Chinese may be hurt, and he could not risk any further offense to this particular representative of the race. “You are very good.” He reached for a glass.

Beaming, Charlie lifted his own. “We will drink to my quick success, since you desire it equally with me.” He imbibed heartily, and set the glass down.

​“Presume mild nature of the liquid gives you hearty pain. I have noted how bitterly men from your country resent this prohibition.”

“What prohibition?” Jaynes inquired.

“Ah, you mock and jeer. Well, it is noble experiment, but it is not new, as many think. The Emperor Yü, who came to the throne of China in year 2205 B. C., said when he tasted liquor for the first time, this will do my people much harm, and forbade its use. His edict had good effect for a while, but later got lost in dimpages of history. China,” added Chan, drinking again, “like the purse of a generous man, has endured much. But it still survives.”

Jaynes was looking at him with a deep curiosity. Had this odd policeman dropped in merely to discuss prohibition? Charlie noted the look.

“But to return to our mutton broth,” he said. “I desire to make inquiries of you regarding last night. You are most unfortunate man not to possess nice alibi for motions during time of homicide. You were, as I understand things, wandering about plenty mad at fatal hour?”

I'm afraid I was,” Jaynes admitted.

“From the moment when you left Martino on beach until he went out and found you with announcement of murder, you exist quite alone?”

“Yes.”

“Making your walk, how far down beach did you penetrate?”

“Only as far as the Moana Hotel. I sat there under the banyan tree and tried to think what I had better do.”

“You did not—will you join me in another ​quaffing—ah, yes—you did not travel on to property of Shelah Fane?”

“I’ve just told you,” replied Jaynes, “that I went only as far as the Moana. As I say, I sat down there to try to figure things out. When I had grown a bit calmer, it occurred to me that perhaps I was making a big row about nothing. A woman who could be so easily influenced by a silly fortune-teller—I asked myself whether she would, after all, make a satisfactory wife. Her life was far removed from mine—I began to feel that the whole affair might turn out to have been a mere passing infatuation with both of us. I resolved to take the boat at midnight and, if possible, forget the entire business. After that was decided, I felt better. I came back here, past the Outrigger Club, and just outside the hotel Martino met me with the appalling news of the poor girl’s murder.”

“No one noted you at Moana under banyan tree?”

“I fancy not. I sat in a dark corner.”

“Were you ever in pavilion where Shelah Fane encountered finish?”

“No—I never saw the place.”

“Then you could not have been in the neighborhood at any time? Hovering about window, for example?”

“Well, hardly.” Without prompting, Jaynes took up his glass and drained it. Suddenly he stared at Charlie. “I say—why do you ask me that?”

“I seek only to narrow search,” Chan explained.

“That will be all, thank you. Can you name hour of next boat to mainland?”

“I certainly can,’ answered the Britisher. “There’s one to-morrow at noon, I hope to heaven——”

​“I will extend myself to the utmost,” smiled Chan. “Though, to look at me, many might remark that I had already done so.”

Jaynes laughed. “Don’t let that thought deter you,” he said. “You'll do your best, I know. By the way, I’m afraid I was a bit rude to you last night—but I was very anxious to get away. For many reasons—not only my business in the States—but this whole terrible affair—I wanted to be out of it. I still do. You understand?”

“I understand,” nodded Chan gravely. His left hand, in the side pocket of his coat, touched a certain envelope. “I will say good morning,” he added.

He stood watching the Britisher cross the terrace and stroll toward the sea. Sensing some one at his back, he turned just in time. An old bent Chinese who continually paraded the lounge in his native costume, armed with a brush and dust-pan, was reaching out for the glasses.

“Haie!” Chan seized the withered hand. “Do not touch, or the wrath of the seven watchful gods descends upon you.” He took out his handkerchief and tenderly wrapped it round the glass from which Jaynes had drunk. “I am removing this, and the affair does not concern you.”

But evidently the old man thought it did concern him, for he followed Charlie to the desk. There Chan encountered one of the managers. “I should like to purchase this object,” he said, revealing what the handkerchief held. “Kindly name price.”

The manager laughed. “Oh, that’s all right. Take it along. What are you doing, Charlie? Collecting finger-prints from our harmless guests?”

​“You are close to truth,” nodded Chan. “Save perhaps with that word harmless. Thank you so much. And now will you kindly call off this aged gentleman who thinks he has captured one of the forty thieves?”

The manager said something to the servant, who moved away, muttering to himself. His comments, Chan knew, were not complimentary, but he gave no heed. He hurried through the door to his car.

Deep in thought, he drove back to Shelah Fane’s house. Were the finger-prints on this glass identical with those on the window-sill in the pavilion? If they were, then he was approaching journey’s end.

Hettick was waiting, and to him Charlie entrusted his precious cargo, still redolent of orange juice. The expert set quickly to work. Presently he stood by the window, the tumbler in one hand, a magnifying-glass in the other. Chan came close, awaiting the verdict.

Hettick shook his head. “Nothing like it,” he announced. “You’ve been on the wrong trail this time, Inspector.”

Keenly disappointed, Chan sat down in a chair. So it had not been Alan Jaynes who entered this room last night? It had all seemed to fit in so neatly that up to this minute he had not had a doubt of it. On the wrong trail, eh? He hadn’t cared for the way in which Hettick had said that. The men at the station had been in a rather unfriendly mood since Charlie’s return from the mainland. They had expected to find him in a haughty and triumphant state of mind since his exploits there, and the fact that he had shown no trace whatever of such an attitude, had done nothing to lessen their envy. He had been forced to endure many joking remarks that held an undercurrent of hostility.

​On the wrong trail, eh? Well, who didn’t take the wrong path occasionally in this business? Where was the superman so good that he never erred?

On the wrong trail. Chan sat deep in thought. Jaynes had been outside that window—the stub of the small cigar, which he had evidently forgotten, was proof enough. But it was not he who had pushed up the screen and entered, leaving the imprint of fingers on the white sill. Some one else had done that. Who? Who else had been——

Suddenly Charlie smote his forehead a resounding blow. “Haie—I have been complete and utter idiot. I move too fast, without proper thought. Everybody seeks to hurry me—even my own family. And I was not built for hurry. Hurry is the wind that destroys the scaffolding.” He turned to Hettick. “What has become of finger-print record of beach-comber, taken at station last night?”

“Oh,” replied Hettick. “I’ve got that here.” He produced a manila envelope from his pocket and removed a glass plate. “Do you think——”

“I think, yes—a little late, but still I think,” said Charlie. He took the plate from the unresisting hand of his brother officer and hurried to the window. “Come quickly,” he called. “Your glass—look! What is your decision?”

“They are the same,” Hettick announced.

Triumph shone brightly in Charlie’s little eyes. “At last I arrive somewhere,” he cried. “Smith, the beach-comber, was in this room last night! Am I for ever on wrong trail, or do I have my lucific moments?”