The Black Camel/Chapter 19

VAL MARTINO, the director, came down the steps from the hotel lounge, a dashing figure in his white silk suit and flaming tie. He might have been the man on the cover of some steamship folder designed to lure hesitating travelers to the tropics. His gaze fell on Charlie, lolling at ease in a comfortable chair and looking as though he had not a care in the world. The director came over immediately.

“Well, Inspector,” he remarked, “I scarcely expected to see you in such a placid mood just now. Unless you have already solved last night’s affair?”

Chan shook his head. “Luck is not so good as that. Mystery still remains mystery, but do not be deceived. My brain moves, though my feet are still.”

“I’m glad of that,” Martino replied. “And I hope it gets somewhere soon.” He dropped into a chair at Charlie’s side. “You know that thing last night just plain wrecked two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of picture for me, and I ought to hurry to Hollywood on the next boat and see what’s to be done about it. Whoever killed Shelah certainly didn’t have the best interests of our company at heart, or he’d have waited until I finished my job. Oh, well—it can’t be helped now. But I must get away as soon as possible, and that’s why I’m plugging for you to solve the problem at once.”

​Chan sighed. “Everybody seems to suffer from hurry complex. An unaccustomed situation in Hawaii. I am panting to keep in step. May I ask—what is your own idea on this case?”

Martino lighted a cigarette. “I hardly know. What’s yours?” He tossed the match on to the floor, and the old Chinese with the dust-pan and brush came at once, casting a look at Charlie which seemed to say: “This is exactly the sort of person I would expect to find in your company.”

“My ideas do not yet achieve definite form,” Chan remarked. “One thing I do know—I am opposed in this matter by some person of extreme cleverness.”

The director nodded. “It looks that way. Well, there were several clever people at Shelah Fane’s house last night.”

“Yourself included,” Charlie ventured.

“Thanks. Naturally, that had to come from you. But it’s true enough.” He smiled. “I am speaking, of course, in confidence when I say there was another man present of whose cleverness I have never had the slightest doubt. I don’t like him, but I’ve always thought him pretty smooth. I refer to Tarneverro the Great.”

Chan nodded. “Yes, he is plenty quick. One word with him, and I had gathered that.”

The director flicked the ash from his cigarette on to the floor. The old Chinese brought an ash-tray and set it close beside him on the small table.

“There are all kinds of seers and crystal-gazers fattening on the credulity of Hollywood,” Martino continued. “But this man is the ace of the lot. The women go to him, and he tells them things about themselves they thought only God knew. As a result——”

“How does he discover these things?” Charlie asked.

​“Spies,” the director answered. “I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he has spies working for him night and day. They pick up interesting bits of news about the celebrities, and pass them along to him. The poor little movie girls think he’s in league with the powers of darkness, and as a result they tell all. That man knows enough secrets to blow up the colony if he wants to do it. We've tried to run him out of town, but he’s too smart for us. You know, I’m rather sorry I stopped Jaynes last night when he wanted to beat Tarneverro up. I believe it would have been a grand idea. But on the other hand, Shelah’s name would have been dragged into it, and remembering that, I broke up the row. The pictures are my profession, there are lots of fine people in the colony, and I don’t like to see them suffer from harmful publicity. Unfortunately the decent ones must share the disgrace when the riffraff on the fringe misbehaves.”

“Was it your intention,” Chan inquired, “to hint that Tarneverro the Great may have killed Shelah Fane?”

“Not at all,” responded Martino hastily. “Don’t get me wrong. I was only trying to point out that if you sense a clever opponent in this affair, you should remember that there are few men cleverer than the fortune-teller. Further than that, I say nothing. I don’t know whether he did it or not.”

“For the time between eight and eight-thirty last night,” Chan informed him, “Tarneverro has most unshakable alibi.”

Martino stood up. “He would have. As I told you, he’s as slick as they come. Well, so long. Good luck to you—and I mean that with all my heart.”

He strolled off toward the glittering sea and left ​Chan to his thoughts. In a few moments the detective arose with sudden decision and went to the telephone booth in the lobby. He got his Chief on the wire.

“You very much busy now?” he asked.

“Not especially, Charlie. I’ve got a date with Mr. and Mrs. MacMaster here at five-thirty, but that’s an hour away. Is anything doing?”

“Might be,” Chan answered. “I can not tell. But I will shortly require backing of your firm authority for little investigation at Grand Hotel. Pretty good idea if you leaped into car and rode out here at once.”

“I'll be right with you, Charlie,” the Chief promised.

Going to the house phone, Charlie called the room of Alan Jaynes. The Britisher answered in a sleepy tone. The detective informed him that he was coming up immediately to talk with him and then stepped to the hotel desk.

“Without calling room, can you ascertain if Mr. Tarneverro is in residence?” he asked.

The clerk glanced at the letter box. “Well, his key isn’t here,” he said. “I guess that means he’s in.”

“Ah, yes,” nodded Chan. “If you will be so kind, do this big favor for me. Secure Mr. Tarneverro on wire, and say that Inspector Chan passed through here in too great rush to bother himself. But add that I desire to see Mr. Tarneverro soon as can be in lobby of Young Hotel down-town. Say it is of fierce importance and he must arrive at once.”

The clerk stared. “Down-town?” he repeated.

Chan nodded. “The idea is to remove him from this hotel for a brief space of time,” he explained.

“Oh, yes,” smiled the clerk. “I see. Well, I suppose it’s all right. I'll call him.”

​Charlie went up to the room occupied by Alan Jaynes. The Britisher admitted him, yawning as he did so. He was in dressing-gown and slippers, and his bed was somewhat disheveled.

“Come in, Inspector. I’ve just been having forty winks. Good lord—what a sleepy country this is!”

“For the malihini—the newcomer—yes,” Chan smiled. “We old-timers learn to disregard the summons. Otherwise we would get nowhere.”

“You are getting somewhere, then?” Jaynes asked eagerly.

“Would not want to say that, but we are traveling at good pace—for Hawaii,” responded Charlie. “Mr. Jaynes, I have come to you in spirit of most open frankness. I am about to toss cards down flat on table.”

“Good,” Jaynes said heartily.

“This morning you told me you had never been in pavilion, never even loitered in neighborhood of place?”

“Certainly I did. It’s the truth.”

Charlie took out an envelope, and emptied on to a table the stub of a small cigar. “How, then, would you explain the fact that this is found just outside window of room in which Shelah Fane met sudden death?”

Jaynes looked for a long moment at this shabby bit of evidence. ‘‘Well, I'll be damned,” he remarked. He turned to Chan, an angry light in his eyes. “Sit down,” he said. “I can explain it, and I will.”

“Happy to hear you say that,” Chan told him.

“This morning, when I was in my bath,” the Britisher began, “about eight o’clock, it must have been, some one knocked on my door. I thought it was the house-boy, and I called to him to come in. I heard the door open, and then the sound of footsteps. I ​asked who it was, and—why the devil didn’t I break his neck last night?” he finished savagely.

“You have reference to the neck of Tarneverro the Great?” Charlie inquired with interest.

“I have. He was here in this room, and said he wanted to see me. I was rather taken aback, but I told him to wait. I stood up in the tub and began a brisk rub-down—will you come with me to the bathroom, Mr. Chan?”

Surprised, Chan rose and followed.

“You will observe, Inspector, that there is a full- length mirror affixed to the bathroom door. With the door slightly ajar—like this—a person standing in the bath has a view of a portion of the bedroom—the portion which includes the desk. I was busy with my rub-down when I suddenly saw something that interested me keenly. A box of those small cigars was lying on the desk, with a few gone. I saw, in the mirror, Mr. Tarneverro walk over and help himself to a couple of them. He put them in his pocket.”

“Good,” remarked Chan calmly. “I am much obliged to the mirror.”

“At first I thought it was merely a case of petty pilfering. Nevertheless, I was deeply annoyed, and I planned to go out and order him from my room. But as I finished drying myself and got into my dressing- gown, it occurred to me that something must be in the air. I decided to say nothing, lie low, and try to find out, if possible, what the beggar was up to. I didn’t guess—I’m a bit dense, I’m afraid—it never popped into my mind that he wanted to involve me in Shelah’s murder. I knew he had no love for me, but somehow—that’s not the sort of thing——

​“Well, I came out and asked him what he wanted. He looked me boldly in the eye and said he had just dropped in to urge that I let bygones be bygones, and shake hands on it. No reason why we shouldn’t be friends, he thought. Felt that Miss Fane would wish it. Of course, I was aching to throw him from the window, but I controlled myself. Out of curiosity, I invited him to have one of my cigars. ‘Oh, no, thanks,’ he said. ‘I never use them.’

“He ran on about Miss Fane, and how it would be best if we dropped our enmity of last night. I was cool but polite—I even shook hands with him. When he had gone, I sat down to think the thing out. What could have been his purpose in taking those cigars? As I say, I couldn’t figure it. Now, of course, the matter is only too clear. He proposed to scatter a few false clues. By gad, Inspector—why should he take the trouble to do that? There’s just one answer, isn’t there? He murdered Miss Fane himself.”

Chan shrugged. “I would be happy to join you in thinking that, but first several matters must be wiped away. Among others—an air-tight alibi.”

“Oh, hell—what’s that?” Jaynes cried. “A clever man always has an alibi.” His heavy jaws snapped shut. “I appreciate what Mr. Tarneverro tried to do for me—I do, indeed. When I see him again——”

“When you see him again, you will make no noise,” Charlie cut in. “That is, if you wish to be of help.”

Jaynes hesitated. “Oh—very good. But it won't be easy. However, I’ll hold my tongue if you say so. Was there anything else you wanted ?”

“No, thanks. You have supplied me with plenty. I go on my way with renewed energy.”

​Waiting for the elevator, Chan thought about Jaynes’ story. Was it true? Perhaps. It seemed a rather glib explanation, but was the Britisher clever enough to concoct such a tale on the spot? He appeared to be a stolid, slow-thinking man—always going somewhere to be by himself and figure things out. Could such a man—Charlie sighed. So many problems!

He stepped cautiously from the elevator and peered round the corner. The coast seemed to be clear and he went to the desk. “Has Mr. Tarneverro departed?” he inquired.

The clerk nodded. “Yes—he went out a moment ago, in a great hurry.”

“My warmest thanks,” Charlie said.

His Chief was coming up the hotel steps, and he went to greet him. Together they sought out a secluded corner.

“What’s up?” the Chief wanted to know.

“Number of things,” Chan replied. “Mr. Tarneverro bursts into investigation and demands our strict attention.”

“Tarneverro?” The Chief nodded. “That fellow never has sounded good to me. What about him?”

“For one point,” Charlie answered, “he understands Cantonese.” He told of making that discovery, which had served to turn his thoughts toward the fortune- teller. “But since I called you, even more important evidence leaps up,” he added. Briefly he repeated Jaynes’ story about the cigars.

The Chief whistled. ‘We're getting there, Charlie,” he cried.

Chan shrugged. “You overlook Tarneverro’s alibi——”

​“No, I don’t. I'll attend to that later. By the way, if you see that old couple from Australia about, keep out of their way. I’ve arranged for them to come to my office, as I told you, and I don’t want to talk with them here. We can handle them better amid the proper surroundings. Now, what is it you want to do?”

“I desire,” Chan answered, “to make complete search of Tarneverro’s apartment.”

The Chief frowned. “That’s not quite according to Hoyle, Charlie. I don’t know. We have no warrant——”

“Which is why I asked you to come. Big man such as you are can arrange it. We leave everything as we found it, and Tarneverro will not know.”

“Where is he?”

Charlie explained the fortune-teller’s present whereabouts. The Chief nodded. “That was a good idea. Wait here, and I'll have a talk with the management.”

He returned presently, accompanied by a tall lean man with sandy hair. “It’s all fixed,” the Chief announced. “You know Jack Murdock, don’t you, Charlie? He’s going with us.”

“Mr. Murdock old friend,” Chan said.

“Well, Charlie, how you been?” Murdock remarked. He was an ex-policeman, now one of the house detectives for the hotel.

“I enjoy the usual good health,” Charlie replied, and with the Chief, followed Murdock.

After the house detective had unlocked the door and admitted them to Tarneverro’s sitting-room, he stood looking at Chan with a speculative eye.

​“Not going to rob us of one of our most distinguished guests, are you, Charlie?” he inquired.

Chan smiled. “That is a matter yet to be determined.”

“Quite a little affair down the beach last night,” Murdock continued. “And you're in the limelight, as usual. Some people have all the luck.”

“Which they pay for by having also all the worry,” Chan reminded him. “You are in soft berth here. Fish course last night was excellent. Did you taste it?”

“I did.”

“So did I—and that was as far as I got,” sighed Chan. “Limelight has many terrible penalties.” He glanced about the room. “Our object is to search thoroughly and leave no trace. Fortune favors, however, for we have plenty time.”

He and the Chief went to work systematically, while the house detective lolled in a comfortable chair with a cigar. The closets, the bureau drawers and the desk were all gone over carefully. Finally Charlie stood before a trunk. “Locked,” he remarked.

Murdock got up. “That’s nothing. I’ve a skeleton key that will fix it.” He opened the trunk, which was of the wardrobe variety, and swung it wide. Chan lifted out one drawer, and gave a little cry of satisfaction.

“Here is one thing we seek,” Chief, he cried, and produced a portable typewriter. Placing it on the desk, he inserted a sheet of note-paper and struck off a few sentences. “Just a word of warning from a friend. You should go at once to the Honolulu Public Library and——” He finished the note, and taking another from his pocket, compared the two. With a pleased smile he carried them to his Chief.

​“Will you kindly regard these missives and tell me what they suggest to you?” he said.

The Chief studied them for a moment. “Simple enough,” he remarked. “Both were written on the same machine. The top of the letter e is clogged with ink, and the letter t is slightly out of alignment.”

Chan grinned and took them back. “Long time confinement in station house does not cause you to grow rusty. Yes—it is just as you say. Two notes are identical, both being written on this faithful little machine. Happy to say our visit here is not without fruit. I must now put typewriter in place so our call will go unsuspected. Or would go that way, if it was not for lingering odor of good friend Murdock’s cigar.”

The house detective looked guilty. “Say, Charlie—I never thought of that.”

“Finish your weed. Damage is now done. But take care luxury of present job does not cause brain to stagnate.”

Murdock did not smoke again, but let the cigar go out in his hand. Charlie continued to explore the trunk. He had about completed his search without further good fortune, when in the most remote corner of the lowest compartment, he came upon something which seemed to claim his interest.

He walked up to his Chief. In the palm of his hand lay a man’s ring, a large diamond in a heavy setting of gold. His superior stared at it. “Take good look,” Chan advised, “and fix same in your mind.”

“More jewelry, Charlie?”

Chan nodded. “Seeking to solve this case, it seems we wander lost in jewel store. Natural, perhaps, since we deal with Hollywood people.” He restored the ring ​to its place, closed the trunk and locked it. “Mr. Murdock, that will end business here.”

They returned to the lobby, where the house detective left them. Chan accompanied the Chief out to the drive.

“What did you mean about the ring, Charlie,” asked the latter.

“Little story which I have been perhaps too reluctant to repeat,” smiled Chan. “Why? Perhaps because it concerns most distasteful moment of my long career. You will recall that last night, in house down the beach, I stood in middle of floor with letter written by Shelah Fane held firmly in my hand. Suddenly light goes out. I am most rudely struck in the face—struck and cut on the cheek, proving the assailant wore a ring. Lights go on, and the letter is gone.”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Chief impatiently.

“Immediately I make a survey—of the men in the room, who wears ring? Ballou and Van Horn—yes. Others do not. Mr. Tarneverro, for example, does not. Yet yesterday morning, when I visited him in room, I noted that ring I have called to your attention, on his finger. What is more, when we rode down to Shelah Fane’s house after news of murder, I perceived the diamond gleaming in the dark. I saw it again when he helps me make investigation in pavilion. Yet when lights flash on after theft of letter, ring is no longer in evidence. What would be your reaction to that, Mr. Chief?”

“I should say,” the Chief returned, “that Tarneverro struck that blow in the dark.”

Charlie was thoughtfully rubbing his check. “Oddly enough,” he remarked, “such was my own reaction.”