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Charlie Chan, a heroic detective created by Earl Derr Biggers to the delight of mystery lovers
FIFTY CANDLES
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Chinese detective Charlie Chan is one of the most unique characters in the mystery novel and a favourite of readers, at least among those who proliferated during the golden age of the genre. His adventures, first adapted for the cinema, were later turned into widely distributed comic books. Right from the start, the large number of fans of this exotic investigator gave rise to similar initiatives by other production companies. As a result, many figures imitating him appeared throughout the century. But make no mistake: these were plagiarisms, imitations of a fully original character that must remain in the nostalgia of fans. In 1925, the American newspaper The Saturday Evening Post began publishing a new serial, “The House Without a Key,” to win readers over the competition. The story was the work of the writer Earl Derr Biggers (1884-1933), who had found his inspiration in the press. As the novelist himself later recounted, he had read in 1919 a newspaper in Honolulu (Hawaii, USA), in which the exploits of a famous local detective, Chang Apana (1871-1933), were described. The life of this investigator immediately captured Biggers' imagination; Apana had been a cowboy before joining the Hawaiian police force, from whose ranks he fought bravely against the local gangs. In fact, and also inspired by Apana's achievements, Biggers had previously published " Fifty Candles" in 1921, a novel that shows how Hawaii, China, and murder had already begun to come together in Biggers' imagination. The story starts in a courthouse in Honolulu, moves to China, then to fog-shrouded San Francisco. Many of the elements used in the later Charlie Chan series are present: Chinese characters (both sinister and sympathetic), the Honolulu legal system, a shrewd detective (in this case, the lawyer Mark Drew rather than a policemen), and a baffling murder complete with red herrings and plenty of suspects. There is no doubt that " Fifty Candles" is a book that will delight Biggers' many fans as they trace the origins of Charlie Chan. The imaginary character of Charlie Chan, readers of The Saturday Evening Post learned, differed from Apana both physically and psychologically, but shared his bravery and, above all, the fact that they both served in the Honolulu Police Department. In addition, Chan was sybaritic and gentlemanly, as well as perceptive and ironic. As if that were not enough, his fondness for good food and the recitation of aphorisms lent a peculiar dose of humour to his adventures. After his detective was well received in the press, Biggers received an offer from the New York publisher Avenel, which published “The House Without a Key” at the end of 1925. The series of novels featuring the Chinese investigator was completed with “The Chinese Parrot” (1926), “Behind the curtain” (1928), “The Black Camel” (1929) and “Keeper of the Keys” (1932). As you might have guessed, Hollywood producers, attentive to the novelties of popular literature, were quick to offer Biggers contracts for the transfer of the film rights to the character.
Chan achieved considerable popularity in American movie theatres. In fact, more than fifty films of his adventures were made.
The Editor, P.C. 2022
From the records of the district court at Honolulu for the year 1898 you may, if you have patience, unearth the dim beginnings of this story of the fifty candles. It is a story that stretches over twenty years, all the way from that bare Honolulu courtroom to a night of fog and violence in San Francisco. Many months after the night of the tule-fog, I happened into the Hawaiian capital and took down from a library shelf a big legal-looking book, bound in bright yellow leather the color of a Filipino houseboy's shoes on his Saturday night in town. I found what I was looking for under the heading: "In the Matter of Chang See."
The Chinese, we are told, are masters of indirection, of saying one thing and meaning another, of arriving at their goal by way of a devious, irrelevant maze. Our legal system must have been invented and perfected by Chinamen — but is this lèse majesté or contempt of court or something? Beyond question the decision of the learned court in the matter of Chang See, as set down in the big yellow book, is obscured and befuddled by a mass of unspeakably dreary words. See 21 Cyc., 317 Church Habeas Corpus , 2d Ed., Sec. 169. By all means consult Kelley v. Johnson, 31 U. S. (6 Pet.) 622, 631-32. And many more of the same sort.
Here and there, however, you will happen on phrases that mean something to the layman; that indicate, behind the barrier of legal verbiage, the presence of a flesh-and-blood human fighting for his freedom — for his very life. Piece these phrases together and you may be able to reconstruct the scene in the courtroom that day in 1898, when a lean impassive Chinaman of thirty stood alone against the great American nation. In other words, Chang See v. U. S.
I say he stood alone, though he was, of course, represented by counsel. "Harry Childs for the Petitioner," says the big yellow book. Poor Harry Childs — his mind was already beginning to go. It had been keen enough when he came to the islands, but the hot sun and the cool drinks — well, he was a little hazy that day in court. He died long ago — just shriveled up and died of an overdose of the Paradise of the Pacific — so it can hardly injure his professional standing to intimate that he was of little aid to his client, Chang See.
Chang See was petitioning the United States for a writ of habeas corpus and his freedom from the custody of the inspector of immigration at the port of Honolulu. He had arrived at the port from China some two months previously, bringing with him a birth certificate recently obtained and forwarded to him by friends in Honolulu. This certificate asserted that Chang See had been born in Honolulu of Chinese parents — that he had first seen the light on a December day thirty years before in a house out near Queen Emma's yard, on the beach at Waikiki. When he was four years old his parents had taken him back with them to their native village of Sun Chin, in China.
If the certificate spoke the truth, then Chang See must be regarded as an American citizen and freely admitted to Honolulu with no wearisome chatter about the Chinese Exclusion Act. But the inspector at the port had been made wary by long service. He admitted that the certificate was undoubtedly founded on fact. But, he contended, how was he to know that this tall, wise-looking Chinaman was the little boy Chang See who had once played about the beach at Waikiki?
Thus challenged, the petitioner brought in witnesses to prove his identity. He brought twelve of them in all — shuffling old men, ancient dames with black silk trousers and tiny feet, younger sports prominent in the night life of Hotel Street. Some of them were reputed to have known him as a baby out near Queen Emma's yard; others had been the companions of the days of his youth in the village of Sun Chin.
Chang See's witnesses had begun their testimony before the inspector confidently enough. Then under the inspector's stony stare they had weakened. They had become confused, contradictory. Even the man who had obtained the birth certificate gave as the name of Chang See's father an entirely new and unheard-of appellation. In a word, the petitioner's friends one and all deserted him. Something seemed to have happened to them.