“Good night!” said Eden.
Chan shrugged. “Fret no longer,” he remarked. “We need not go to sheriff—sheriff will come to us. Our time is brief at Madden’s ranch. Poor old Ah Kim may yet be arrested for the murder of Louie Wong.”
Chapter XIX
The Voice on the Air
They arrived at Barstow at half-past ten, and Bob Eden announced his intention of stopping for the night at the station hotel. After a brief talk with the man at the ticket-window Chan rejoined him.
“I take room that neighbours the one occupied by you,” he said. “Next train for Eldorado leaves at five o’clock in morning. I am on her when she goes. Much better you await subsequent train at eleven-ten. Not so good if we return to ranch like Siamese twins. Soon enough that blundering Bliss will reveal our connexion.”
“Suit yourself, Charlie,” returned Eden. “If you’ve got the strength of character to get up and take a five o’clock train you’ll have my best wishes. And those wishes, I may add, will be extended in my sleep.”
Chan got his suit-case from the parcel-room, and they went upstairs. But Eden did not at once prepare for bed. Instead he sat down, his head in his hands, and tried to think.
The door between the two rooms opened suddenly, and Chan stood on the threshold. He held in his hand a luminous string of pearls.
“Just to reassure,” he smiled. “The Phillimore fortune is still safe.”
He laid the pearls on the table, under a brilliant light. Bob Eden reached over, and thoughtfully ran them through his fingers.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” he said. “Look here, Charlie— you and I must have a frank talk.” Chan nodded. “Tell me, and tell me the truth—have you got the faintest glimmering as to what’s doing out at Madden’s ranch?”
“One recent day,” said Chan, “I thought—”
“Yes?”
“But I was wrong.”
“Precisely. I know it’s a tough thing for a detective to admit, but you’re absolutely stumped, aren’t you?”
“You have stumped feeling yourself, maybe—”
“All right—I’ll answer the question for you. You are. You’re up against it, and we can’t go on. To-morrow after-noon I come back to the ranch. I’m supposed to have seen Draycott—more lies, more deception. I’m sick of it, and, besides, something tells me it won’t work any longer. No, Charlie—we’re at the zero hour. We’ve got to give up the pearls.”
Chan’s face saddened. “Please do not say so,” he pleaded. “At any moment—”
“I know—you want more time. Your professional pride is touched. I can understand, and I’m sorry.”
“Just a few hours,” suggested Chan.
Eden looked for a long moment at the kindly face of the Chinese. He shook his head. “It’s not only me—it’s Bliss. Bliss will come thumping in presently. We’re at the end of our rope. I’ll make one last concession—I’ll give you until eight o’clock to-morrow night. That’s provided Bliss doesn’t show up in the interval. Do you agree?”
“I must,” said Chan.
“Very good. You’ll have all day to-morrow. When I come back I won’t bother with that bunk about Draycott. I’ll simply say: ‘Mr Madden, the pearls will be here at eight o’clock.’ At that hour, if nothing has happened, we’ll hand them over and go. On our way home we’ll put our story before the sheriff, and if he laughs at us we’ve at least done our duty.” Eden sighed with relief. He stood up. “Thank heaven, that’s settled.”
Gloomily Chan picked up the pearls. “Not happy position for me,” he said, “that I must come to this mainland and be sunk in bafflement.” His face brightened. “But another day. Much may happen.”
Eden patted his broad back. “Lord knows I wish you luck,” he said. “Good night.”
When Eden awakened to consciousness the following morning the sun was gleaming on the tracks outside his window. He took the train for Eldorado and dropped in at Holley’s office.
“Hello,” said the editor. “Back at last, eh? Your little pal is keener on the job than you are. He went through here early this morning.”
“Oh, Chan’s ambitious,” Eden replied. “You saw him, did you?”
“Yes.” Holley nodded toward a suit-case in the corner. “He left his regular clothes with me. Expects to put ’em on in a day or two, I gather.”
“Probably going to wear them to jail,” replied Eden glumly. “I suppose he told you about Bliss.”
“He did. And I’m afraid it means trouble.”
“I’m sure it does. As you probably know, we dug up very little down in the valley.”
Holley nodded. “Yes—and what you did dig up was mostly in support of my blackmail theory. Something has happened here too that goes to confirm my suspicions.”
“What’s that?”
“Madden’s New York office has arranged to send him another fifty thousand, through the bank here. I was just talking to the president. He doesn’t think he can produce all that in cash before to-morrow, and Madden has agreed to wait.”
Eden considered. “No doubt your theory’s the right one. The old boy’s being blackmailed. Though Chan has made a rather good suggestion—he thinks Madden may be getting this money together—”
“I know—he told me. But that doesn’t explain Shaky Phil and the professor. No, I prefer my version. Though I must admit it’s the most appalling puzzle—”
“I’ll say it is,” Eden replied. “And to my mind we’ve done all that’s humanly possible to solve it. I’m handing over the pearls to-night. I presume Chan told you that?”
Holley nodded. “Yes—you’re breaking his heart. But from your view-point you’re absolutely right. There’s a limit to everything, and you seem to have reached it. However, I’m praying something happens before to-night.”
“So am I,” said Eden. “If it doesn’t I don’t see how I can bring myself to—but doggone it! There’s Madame Jordan. It’s nothing to her that Madden’s killed a man.”
“It’s been a difficult position for you, my boy,” Holley replied. “You’ve handled it well. I’ll pray my hardest—and I did hear once of a newspaper man whose prayers were answered. But that was years ago.”
Eden stood up. “I must get back to the ranch. Seen Paula Wendell to-day?”
“Saw her at breakfast down at the Oasis. She was on the point of starting for the Petticoat Mine.” Holley smiled. “But don’t worry—I’ll take you out to Madden’s.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll hire a car—”
“Forget it. Paper’s off the press now, and I’m at an even looser end than usual. Come along.”
Once more Horace Greeley carried them up the rough road between the hills. As they rattled down to the blazing floor of the desert the editor yawned.
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” he explained.
“Thinking about Jerry Delaney?” asked the boy.
Holley shook his head. “No—something has happened— something that concerns me alone. That interview with Madden has inspired my old friend in New York to offer me a job there—a mighty good job. Yesterday afternoon I had a doctor in Eldorado look me over—and he told me I could go.”
“That’s great!” Eden cried. “I’m mighty happy for your sake.”
An odd look had come into Holley’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, “the prison door swings open, after all these years. I’ve dreamed of this moment, longed for it—and now—”
“What?”
“The prisoner hesitates. He’s frightened at the thought of leaving his nice quiet cell. New York! Not the old New York I knew. Could I tackle it again, and win? I wonder.”
“Nonsense,” Eden answered. “Of course you could.”
A determined look passed over Holley’s face. “I’ll try it,” he said. “I’ll go. Why the devil should I throw my life away out here? Yes—I’ll tackle Park Row again.”
He left Eden at the ranch. The boy went at once to his room, and, as soon as he had freshened up a
bit, stepped into the patio. Ah Kim passed.
“Anything new?” whispered Eden.
“Thorn and Gamble away all day in big car,” the Chinese replied. “Nothing more.” It was obvious he was still “sunk in bafflement.”
In the living-room Eden found the millionaire sitting aimless and lonely. Madden perked up at the boy’s arrival. “Back safe, eh?” he said. “Did you find Draycott? You can speak out. We’re alone here.”
Eden dropped into a chair. “It’s all set, sir. I’ll give you the Phillimore pearls at eight o’clock to-night.”
“Where?”
“Here at the ranch.”
Madden frowned. “I’d rather it had been at Eldorado. You mean Draycott’s coming here—”
“No, I don’t. I’ll have the pearls at eight o’clock, and I’ll give them to you. If you want the transaction kept private that can be arranged.”
“Good.” Madden looked at him. “Maybe you’ve got them now?” he suggested.
“No. But I’ll have them at eight.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear it,” Madden replied. “But I want to tell you right here that if you’re stalling again—”
“What do you mean—stalling?”
“You heard me. Do you think I’m a fool? Ever since you came you’ve been stalling about that necklace. Haven’t you?”
Eden hesitated. The moment had come for a bit of frankness, it seemed. “I have,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because, Mr Madden, I thought there was something wrong here.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Before I tell you—what made you change your mind in the first place? In San Francisco you wanted the necklace delivered in New York. Why did you switch to Southern California?”
“A simple reason,” Madden replied. “I thought up there that my daughter was going East with me. Her plans are altered—she’s going at once to Pasadena for the balance of the season. And I propose to put the necklace in safety deposit there for her use when she wants it.”
“I met your daughter in San Francisco,” Eden said. “She’s a very charming girl.”
Madden looked at him keenly. “You think so, do you?”
“I do. I presume she is still in Denver?”
For a moment Madden was silent, regarding him. “No,” he admitted finally, “she is not in Denver now.”
“Indeed. If you don’t mind telling me—”
“She is in Los Angeles, visiting friends.”
At this surprising information Eden’s eyes opened wide.
“How long has she been there?” he inquired.
“Since last Tuesday,” Madden answered. “I think it was Tuesday—I got a wire saying she was coming here. I didn’t want her here, for certain reasons, so I sent Thorn in to meet her, with instructions to take her back to Barstow and put her on the Los Angeles train.”
Eden thought fast. Barstow was about the proper distance away to account for the mileage on the big car. But where was the red clay on station platforms hereabouts?
“You’re certain she reached Los Angeles safely?” he asked.
“Of course. I saw her there on Wednesday. Now, I’ve answered all your questions. It’s your turn. Why did you think something was wrong here?”
“What has become of Shaky Phil Maydorf?” countered Eden.
“Who?”
“Shaky Phil—the lad who called himself McCallum, and who won forty-seven dollars from me at poker here the other night?”
“You mean his name was really Maydorf?” inquired Madden with interest.
“I certainly do. I had some experience with Maydorf in San Francisco.
“In what way?”
“He acted as though he was trying to annex the Phillimore pearls.”
Madden’s face was purple again. “Is that so? Would you mind telling me about it?”
“Not at all,” replied Eden. He narrated Maydorf’s activities at the pier, but failed to mention the connexion with Louie Wong.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” demanded Madden.
“Because I thought you knew it. I still think so.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. We won’t go into that. But when I saw Maydorf down here it was natural to suspect something was wrong. I’m not convinced yet that it isn’t. Why not go back to the original plan and deliver the pearls in New York?”
Madden shook his head. “No. I’ve set out to get them here, and I’ll go through with it. Anybody will tell you I’m no quitter.”
“Then at least tell me what the trouble is.”
“There is no trouble,” Madden replied. “At least, none that I can’t handle myself. It’s my own affair. I’ve bought the pearls, and I want them. I give you my word that you’ll be paid, which is all that need concern you.”
“Mr Madden,” said the boy, “I’m not blind. You’re in a jam of some sort, and I’d like to help you.”
Madden turned, and his tired, harassed face was ample proof of Eden’s statement. “I’ll get out of it,” he said. “I’ve got out of worse holes. I thank you for your kind intentions, but don’t you worry about me. At eight o’clock then—I’m relying on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll lie down. I anticipate a rather busy evening.”
He went from the room, and Bob Eden stared after him, perplexed and at sea. Had he gone too far with the millionaire—told him too much? And how about this news of Evelyn Madden? Could it be true? Was she really in Los Angeles? It sounded plausible enough, and her father’s manner when he spoke of her seemed frankness itself.
Oh, well—the heat on the desert was now a tangible thing, wave on wave of filmy haze. Eden was weary with his many problems. He followed Madden’s example, and slept the afternoon away.
When he rose the sun was sinking and the cool night coming on. He heard Gamble in the bathroom. Gamble— who was Gamble? Why was he allowed to remain on Madden’s ranch?
In the patio the boy had a few whispered words with Ah Kim, telling him the news about Evelyn Madden.
“Thorn and professor home now,” the detective said. “I notice mileage—thirty-nine, as before. And bits of red clay on floor of car.”
Eden shook his head. “Time is passing,” he remarked.
Chan shrugged. “If I could arrest it I would do so,” he replied.
At the dinner-table Professor Gamble was amiability personified.
“Well, well, Mr Eden, we’re glad to have you back with us. Sorry to have you miss any of this desert air. Your business—if I may presume—your business prospered?”
“Sure did,” smiled Eden. “And how does yours go?”
The professor looked at him quickly. “I—er—I am happy to say I have had a most gratifying day. I found the very rat I was looking for.”
“Fine for you, but hard on the rat,” said Eden, and the dinner proceeded in silence.
When they rose from the table Madden lighted a cigar and dropped into his favourite chair before the fire. Gamble sat down with a magazine beside a lamp. Eden took out a packet of cigarettes, lighted one, wandered about. Thorn also selected a magazine. The big clock struck the hour of seven, and then an air of almost intolerable quiet settled over the room.
Eden paused at the wireless set. “Never could see the sense of these things until I came down here,” he explained to Madden. “I realize now there are times when even a lecture on the habits of the hookworm may seem enchanting. How about a bedtime story for the kiddies?”
He tuned in. Ah Kim entered and busied himself at the table. The sharp voice of an announcer in Los Angeles filled the room:
“… next number on our programme—Miss Norma Fitzgerald, who is appearing in the musical show at the Mason, will sing a couple of selections.”
Madden leaned forward and tapped the ash from his cigar. Thorn and Gamble looked up with languid interest.
“Hello, folks,” came the voice of the woman Bob Eden had talked with the day before
. “Here I am again. And right at the start I want to thank all you good friends for the loads and loads of letters I’ve had since I went on the air out here. I found a lovely bunch at the studio to-night. I haven’t had time to read them all, but I want to tell Sadie French, if she’s listening in, that I was glad to know she’s in Santa Monica, and I’ll sure call her up. Another letter that brought me happiness was from my old pal, Jerry Delaney.…”
Eden’s heart stopped beating. Madden leaned forward, Thorn’s mouth opened and stayed that way, and the eyes of the professor narrowed. Ah Kim, at the table, worked without a sound.
“I’ve been a little worried about Jerry,” the woman went on, “and it was great to know that he’s alive and well. I’m looking forward to seeing him soon. Now I must go on with my programme, because I’m due at the theatre in half an hour. I hope you good people will all come and see us, for we’ve certainly got a dandy little show, and—”
“Oh, shut the confounded thing off,” said Madden. “Advertising, nine-tenths of these radio programmes. Makes me sick.”
Norma Fitzgerald had burst into song, and Bob Eden shut the confounded thing off. A long look passed between him and Ah Kim. A voice had come to the desert, come over the bare brown hills and the dreary miles of sage-brush and sand—a voice that said Jerry Delaney was alive and well. Alive and well—and all their fine theories came crashing down.
The man Madden killed was not Jerry Delaney! Then whose was the voice calling for help that tragic night at the ranch? Who uttered the cry that was heard and echoed by Tony, the Chinese Parrot?
Chapter XX
Petticoat Mine
Ah kim, carrying a heavy tray of dishes, left the room. Madden leaned back at ease in his chair, his eyes closed, and blew thick rings of smoke toward the ceiling. The professor and Thorn resumed their placid reading, one on each side of the lamp. A touching scene of domestic peace!
But Bob Eden did not share that peace. His heart was beating fast—his mind was dazed. He rose and slipped quietly outdoors. In the cookhouse Ah Kim was at the sink, busily washing dishes. To look at the impassive face of the Chinese no one would have guessed that this was not his regular employment.
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