he said in a dull voice. His face was quite expressionless. He threw the logs into the fireplace and as he fumed, gave Bob Eden a quick look. His eyes were momentarily sharp and bright—like black buttons in the yellow light. The eyes of Charlie Chan.
The little servant went noiselessly out. "The pearls," insisted Madden quickly. "What about the pearls?" Martin Thorn came closer.
"I haven't got them," said Bob Eden slowly.
"What! You didn't bring them?"
"I did not."
The huge red face of Madden purpled suddenly, and he tossed his great head—the old gesture of annoyance of which the newspapers often spoke. "In heaven's name, what's the matter with you fellows, anyhow?" he cried. "Those pearls are mine—I've bought them, haven't I? I've asked for them here—I want them."
"Call your servant." The words were on the tip of Bob Eden's tongue. But something in that look Charlie Chan had given him moved him to hesitate. No, he must first have a word with the little detective.
"Your final instructions to my father were that the pearls must be delivered in New York," he reminded Madden.
"Well, what if they were? I can change my mind, can't I?"
"Nevertheless, my father felt that the whole affair called for caution. One or two things happened—"
"What things?"
Eden paused. Why go over all that? It would sound silly, perhaps—in any case, was it wise to make a confidant of this cold, hard man who was glaring at him with such evident disgust? "It is enough to say, Mr. Madden, that my father refused to send that necklace down here into what might be a well-laid trap."
"Your father's a fool," cried Madden.
Bob Eden rose, his face flushed. "Very well—if you want to call the deal off—"
"No, no. I'm sorry. I spoke too quickly. I apologize. Sit down." The boy resumed his chair. "But I'm very much annoyed. So your father sent you here to reconnoiter?"
"He did. He felt something might have happened to you."
"Nothing ever happens to me unless I want it to," returned Madden, and the remark had the ring of truth. "Well you're here now. You see everything's all right. What do you propose to do?"
"I shall call my father on the telephone in the morning, and tell him to send the string at once. If I may, I'd like to stay here until it comes."
Again Madden tossed his head. "Delay—delay—I don't like it. I must hurry back east. I'd planned to leave here for Pasadena early in the morning, put the pearls in a vault there, and then take a train to New York."
"Ah," said Eden. "Then you never intended to give that interview to Holley?"
Madden's eyes narrowed. "What if I didn't? He's of no importance, is he?" Bruskly he stood up. "Well, if you haven't got the pearls, you haven't got them. You can stay here, of course. But you're going to call your father in the morning—early—I warn you I won't stand for any more delay."
"I agree to that," replied Eden. "And now, if you don't mind—I've had a hard day—"
Madden went to the door, and called. Charlie Chan came in.
"Ah Kim," said Madden, "this gentleman has the bedroom at the end of the left wing. Over here." He pointed. "Take his suitcase."
"Allight, boss," replied the newly christened Ah Kim. He picked up Eden's bag.
"Good night," said Madden. "If you want anything, this boy will look after you. He's new here, but I guess he knows the ropes. You can reach your room from the patio. I trust you'll sleep well."
"I know I shall," said Eden. "Thank you so much. Good night."
He crossed the patio behind the shuffling figure of the Chinese. Above, white and cool, hung the desert stars. The wind blew keener than ever. As he entered the room assigned him he was glad to see that a fire had been laid. He stooped to light it.
"Humbly begging pardon," said Chan. "That are my work."
Eden glanced toward the closed door. "What became of you? I lost you at Barstow."
"Thinking deep about the matter," said Chan softly, "I decide not to await train. On auto truck belonging to one of my countrymen, among many other vegetables, I ride out of Barstow. Much better I arrive on ranch in warm daylight. Not so shady look to it. I am Ah Kim, the cook. How fortunate I mastered that art in far-away youth."
"You're darned good," laughed Eden.
Chan shrugged. "All my life," he complained, "I study to speak fine English words. Now I must strangle all such in my throat, lest suspicion rouse up. Not a happy situation for me."
"Well, it won't last long," replied Eden. "Everything's all right, evidently."
Again Chan shrugged, and did not answer.
"It is all right, isn't it?" Eden asked with sudden interest.
"Humbly offering my own poor opinion," said Chan, "it are not so right as I would be pleased to have it."
Eden stared at him. "Why—what have you found out?"
"I have found nothing whatever."
"Well, then—"
"Pardon me," Chan broke in. "Maybe you know—Chinese are very psychic people. Can not say in ringing words what is wrong here. But deep down in heart—"
"Oh, forget that," cut in Eden. "We can't go by instinct now. We came to deliver a string of pearls to Madden, if he proved to be here, and get his receipt. He's here, and our course is simple. For my part, I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to give him those pearls now."
Chan looked distressed. "No, no, please! Speaking humbly for myself—"
"Now, see here, Charlie—if I may call you that?"
"Greatly honored, to be sure."
"Let's not be foolish, just because we're far from home on a desert. Chinese may be psychic people, as you say. But I see myself trying to explain that to Victor Jordan—and to dad. All we were to find out was whether Madden was here or not. He is. Please go to Madden at once and tell him I want to see him in his bedroom in twenty minutes. When I go in you wait outside his door, and when I call you—come. We'll hand over our burden then and there."
"An appalling mistake," objected Chan.
"Why? Can you give me one definite reason?"
"Not in words, which are difficult. But—"
"Then I'm very sorry, but I'll have to use my own judgment. I'll take the full responsibility. Now, really, I think you'd better go—"
Reluctantly, Charlie went. Bob Eden lighted a cigarette and sat down before the fire. Silence had closed down like a curtain of fog over the house, over the desert, over the world. An uncanny silence that nothing, seemingly, would ever break.
Eden
