The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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find it difficult to believe."
"Perhaps you won't find it so difficult if I go back and tell you a few things. You've been drawn into the big mystery at Madden's at last, and there's no reason why you shouldn't know as much as I do about it. So I'm going to talk."
"I'm keen to hear," she admitted.
"Naturally, after today. Well, I came down here to transact a bit of business with P.J.—I needn't go into that, it has no particular bearing. The first night I was on the ranch—" He proceeded to detail one by one the mysterious sequence of events that began with the scream of the parrot from the dark. "Now you know. Some one had been killed, that was evident. Some one before Louie. But who? We don't know yet. And by whom? Today gave us that answer, anyhow."
"It seems incredible."
"You don't believe Cherry's story?" he suggested.
"Well—these old boys who wander the desert get queer sometimes. And there was that about his eyes—the doctor at Redlands, you know—"
"I know. But all the same, I think Cherry told the truth. After a few days with Madden, I consider him capable of anything. He's a hard man, and if any one stood in his way—good night. Some poor devil stood there—but not for long. Who? We'll find out. We must."
"We?"
"Yes—you're in on this thing, too. Have to be, after this, whether you like it or not."
"I think I'm going to like it," Paula Wendell said.
They returned their tired horses to the stable at Seven Palms, and after a sketchy dinner at the local hotel, caught the Eldorado train. When they alighted, Charlie and Will Holley were waiting.
"Hello," said the editor. "Why, hello, Paula—where you been? Eden, here's Ah Kim. Madden sent him in for you."
"Hello, gentlemen," cried Eden gaily. "Before Ah Kim and I head for the ranch, we're all going over to the office of that grand old sheet, the Eldorado Times. I have something to impart."
When they reached the newspaper office—which Ah Kim entered with obvious reluctance—Eden closed the door and faced them. "Well, folks," he announced, "the clouds are breaking. I've finally got hold of something definite. But before I go any further—Miss Wendell, may I present Ah Kim? So we sometimes call him, after our quaint fashion. In reality, you are now enjoying the priceless opportunity of meeting Detective-Sergeant Charlie Chan, of the Honolulu police."
Chan bowed. "I'm so glad to know you, Sergeant," said the girl, and took up her favorite perch on Holley's typewriter table.
"Don't look at me like that, Charlie," laughed Eden. "You're breaking my heart. We can rely on Miss Wendell, absolutely. And you can't freeze her out any longer because she now knows more about your case than you do. As they say on the stage—won't you—sit down?"
Puzzled and wondering, Chan and Will Holley found chairs. "I said this morning I wanted a little light," Eden continued. "I've got it already—how's that for service? Aimless trip to Barstow, Charlie, proved to be all aim. Miss Wendell and I turned aside for a canter over the desert, and we have met and interviewed that little black-bearded one—our desert rat."
"Boy—now you're talking," cried Holley.
Chan's eyes lighted.
"Chinese are psychic people, Charlie," Eden went on. "I'll tell the world. You were right. Before we arrived at Madden's ranch, some one staged a little murder there. And I know who did it."
"Thorn," suggested Holley.
"Thorn nothing! No piker like Thorn. No, gentlemen, it was the big chief—Madden himself—the great P.J. Last Wednesday night at his ranch Madden killed a man. Add favorite pastimes of big millionaires."
"Nonsense," objected Holley
"You think so, eh? Listen." Eden repeated the story Cherry had told.
Chan and Holley heard him out in amazed silence.
"And what are present whereabouts of old prospector?" inquired Chan when he had finished.
"I know, Charlie," answered Eden. "That's the flaw in my armor. I let him go. He's on his way—over yonder. But I know where he's going and we can get hold of him when we need him. We've got other matters to look after first."
"We certainly have," agreed Holley. "Madden! I can hardly believe it."
Chan considered. "Most peculiar case ever shoved on my attention," he admitted. "It marches now, but look how it marches backwards. Mostly murder means dead body on the rug, and from clues surrounding, I must find who did it. Not so here. I sense something wrong, after long pause light breaks and I hear name of guilty man who killed. But who was killed? The reason, please? There is work to be done—much work."
"You don't think," suggested Eden, "that we ought to call in the sheriff—"
"What then?" frowned Chan. "Captain Bliss arrives on extensive feet, committing blunder with every step. Sheriff faces strange situation, all unprepared. Madden awes them with greatness, and escapes Scotch-free. None of the sheriff, please—unless maybe you lose faith in Detective-Sergeant Chan."
"Never for a minute, Charlie," Eden answered. "Wipe out that suggestion. The case is yours."
Chan bowed. "You're pretty good, thanks. Such a tipsy-turvy puzzle rouses professional pride. I will get to bottom of it or lose entire face. Be good enough to watch me."
"I'll be watching," Eden answered. "Well, shall we go along?"
In front of the Desert Edge Hotel Bob Eden held out his hand to the girl. "The end of a perfect day," he said. "Except for one thing."
"Yes? What thing?"
"Wilbur. I'm beginning to find the thought of him intolerable."
"Poor Jack. You're so hard on him. Good night—and—"
"And what?"
"Be careful, won't you? Out at the ranch, I mean."
"Always careful—on ranches—everywhere. Good night."
As they sped over the dark road to Madden's, Chan was thoughtfully silent. He and Eden parted in the yard. When the boy entered the patio, he saw Madden sitting alone, wrapped in an overcoat, before a dying fire.
The millionaire leaped to his feet. "Hello," he said. "Well?"
"Well?" replied Eden. He had completely forgotten his mission to Barstow.
"You saw Draycott?" Madden whispered.
"Oh!" The boy remembered with a start. More deception—would it ever end? "Tomorrow at the door of the bank in Pasadena," he said softly. "Noon sharp."
"Good," answered Madden. "I'll be off before you're up. Not turning in already?"
"I think I will," responded Eden. "I've had a busy day."
"Is that so?" said Madden carelessly, and strode into the living-room. Bob Eden stood staring after the big broad shoulders, the huge frame of this powerful man. A man who seemed to have the world in his grasp, but who had killed because he was afraid.
Chapter XIV. The Third Man
As soon as he was fully awake the following morning, Bob Eden's active brain returned to the problem with which it had been concerned when he dropped off to sleep. Madden had killed a man. Cool, confident and self-possessed though he always seemed, the millionaire had lost his head for once. Ignoring the possible effect of such an act on his fame, his high position, he had with murderous intent pulled the trigger on the gun Bill Hart had given him. His plight must have been desperate indeed.
Whom had he killed? That was something yet to be discovered. Why had he done it? By his own confession, because he was afraid. Madden, whose very