The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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whose presence lesser men came with awe and trembling, had himself known the emotion of fear. Ridiculous, but "you were always afraid of him," Thorn had said.
Some hidden door in the millionaire's past must be found and opened. First of all, the identity of the man who had gone west last Wednesday night on this lonely ranch must be ascertained. Well, at least the mystery was beginning to clear, the long sequence of inexplicable, maddening events since they came to the desert was broken for a moment by a tangible bit of explanation. Here was a start, something into which they could get their teeth. From this they must push on to—what?
Chan was waiting in the patio when Bob Eden came out. His face was decorated with a broad grin.
"Breakfast reposes on table," he announced. "Consume it speedily. Before us stretches splendid day for investigation with no prying eyes."
"What's that?" asked Eden. "Nobody here? How about Gamble?"
Chan led the way to the living-room, and held Bob Eden's chair. "Oh, cut that, Charlie," the boy said. "You're not Ah Kim today. Do you mean to say that Gamble has also left us?"
Chan nodded. "Gamble develops keen yearning to visit Pasadena," he replied. "On which journey he is welcome as one of his long-tailed rats."
Eden quaffed his orange juice. "Madden didn't want him, eh?"
"Not much," Chan answered. "I rise before day breaks and prepare breakfast, which are last night's orders. Madden and Thorn arrive, brushing persistent sleep out of eyes. Suddenly enters this Professor Gamble, plentifully awake and singing happy praise for desert sunrise. 'You are up early,' says Madden, growling like dissatisfied dog. 'Decided to take little journey to Pasadena along with you,' announces Gamble. Madden purples like distant hills when evening comes, but regards me and quenches his reply. When he and Thorn enter big car, behold Mr. Gamble climbing into rear seat. If looks could assassinate Madden would then and there have rendered him extinct, but such are not the case. Car rolls off on to sunny road with Professor Gamble smiling pleasantly in back. Welcome as long-tailed rat but not going to worry about it, thank you."
Eden chuckled. "Well, it's a good thing from our standpoint, Charlie. I was wondering what we were going to do with Gamble nosing round. Big load off our shoulders right away."
"Very true," agreed Chan. "Alone here, we relax all over place and find what is to find. How you like oatmeal, boy? Not so lumpy, if I may be permitted the immodesty."
"Charlie, the world lost a great chef when you became a policeman. But—the devil! Who's that driving in?"
Chan went to the door. "No alarm necessary," he remarked. "Only Mr. Holley."
The editor appeared. "Here I am, up with the lark and ready for action," he announced. "Want to be in on the big hunt, if you don't mind."
"Certainly don't," said Eden. "Glad to have you. We've had a bit of luck already." He explained about Gamble's departure.
Holley nodded wisely. "Of course Gamble went to Pasadena," he remarked. "He's not going to let Madden out of his sight. You know, I've had some flashes of inspiration about this matter out here."
"Good for you," replied Eden. "For instance—"
"Oh, just wait a while. I'll dazzle you with them at the proper moment. You see, I used to do a lot of police reporting. Little bright eyes, I was often called."
"Pretty name," laughed Eden.
"Little bright eyes is here to look about," Holley continued. "First of all, we ought to decide what we're looking for."
"I guess we know that, don't we?" Eden asked.
"Oh, in a general way, but let's be explicit. To go back and start at the beginning—that's the proper method, isn't it, Chan?"
Charlie shrugged. "Always done—in books," he said. "In real life, not so much so."
Holley smiled. "That's right—dampen my young enthusiasm. However, I am now going to recall a few facts. We needn't stress the side issues at present—the pearls, the activities of Shaky Phil in San Francisco, the murder of Louie, the disappearance of Madden's daughter—all these will be explained when we get the big answer. We are concerned today chiefly with the story of the old prospector."
"Who may have been lying, or mistaken," Eden suggested.
"Yes—his tale seems unbelievable, I admit. Without any evidence to back it up, I wouldn't pay much attention to it. However, we have that evidence. Don't forget Tony's impassioned remarks, and his subsequent taking off. More important still, there is Bill Hart's gun, with two empty chambers. Also the bullet hole in the wall. What more do you want?"
"Oh, it seems to be well substantiated," Eden agreed.
"It is. No doubt about it—somebody was shot at this place Wednesday night. We thought at first Thorn was the killer, now we switch to Madden. Madden lured somebody to Thorn's room, or cornered him there, and killed him. Why? Because he was afraid of him? We think hard about Wednesday night—and what do we want to know? We want to know—who was the third man?"
"The third man?" Eden repeated.
"Precisely. Ignore the prospector—who was at the ranch? Madden and Thorn—yes. And one other. A man who, seeing his life in danger, called loudly for help. A man who, a moment later, lay on the floor beyond the bed, and whose shoes alone were visible from where the prospector stood. Who was he? Where did he come from? When did he arrive? What was his business? Why was Madden afraid of him? These are the questions to which we must now seek answers. Am I right, Sergeant Chan?"
"Undubitably," Charlie replied. "And how shall we find those answers? By searching, perhaps. Humbly suggest we search."
"Every nook and corner of this ranch," agreed Holley. "We'll begin with Madden's desk. Some stray bit of correspondence may throw unexpected light. It's locked, of course. But I've brought along a pocketful of old keys—got them from a locksmith in town."
"You act like number one detective," Chan remarked.
"Thanks," answered Holley. He went over to the big flat-topped desk belonging to the millionaire and began to experiment with various keys. In a few moments he found the proper one and all the drawers stood open.
"Splendid work," said Chan.
"Not much here, though," Holley declared. He removed the papers from the top left-hand drawer and laid them on the blotting pad. Bob Eden lighted a cigarette and strolled away. Somehow this idea of inspecting Madden's mail did not appeal to him.
The representatives of the police and the press, however, were not so delicately minded. For more than half an hour Chan and the editor studied the contents of Madden's desk. They found nothing, save harmless and understandable data of business deals, not a solitary scrap that could by the widest stretch of the imagination throw any light on the identity or meaning of the third man. Finally, perspiring and baffled, they gave up and the drawers were relocked.
"Well," said Holley, "not so good, eh? Mark the desk off our list and let's move on."
"With your permission," Chan remarked, "we divide the labors. For you gentlemen the inside of the house. I myself have fondly feeling for outdoors." He disappeared.
One by one, Holley and Eden searched the rooms. In the bedroom occupied by the secretary they saw for themselves the bullet hole in the wall. An investigation of the bureau, however, revealed the fact that Bill Hart's pistol was no longer there. This was their sole discovery of any interest.
"We're up against it," admitted Holley, his cheerful manner waning. "Madden's a clever man, and he didn't leave a warm trail, of course. But somehow—somewhere—"
They returned to the living-room. Chan, hot and puffing, appeared suddenly at the door. He dropped into a chair.
"What luck, Charlie?" Eden inquired.
"None whatever," admitted Chan gloomily. "Heavy disappointment causes my heart to sag. No gambler myself, but would have offered huge wager something buried on this ranch. When Madden,