The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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glared at him. "You young—you—er—young—"
"I know," Eden said. "But this was all your fault. If you will insist on cluttering up the ranch with strangers, you must take the consequences."
"Who cluttered up the ranch?" Madden demanded. "I didn't invite that poor fool here. Where the devil did Thorn pick him up, anyhow? You know, the secretary of a man like me is always besieged by a lot of four-flushers—tip hunters and the like. And Thorn's an idiot, sometimes." The secretary entered and laid the flashlight on the desk. His employer regarded him with keen distaste. "Well, your little playmate certainly queered things," he said.
Thorn shrugged. "I know. I'm sorry, Chief. But I couldn't help it. You saw how he horned in."
"Your fault for knowing him. Who is he, anyhow?"
"Oh, he's a broker, or something like that. I give you my word, Chief, I never encouraged him. You know how those fellows are."
"Well, you go out tomorrow and tie a can to him. Tell him I'm busy here and don't want any visitors. Tell him for me that if he calls here again, I'll throw him out."
"All right. I'll go down to the doctor's in the morning and let him know—in a diplomatic way."
"Diplomatic nothing," snorted Madden. "Don't waste diplomacy on a man like that. I won't, if I see him again."
"Well, gentlemen, I think I'll turn in," Eden remarked.
"Good night," said Madden, and the boy went out.
In his bedroom he found Ah Kim enraged in lighting the fire. He closed the door carefully behind him.
"Well, Charlie, I've just been in a poker game."
"A fact already noted by me," smiled Chan.
"Shaky Phil has made a start on us, anyhow. He got forty-seven precious iron men this quiet evening."
"Humbly suggest you be careful," advised Chan.
"Humbly believe you're right," laughed Eden. "I was hoping you were in the offing when Thorn and our friend went to the gate."
"Indeed I was," remarked Chan. "But moonlight so fierce, near approach was not possible."
"Well, I'm pretty sure of one thing, after tonight," Eden told him. "P.J. Madden never saw Shaky Phil before. Either that, or he's the finest actor since Edwin Booth."
"Thorn, however—"
"Oh, Thorn knew him all right. But he wasn't the least bit glad to see him. You know, Thorn's whole manner suggested to me that Shaky Phil has something on him."
"That might be possible," agreed Chan. "Especially come to think of my latest discovery."
"You've found something new, Charlie? What?"
"This evening, when Thorn haste to town in little car and I hear noisome snores of Madden who sleep on bed, I make explicit search in secretary's room."
"Yes—go on—quick. We might be interrupted."
"Under mountain of white shirts in Thorn's bureau reposes—what? Missing forty-five we call Bill Hart's gun."
"Good work! Thorn—the little rat—"
"Undubitably. Two chambers of that gun are quite unoccupied. Reflect on that."
"I'm reflecting. Two empty chambers."
"Humbly suggest you sleep now, gathering strength for what may be most excited tomorrow." The little detective paused at the door. "Two bullets gone who knows where," he said, in a low voice. "Answer is, we know where one went. Went crazy, landing in wall at spot now covered by desert picture."
"And the other?" said Bob Eden thoughtfully.
"Other hit mark, I think. What mark? We watch and wait, and maybe we discover. Good night, with plenty happy dreams."
Chapter IX. A Ride in the Dark
On Sunday morning Bob Eden rose at what was, for him, an amazingly early hour. Various factors conspired to induce this strange phenomenon—the desert sun, an extremely capable planet, filling his room with light, the roosters of P.J. Madden, loudly vocal in the dawn. At eight o'clock he was standing in the ranch house yard, ready for whatever the day might bring forth.
Whatever it brought, the day was superb. Now the desert was at its best, the chill of night still lingering in the magic air. He looked out over an opal sea, at changing colors of sand and cloud and mountaintop that shamed by their brilliance those glittering show-cases in the jewelry shop of Meek and Eden. Though it was the fashion of his age to pretend otherwise, he was not oblivious to beauty, and he set out for a stroll about the ranch with a feeling of awe in his heart.
Turning a rear corner of the barn, he came unexpectedly upon a jarring picture. Martin Thorn was busy beside a basket, digging a deep hole in the sand. In his dark clothes, with his pale face glistening from his unaccustomed exertion, he looked not unlike some prominent mortician.
"Hello," said Eden. "Who are you burying this fine morning?"
Thorn stopped. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his high white forehead.
"Somebody has to do it," he complained. "That new boy's too lazy. And if you let this refuse accumulate the place begins to look like a deserted picnic grounds."
He nodded toward the basket, filled with old tin cans.
"Wanted, private secretary to bury rubbish back of barn," smiled Eden. "A new sidelight on your profession, Thorn. Good idea to get them out of the way, at that," he added, leaning over and taking up a can. "Especially this one, which I perceive lately held arsenic."
"Arsenic?" repeated Thorn. He passed a dark coat sleeve across his brow. "Oh yes—we use a lot of that. Rats, you know."
"Rats," remarked Eden, with an odd inflection, restoring the can to its place.
Thorn emptied the contents of the basket into the hole, and began to fill it in. Eden, playing well his role of innocent bystander, watched him idly.
"There—that's better," said the secretary, smoothing the sand over the recent excavation. "You know—I've always had a passion for neatness." He picked up the basket. "By the way," he added, "if you don't mind, I'd like to give you a little advice."
"Glad to have it," Eden replied, walking along beside him.
"I don't know how anxious you people are to sell that necklace. But I've been with the chief fifteen years, and I can tell you he's not the sort of man you can keep waiting with impunity. The first thing you know, young man, that deal for the pearls will be off."
"I'm doing my best," Eden told him. "Besides, Madden's getting a big bargain, and he must know it—if he stops to think—"
"Once P.J. Madden loses his temper," said Thorn, "he doesn't stop to think. I'm warning you, that's all."
"Mighty kind of you," answered Eden carelessly. Thorn dropped his spade and basket by the cookhouse, from which came the pleasant odor of bacon on the stocks. Walking slowly, the secretary moved on toward the patio. Ah Kim emerged from his work-room, his cheeks flushed from close juxtaposition to a cook-stove.
"Hello, boss," he said. "You takee look-see at sunrise thisee mawnin'?"
"Up pretty early, but not as early as that," the boy replied. He saw the secretary vanish into the house. "Just been watching our dear friend Thorn bury some rubbish back of the barn," he added. "Among other items, a can that lately contained arsenic."
Chan dropped the role of Ah Kim. "Mr. Thorn plenty busy man," he said. "Maybe he get more busy as time goes by. One wrong deed leads on to other wrong deeds, like unending chain. Chinese have saying that applies: 'He who rides on tiger can not dismount.'"
Madden