The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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you work last?"
"Lailload, I think, boss. Santa Fe lailload. Lay sticks on ground."
"Ah—er—well, doggone." The constable had run out of questions. "Ain't had much practice at this sort of thing," he apologized. "Been so busy confiscatin' licker these last few years I sort of lost the knack for police work. This is sheriff's stuff. I called him before we come out, an' he's sendin' Captain Bliss of the Homicide Squad down tomorrow mornin'. So we won't bother you no more tonight, Mr. Madden."
The coroner came forward. "We'll take the body in town, Mr. Madden," he said. "I'll have the inquest in there, but I may want to bring my jurors out here sometime tomorrow."
"Oh, sure," replied Madden. "Just attend to anything that comes up, and send all the bills to me. Believe me, I'm sorry this thing has happened."
"So am I," said the constable. "Louie was a good old scout."
"Yes—and—well, I don't like it. It's annoying."
"All mighty mysterious to me," the constable admitted again. "My wife told me I never ought to take this job. Well, so long, Mr. Madden—great pleasure to meet a man like you."
When Bob Eden retired to his room, Madden and Thorn were facing each other on the hearth. Something in the expression of each made him wish he could overhear the scene about to be enacted in that room.
Ah Kim was waiting beside a crackling fire. "I make 'um burn, boss," he said. Eden closed the door and sank into a chair.
"Charlie, in heaven's name, what's going on here?" he inquired helplessly.
Chan shrugged. "Plenty goes on," he said. "Two nights now gone since in this room I hint to you Chinese are psychic people. On your face then I see well-bred sneer."
"I apologize," Eden returned. "No sneering after this, even the well-bred kind. But I'm certainly stumped. This thing tonight—"
"Most unfortunate, this thing tonight," said Chan thoughtfully. "Humbly suggest you be very careful, or everything spoils. Local police come thumping on to scene, not dreaming in their slight brains that murder of Louie are of no importance in the least."
"Not important, you say?"
"No, indeed, Not when compared to other matters."
"Well, it was pretty important to Louie, I guess," said Eden.
"Guess so, too. But murder of Louie just like death of parrot—one more dark deed covering up very black deed occurring here before we arrive on mysterious scene. Before parrot go, before Louie make unexpected exit, unknown person dies screaming unanswered cries for help. Who? Maybe in time we learn."
"Then you think Louie was killed because he knew too much?"
"Just like Tony, yes. Poor Louie very foolish, does not stay in San Francisco when summoned there. Comes with sad blunder back to desert. Most bitterly unwelcome here. One thing puzzles me."
"Only one thing?" asked Eden.
"One at present. Other puzzles put aside for moment. Louie goes on Wednesday morning, probably before black deed was done. How then does he know? Did act have echo in San Francisco? I am most sad not to have talk with him. But there are other paths to follow."
"I hope so," sighed Bob Eden. "But I don't see them. This is too much for me."
"Plenty for me, too," agreed Chan. "Pretty quick I go home, lifelong yearning for travel forever quenched. Keep in mind, much better police do not find who killed Louie Wong. If they do, our fruit may be picked when not yet ripe. We should handle case. Officers of law must be encouraged off of ranch at earliest possible time, having found nothing."
"Well, the constable was easy enough," smiled Eden.
"All looked plenty mysterious to him," answered Chan, smiling, too.
"I sympathized with him in that," Eden admitted. "But this Captain Bliss probably won't be so simple. You watch your step, Charlie, or they'll lock you up."
Chan nodded. "New experiences crowd close on this mainland," he said. "Detective-Sergeant Chan a murder suspect. Maybe I laugh at that, when I get home again. Just now, laugh won't come. A warm good night—"
"Wait a minute," interrupted Eden. "How about Tuesday afternoon? Madden's expecting the messenger with the pearls then, and somehow, I haven't a stall left in me."
Chan shrugged. "Two days yet. Stop the worry. Much may manage to occur before Tuesday afternoon." He went out softly.
Just as they finished breakfast on Monday morning, a knock sounded on the door of the ranch house, and Thorn admitted Will Holley.
"Oh," said Madden sourly. His manner had not improved overnight. "So you're here again."
"Naturally," replied Holley. "Being a good newspaper man, I'm not overlooking the first murder we've had round here in years." He handed a newspaper to the millionaire. "By the way, here's a Los Angeles morning paper. Our interview is on the front page."
Madden took it without much interest. Over his shoulder Bob Eden caught a glimpse of the headlines:
ERA OF PROSPERITY DUE, SAYS FAMED MAGNATE
P.J. Madden, Interviewed on Desert Ranch, Predicts Business Boom
Madden glanced idly through the story. When he had finished, he said: "In the New York papers, I suppose?"
"Of course," Holley answered. "All over the country this morning. You and I are famous, Mr. Madden. But what's this about poor old Louie?"
"Don't ask me," frowned Madden. "Some fool bumped him off. Your friend Eden can tell you more than I can." He got up and strode from the room.
Eden and Holley stared at each other for a moment, then went together into the yard.
"Pretty raw stuff," remarked Holley. "It makes me hot. Louie was a kindly old soul. Killed in the car, I understand."
Eden related what had happened. They moved farther away from the house.
"Well, who do you think?" Holley inquired.
"I think Thorn," Eden answered. "However, Charlie says Louie's passing was just a minor incident, and it will be better all round if his murderer isn't found just at present. Of course he's right."
"Of course he is. And there isn't much danger they'll catch the guilty man, at that. The constable is a helpless old fellow."
"How about this Captain Bliss?"
"Oh, he's a big noisy bluff with a fatal facility for getting the wrong man. The sheriff's a regular fellow, with brains, but he may not come round. Let's stroll out and look over the ground where you left the car last night. I've got something to slip you, a telegram—from your father, I imagine."
As they went through the gate, the telegram changed hands. Holding it so it could not be seen from the house, Bob Eden read it through.
"Well, dad says he's going to put up the bluff to Madden that's he's sending Draycott with the pearls tonight."
"Draycott?" asked Holley.
"He's a private detective dad uses in San Francisco. As good a name as any, I suppose. When Draycott fails to arrive, dad's going to be very much upset." The boy considered for a moment. "I guess it's about the best he can do—but I hate all this deception. And I certainly don't like the job of keeping Madden cool. However, something may happen before then."
They examined the ground where Bob Eden had halted the car while he opened the gate the night before. The tracks of many cars passing in the road were evident—but no sign of any footsteps. "Even my footprints are gone," remarked Eden. "Do you suppose it was the wind, drifting the sand—"
Holley shrugged. "No," he said. "It was not. Somebody has been out here with a broom, my boy, and obliterated every trace of footsteps about that car."
Eden nodded. "You're right. Somebody—but who? Our old friend Thorn, of course."
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