In another moment Madden was with them there by the car, and they felt rather than saw a quivering, suppressed fury in every inch of the millionaire’s huge frame. With an oath he snatched a flashlight from the hand of Charlie Chan and bent over the silent form in the back of the car. The glow from the lamp illuminated faintly his big red face, his searching eyes, and Bob Eden watched him with interest.

There in that dusty car lay the lifeless shape of one who had served Madden faithfully for many years. Yet no sign either of compassion or regret was apparent in the millionaire’s face⁠—nothing save a constantly growing anger. Yes, Bob Eden reflected, those who reported Madden lacked a heart spoke nothing but the truth.

Madden straightened, and flashed the light into the pale face of his secretary.

“Fine business!” he snarled.

“Well, what are you staring at me for?” cried Thorn, his voice trembling.

“I’ll stare at you if I choose⁠—though God knows I’m sick of the sight of your silly face⁠—”

“I’ve had about enough from you,” warned Thorn, and the tremor in his voice was rage. For a moment they regarded each other while Bob Eden watched them, amazed. For the first time he realized that under the mask of their daily relations these two were anything but friends.

Suddenly Madden turned the light on Charlie Chan. “Look here, Ah Kim⁠—this was Louie Wong⁠—the boy you replaced here⁠—savvy? You’ve got to stay on the ranch now⁠—after I’ve gone too⁠—how about it?”

“I think I stay, boss.”

“Good. You’re the only bit of luck I’ve had since I came to this accursed place. Bring Louie into the living-room⁠—on the couch. I’ll call Eldorado.”

He stalked off through the patio to the house, and after a moment’s hesitation Chan and the secretary picked up the frail body of Louie Wong. Slowly Bob Eden followed that odd procession. In the living-room Madden was talking briskly on the telephone. Presently he hung up the receiver.

“Nothing to do but wait,” he said. “There’s a sort of constable in town⁠—he’ll be along pretty soon with the coroner. Oh, it’s fine business. They’ll overrun the place⁠—and I came here for a rest.”

“I suppose you want to know what happened,” Eden began. “I met Louie Wong in town, at the Oasis Café. Mr. Holley pointed him out to me, and⁠—”

Madden waved a great hand. “Oh, save all that for some half-witted cop. Fine business, this is.”

He took to pacing the floor like a lion with the toothache. Eden dropped into a chair before the fire. Chan had gone out, and Thorn was sitting silently nearby. Madden continued to pace. Bob Eden stared at the blazing logs. What sort of affair had he got into, anyhow? What desperate game was afoot here on Madden’s ranch, far out on the lonely desert? He began to wish himself out of it, back in town where the lights were bright and there was no constant undercurrent of hatred and suspicion and mystery.

He was still thinking in this vein when the clatter of a car sounded in the yard. Madden himself opened the door, and two of Eldorado’s prominent citizens entered.

“Come in, gentlemen,” Madden said, amiable with an effort. “Had a little accident out here.”

One of the two, a lean man with a brown, weather-beaten face, stepped forward.

“Howdy, Mr. Madden, I know you, but you don’t know me. I’m Constable Brackett, and this is our coroner, Doctor Simms. A murder, you said on the phone.”

“Well,” replied Madden, “I suppose you could call it that. But fortunately no one was hurt. No white man, I mean. Just my old Chink, Louie Wong.” Ah Kim had entered in time to hear this speech, and his eyes blazed for a moment as they rested on the callous face of the millionaire.

“Louie?” said the constable. He went over to the couch. “Why, poor old Louie. Harmless as they come, he was. Can’t figure who’d have anything against old Louie.”

The coroner, a brisk young man, also went to the couch and began an examination. Constable Brackett turned to Madden. “Now, we’ll make just as little trouble as we can, Mr. Madden,” he promised. Evidently he was much in awe of this great man. “But I don’t like this. It reflects on me. I got to ask a few questions. You see that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” answered Madden. “Fire away. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you a thing. I was in my room when my secretary”⁠—he indicated Thorn⁠—“came in and said that Mr. Eden here had just driven into the yard with the dead body of Louie in the car.”

The constable turned with interest to Eden. “Where’d you find him?” he inquired.

“He was perfectly all right when I picked him up,” Eden explained. He launched into his story⁠—the meeting with Louie at the Oasis, the ride across the desert, the stop at the gate, and finally the gruesome discovery in the yard. The constable shook his head.

“All sounds mighty mysterious to me,” he admitted. “You say you think he was killed while you was openin’ the gate. What makes you think so?”

“He was talking practically all the way out here,” Eden replied. “Muttering to himself there in the back seat. I heard him when I got out to unfasten the gate.”

“What was he sayin’?”

“He was talking in Chinese. I’m sorry, but I’m no sinologue.”

“I ain’t accused you of anything, have I?”

“A sinologue is a man who understands the Chinese language,” Bob Eden smiled.

“Oh.” The constable scratched his head. “This here secretary, now⁠—”

Thorn came forward. He had been in his room, he said, when he heard a disturbance in the yard, and went outside. Absolutely nothing to offer. Bob Eden’s glance fell on the tear across the back of Thorn’s coat. He looked at Charlie Chan, but the detective shook his head. Say nothing, his eyes directed.

The constable turned to Madden. “Who else is on the place?” he wanted to know.

“Nobody but Ah Kim here. He’s all right.”

The officer shook his head. “Can’t always tell,” he averred. “All these tong wars, you know.” He raised his voice to a terrific bellow. “Come here, you,” he cried.

Ah Kim, lately Detective-Sergeant Chan of the Honolulu police, came with expressionless face and stood before the constable. How often he had played the opposite role in such a scene⁠—played it far better than this mainland officer ever would!

“Ever see this Louie Wong before?” thundered the constable.

“Me, boss? No, boss, I no see ’um.”

“New round here, ain’t you?”

“Come las’ Fliday, boss.”

“Where did you work before this?”

“All place, boss. Big town, litta town.”

“I mean where’d you work last?”

“Lailload, I think, boss. Santa Fé lailload. Lay sticks on glound.”

“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 some time 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 to have something like this happen.”

“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 article. 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 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 footsteps 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.”

They stepped aside as a car swung by them and entered Madden’s yard.

“There’s Bliss now, with the constable,” Holley remarked. “Well, they get no help from us, eh?”

“Not a bit,” replied Eden. “Encourage them off the ranch at earliest possible moment. That’s Charlie’s suggestion.”

They returned to the yard and waited. Inside the living-room they heard Thorn and Madden talking with the two officers. After a time Bliss came out, followed by the millionaire and Constable Brackett. He greeted Holley as an old friend, and the editor introduced Bob Eden.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Eden,” said the captain. “Want to talk to you. What’s your version of this funny business?”

Bob Eden looked at him with distaste. He was a big, flat-footed policeman of the usual type, and no great intelligence shone in his eyes. The boy gave him a carefully edited story of the night before.

“Humph,” said Bliss. “Sounds queer to me.”

“Yes?” smiled Eden. “To me too. But it happens to be the truth.”

“Well, I’ll have a look at the ground out there,” remarked Bliss.

“You’ll find nothing,” said Holley. “Except the footprints of this young man and myself. We’ve just been taking a squint round.”

“Oh, you have, have you?” replied Bliss grimly. He strode through the gate, the constable tagging after him. After a perfunctory examination the two returned.

“This is sure some puzzle,” said Constable Brackett.

“Is that so?” Bliss sneered. “Well, get on to yourself. How about this Chink, Ah Kim? Had a good job here, didn’t he? Louie Wong comes back. What does that mean? Ah Kim loses his job.”

“Nonsense,” protested Madden.

“Think so, do you?” remarked Bliss. “Well, I don’t. I tell you I know these Chinks. They think nothing of sticking knives in each other. Nothing at all.” Ah Kim emerged from round the side of the house. “Hey, you,” cried Captain Bliss. Bob Eden began to worry.

Ah Kim came up. “You wantum me, boss?”

“You bet I want you. Going to lock you up.”

“Why foah, boss?”

“For knifing Louie Wong. You can’t get away with that stuff round here.”

The Chinese regarded this crude practitioner of his own arts with a lifeless eye. “You clazy, boss,” he said.

“Is that so?” Bliss’s face hardened. “I’ll show you just how crazy I am. Better tell me the whole story now. It’ll go a lot easier with you if you do.”

“What stoahy, boss?”

“How you sneaked out and put a knife in Louie last night.”

“Maybe you catch ’um knife, hey, boss?” asked Ah Kim maliciously.

“Never mind about that!”

“Poah old Ah Kim’s fingah plints on knife, hey, boss?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Bliss.

“Maybe you takee look-see, find velvet-slippah plints in sand, hey, boss?” Bliss glared at him in silence. “What I tell you⁠—you clazy cop, hey, boss?”

Holley and Eden looked at each other with keen enjoyment. Madden broke in: “Oh, come now, captain, you haven’t got a thing against him, and you know it. You take my cook away from me without any evidence, and I’ll make you sweat for it.”

“Well⁠—I⁠—” Bliss hesitated. “I know he did it, and I’ll prove it later.” His eyes lighted. “How’d you get into this country?” he demanded.

“ ’Melican citizen, boss. Boahn San Flancisco. Foahty-flive yeah old now.”

“Born here, eh? Is that so? Then you’ve got your chock-gee, I suppose. Let me see it.”

Bob Eden’s heart sank to his boots. Though many Chinese were without chock-gees, he knew that the lack of one would be sufficient excuse for this stupid policeman to arrest Chan at once. Another moment, and they’d all be done for.⁠ ⁠…

“Come on,” bellowed Bliss.

“What you say, boss?” parried Ah Kim.

“You know what I said. Your chock-gee⁠—certificate⁠—hand it over, or by heaven I’ll lock you up so quick⁠—”

“Oh, boss⁠—ce’tiflicate⁠—allight, boss.” And before Eden’s startled gaze the Chinese took from his blouse a worn slip of paper about the size of a banknote, and handed it to Bliss.

The captain read it sourly and handed it back. “All right⁠—but I ain’t through with you yet,” he said.

“Thanks, boss,” returned Ah Kim, brightening. “You plenty clazy, boss. Thasaw? Goo’-bye.” And he shuffled away.

“I told you it looked terrible mysterious to me,” commented the constable.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, shut up,” cried Bliss. “Mr. Madden, I’ll have to admit I’m stumped for the time being. But that condition don’t last long with me. I’ll get to the bottom of this yet. You’ll see me again.”

“Run out any time,” Madden invited, with deep insincerity. “If I happen on anything, I’ll call Constable Brackett.”

Bliss and the constable got into their car and rode away. Madden returned to the house.

“Oh, excellent Chan,” said Will Holley softly. “Where in Sam Hill did he get that chock-gee?”

“It looked as though we were done for,” Eden admitted. “But good old Charlie thinks of everything.”

Holley climbed into his car. “Well, I guess Madden isn’t going to invite me to lunch. I’ll go along. You know, I’m keener than ever to get the answer to this puzzle. Louie was my friend. It’s a rotten shame.”

“I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re on our way,” Eden answered. “I’d feel pretty helpless if I didn’t have Charlie with me.”

“Oh, you’ve got a few brains too,” Holley assured him.

“You’re clazy, boss,” Eden laughed, as the editor drove away.

Returning to his room, he found Ah Kim calmly making the bed.

“Charlie, you’re a peach,” said the boy, closing the door. “I thought we were sunk without warning. Whose chock-gee did you have, anyhow?”

“Ah Kim’s chock-gee, to be sure,” smiled Chan.

“Who’s Ah Kim?”

“Ah Kim humble vegetable merchant who drive me amidst other garden truck from Barstow to Eldorado. I make simple arrangement to rent chock-gee short while. Happy to note long wear in pockets make photograph look like image of anybody. Came to me in bright flash Madden might ask for identification certificate before engaging me for honourable tasks. Madden did not do so, but thing fit in plenty neat all the same.”

“It certainly did,” Eden agreed. “You’re a brick to do all this for the Jordans⁠—and for Dad. I hope they pay you handsomely.”

Chan shook his head. “What you say in car riding to ferry? Postman on holiday itches to try long stretch of road. All this sincere pleasure for me. When I untie knots and find answer, that will be fine reward.” He bowed and departed.

Some hours later, while they waited for lunch, Bob Eden and Madden sat talking in the big living-room. The millionaire was reiterating his desire to return East at the earliest possible moment. He was sitting facing the door. Suddenly on his big red face appeared a look of displeasure so intense it startled the boy. Turning about, Eden saw standing in the doorway the slight figure of a man, a stooped, studious-looking man who carried a suitcase in one hand. The little naturalist of the Oasis Café.

“Mr. Madden?” inquired the newcomer.

“I’m Madden,” said the millionaire. “What is it?”

“Ah, yes.” The stranger came into the room, and set down his bag. “My name, sir, is Gamble, Thaddeus Gamble, and I am keenly interested in certain fauna surrounding your desert home. I have here a letter from an old friend of yours, the president of a college that has received many benefactions at your hands. If you will be so kind as to look it over⁠—”

He offered the letter, and Madden took it, glaring at him in a most unfriendly manner. When the millionaire had read the brief epistle he tore it into bits and, rising, tossed them into the fireplace.

“You want to stop here a few days?” he said.

“It would be most convenient if I could,” answered Gamble. “Of course, I should like to pay for my accommodation⁠—”

Madden waved his hand. Ah Kim came in, headed for the luncheon-table. “Another place, Ah Kim,” ordered Madden. “And show Mr. Gamble to the room in the left wing⁠—the one next to Mr. Eden’s.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” remarked Gamble suavely. “I shall try to make as little trouble as may be. Luncheon impends, I take it. Not unwelcome, either. This⁠—er⁠—this desert air, sir⁠—er⁠—I’ll return in a moment.”

He followed Ah Kim out. Madden glared after him, his face purple. Bob Eden realized that a new puzzle had arrived.

“The devil with him,” cried Madden. “But I had to be polite. That letter.” He shrugged. “Gad, I hope I get out of here soon.”

Bob Eden continued to wonder. Who was Mr. Gamble? What did he want at Madden’s ranch?