The man at the door came farther into the room and looked inquiringly about him. His eyes fell on Thorn.

“Hello, Martin,” he said. “I warned you it wouldn’t work. Which of you gentlemen is the sheriff?”

Cox came forward. “Right here, sir. I suppose you’re P. J. Madden?”

Madden nodded. “I suppose so. I’ve always thought I was. We telephoned the constable from a ranch down the road, and he told us you were here. So we’ve brought along another little item to add to your collection.” He indicated the patio door, through which Holley came at that moment leading Shaky Phil by the arm. Maydorf’s hands were tied behind him. Paula Wendell and Evelyn Madden also entered.

“You’d better handcuff this newcomer to Delaney, Sheriff,” suggested Madden. “And then I’ll run over a little list of charges against the crowd that I think will hold them for a while.”

“Sure, Mr. Madden,” agreed the sheriff. As he stepped forward Chan halted him.

“Just one minute. You have string of pearls⁠—”

“Oh, yes⁠—that’s right,” replied the sheriff. He held out the Phillimore necklace. Chan took it and placed it in the hand of P. J. Madden.

“Fully aware you wanted it in New York,” he remarked, “but you will perform vast kindness to accept it here. I have carried it to outside limit of present endurance. Receipt at your convenience, thank you.”

Madden smiled. “All right, I’ll take it.” He put the necklace in his pocket. “You’re Mr. Chan, I imagine. Mr. Eden was telling me about you on the way down from the mine. I’m mighty glad you’ve been here.”

“Happy to serve,” bowed Chan.

The sheriff turned. “There you are, sir. The charge, I guess, is attempted theft⁠—”

“And a lot of other things,” Madden added, “including assault with intent to kill.” He indicated his limp arm. “I’ll run over my story as quickly as I can⁠—but I’ll do it sitting down.” He went to his desk. “I’m a little weak⁠—I’ve been having a rough time of it. You know in a general way what has happened, but you don’t know the background, the history, of this affair. I’ll have to go back⁠—back to a gambling-house on Forty-fourth Street, New York. Are you familiar with New York gamblers and their ways, Sheriff?”

“Been to New York just once,” said the sheriff. “Didn’t like it.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would,” replied Madden. He looked about. “Where are my cigars? Ah⁠—here. Thanks, Delaney⁠—you left me a couple, didn’t you? Well, Sheriff, in order that you may understand what’s been going on here, I must tell you about a favourite stunt of shady gamblers and confidence men in New York⁠—a stunt that was flourishing there twelve or fifteen years ago. It was a well-known fact at the time that, in the richly furnished houses where they lay in wait for trusting out-of-town suckers, certain members of the ring were assigned to impersonate widely known millionaires, such as Frank Gould, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Mr. Astor⁠—myself. The greatest care was exercised⁠—photographs of these men were studied; wherever possible they themselves were closely observed in every feature of height, build, carriage, dress. The way they brushed their hair, the kind of glasses they wore, their peculiar mannerisms⁠—no detail was too insignificant to escape attention. The intended dupe must be utterly taken in, so he might feel that he was among the best people, and that the game was honest.”

Madden paused a moment. “Of course, some of these impersonations were rather flimsy, but it was my bad luck that Mr. Delaney here, who had been an actor, was more or less of an artist. Starting with a rather superficial resemblance to me, he built up an impersonation that got better and better as time went on. I began to hear rumours that I was seen nightly at the gambling-house of one Jack McGuire, in Forty-fourth Street. I sent my secretary, Martin Thorn, to investigate. He reported that Delaney was making a good job of it⁠—not, of course, so good that he could deceive anyone really close to me, but good enough to fool people who knew me only from photographs. I put my lawyer on the matter, and he came back and said that Delaney had agreed to desist, on threat of arrest.

“And I imagine he did drop it⁠—in the gambling-houses. What happened afterward I can only conjecture, but I guess I can hit it pretty close. These two Maydorf boys, Shaky Phil and”⁠—he nodded at Gamble⁠—“his brother, who is known to the police as the Professor, were the brains of the particular gang at McGuire’s. They must long ago have conceived the plan of having Delaney impersonate me somewhere, some time. They could do nothing without the aid of my secretary, Thorn, but they evidently found him willing. Finally they hit on the desert as the proper locale for the enterprise. It was an excellent selection. I come here rarely; meet few people when I do come. Once they could get me here alone, without my family, it was a simple matter. All they had to do was to put me out of the way, and then P. J. Madden appears with his secretary, who is better known locally than he is⁠—no one is going to dream of questioning his identity, particularly as he looks just like his pictures.”

Madden puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. “I’ve been expecting some such move for years. I feared no man in the world⁠—except Delaney. The possibilities of the harm he might do me were enormous. Once I saw him in a restaurant, studying me. Well⁠—they had a long wait, but their kind is patient. Two weeks ago I came here with Thorn, and the minute I got here I sensed there was something in the air. A week ago last Wednesday night I was sitting here writing a letter to my daughter Evelyn⁠—it’s probably still between the leaves of this blotter where I put it when I heard Thorn cry out sharply from his bedroom. ‘Come quick, chief,’ he called. He was typing letters for me, and I couldn’t imagine what had happened. I rose and went to his room⁠—and there he was, with an old gun of mine⁠—a gun Bill Hart had given me⁠—in his fist. ‘Put up your hands,’ he said. Someone entered from the patio. It was Delaney.

“ ’Now don’t get excited, chief,’ said Thorn, and I saw the little rat was in on the game. ‘We’re going to take you for a ride to a place where you can have a nice little rest. I’ll go and pack a few things for you. Here, Jerry⁠—you watch him.’ And he handed Delaney the gun.

“There we stood, Delaney and I, and I saw that Jerry was nervous⁠—the game was a little rich for his blood. Thorn was busy in my room. I began to call for help at the top of my voice⁠—why? Who would come? I didn’t know, but a friend might hear⁠—Louie might have got home⁠—someone might be passing on the road. Delaney told me to shut up. His hand trembled like a leaf. In the patio outside I heard an answering voice⁠—but it was only Tony, the parrot. I knew well enough what was afoot, and I decided to take a chance. I started for Delaney; he fired and missed. He fired again, and I felt a sort of sting in my shoulder, and fell.

“I must have been unconscious for a second, but when I came to Thorn was in the room, and I heard Delaney say he’d killed me. In a minute, of course, they discovered I was alive, and my good friend Jerry was all for finishing the job. But Thorn wouldn’t let him⁠—he insisted on going through with the original plan. He saved my life⁠—I’ll have to admit it⁠—the contemptible little traitor. Cowardice, I imagine, but he saved me. Well, they put me in a car, and drove me up to the jail at Petticoat Mine. In the morning they left⁠—all except the Professor, who had joined our happy party. He stayed behind, dressed my wound, fed me after a fashion. On Sunday afternoon he went away and came back late at night with Shaky Phil. Monday morning the Professor left, and Shaky Phil was my jailer after that. Not so kind as his brother.

“What was going on at the ranch you gentlemen know better than I do. On Tuesday my daughter wired that she was coming, and of course the game was up if she reached here. So Thorn met her in Eldorado, told her I was injured and up at the mine, and took her there. Naturally, she trusted him. Since then she has been there with me, and we’d be there now if Mr. Eden and Mr. Holley had not come up tonight, searching for this other young woman who had, unfortunately for her, stumbled on the affair earlier in the day.”

Madden rose. “That’s my story, Sheriff. Do you wonder that I want to see this gang behind the bars? I’ll sleep better then.”

“Well, I reckon it’s easy arranged,” returned the sheriff. “I’ll take ’em along and we can fix the warrants later. Guess I’ll see ’em safe in the jail at the county-seat⁠—Eldorado can’t offer ’em all the comforts of a first-class cell.”

“One thing,” said Madden. “Thorn, I heard you say the other night to Delaney: ‘You were always afraid of him⁠—that time in New York⁠—’ What did that mean? You tried this thing before?”

Thorn looked up with stricken face, which had been hidden in his hands. “Chief, I’m sorry about this. I’ll talk. We had it all set to pull it once at the office in New York when you were away on a hunting-trip. But if you were afraid of Delaney, he was a lot more afraid of you. He got cold feet⁠—backed out at the last minute⁠—”

“And why wouldn’t I back out?” snarled Delaney. “I couldn’t trust any of you. A bunch of yellow dogs⁠—”

“Is that so?” cried Shaky Phil. “Are you talking about me?”

“Sure I’m talking about you. I suppose you didn’t try to cop the pearls in ’Frisco when we sent you up there to draw Louie Wong away? Oh, I know all about that⁠—”

“Why wouldn’t I try to cop them?” demanded Shaky Phil. “You been trying to cop them, haven’t you? When you thought Draycott was bringing them what did you try to pull? Oh, brother Henry’s been on to you⁠—”

“I sure have,” put in the Professor. “Trying to sneak off and meet Draycott alone. If you thought I wasn’t wise you must be a fool. But of course that’s what you are⁠—a poor fool that writes letters to actresses⁠—”

“Shut up!” bellowed Delaney. “Who had a better right to those pearls? What could you have done if it hadn’t been for me? A lot of help you were⁠—mooning round with your tall talk. And you”⁠—he turned back to Shaky Phil⁠—“you pulled some brilliant stuff. Putting a knife in Louie Wong right on the doorstep⁠—”

“Who put a knife in Louie Wong?” cried Shaky Phil.

“You did,” shouted Thorn. “I was with you and I saw you. I’ll⁠—swear to that⁠—”

“An accessory, eh?” grinned the sheriff. “By gad, just let this gang loose at one another, and they’ll hang themselves.”

“Boys, boys,” said the Professor gently. “Cut it out. We’ll never get anywhere that way. Sheriff, we are ready⁠—”

“One moment,” said Charlie Chan. He disappeared briefly, and returned with a small black bag, which he set before Madden. “I have pleasure calling your attention to this,” he announced. “You will find inside vast crowds of currency. Money from sale of bonds, money sent from New York office. Pretty much intact⁠—but not quite. I ask Delaney.”

“It’s all there,” Delaney growled.

Chan shook his head. “I grieve to differ even with rascal like you are. But there was Eddie Boston⁠—”

“Yes,” replied Delaney. “It’s true⁠—I gave Boston five thousand dollars. He recognized me the other day in the yard. Go after him and get it back⁠—the dirty crook.”

The sheriff laughed. “Speaking of crooks,” he said, “that sounds to me like your cue, boys. We’d better be getting along, Bliss. We can swear in a deputy or two in Eldorado. Mr. Madden, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bob Eden went up to Delaney. “Well, Jerry,” he smiled, “I’m afraid this is goodbye. You’ve been my host down here, and my mother told me I must always say I’ve had a very nice time⁠—”

“Oh, go to the devil,” said Delaney.

The sheriff and Bliss herded their captives out into the desert night, and Eden went over to Paula Wendell.

“Exit the Delaney quartette,” he remarked. “I guess my stalling days at the ranch are ended. I’m taking the ten-thirty train to Barstow, and⁠—”

“Better call up for a taxi,” she suggested.

“Not while you and the roadster are on the job. If you’ll wait while I pack⁠—I want a word with you, anyhow. About Wilbur.”

“One happy thought runs through my mind,” Will Holley was saying. “I’m the author of a famous interview with you, Mr. Madden. One you never gave.”

“Really?” replied Madden. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll stand behind you.”

“Thanks,” answered the editor. “I wonder why they gave out that story,” he mused.

“Simple to guess,” said Chan. “They are wiring New York office money be sent, please. How better to establish fact Madden is at desert ranch than to blaze same forth in newspapers? Printed word has ring of convincing truth.”

“I imagine you’re right,” nodded Holley. “By the way, Charlie, we thought we’d have a big surprise for you when we got back from the mine. But you beat us to it, after all.”

“By a hair’s width,” replied Chan. “Now that I have leisure I bow my head and do considerable blushing. Must admit I was plenty slow to grasp apparent fact. Only tonight light shone. To please this Victor, I hand over pearls. Madden is signing receipt⁠—he writes slow and painful. Suddenly I think⁠—he does all things slow and painful with that right hand. Why? I recall Delaney’s vest, built for left-handed man. Inwardly, out of sight, I gasp. To make a test, I snatch at pearls. Madden, to call him that, snatches too. But guard is down⁠—he snatches with left hand. He rips out pistol⁠—left hand again. The fact is proved. I know.”

“Well, that was quick thinking,” Holley said.

Chan sadly shook his head. “Why not? Poor old brain must have been plenty rested. Not at work for many days. When I arrange these dishonest ones in chairs to wait for you, I have much time for bitter self-incriminations. Why have I experienced this stupid sinking spell? All time it was clear as desert morning. A man writes important letter, hides in blotter, goes away. Returning, he never touches same. Why? He did not return. Other easy clues⁠—Madden, calling him so again, receives Doctor Whitcomb in dusk of patio. Why? She has seen him before. He talks with caretaker in Pasadena⁠—when? Six o’clock, when dark has fallen. Also he fears to alight from car. Oh, as I sit here I give myself many resounding mental kicks. Why have I been so thick? I blame this climate of South California. Plenty quick I hurry back to Honolulu, where I belong.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” said P. J. Madden. “If it hadn’t been for you, Mr. Eden tells me, the necklace would have been delivered long ago, and this crowd off to the Orient or somewhere else far away. I owe you a lot, and if mere thanks⁠—”

“Stop thanking me,” urged Chan. “Thank Tony. If Tony didn’t speak that opening night, where would necklace be now? Poor Tony, buried at this moment in rear of barn.” He turned to Victor Jordan, who had been lurking modestly in the background. “Victor, before returning North, it is fitting that you place wreath of blossoms on grave of Tony, the Chinese parrot. Tony died, but he lived to splendid purpose. Before he passed he saved the Phillimore pearls.”

Victor nodded. “Anything you say, Charlie. I’ll leave a standing order with my florist. I wonder if someone will give me a lift back to town?”

“I’ll take you,” Holley said. “I want to get this thing on the wire. Charlie⁠—shall I see you again⁠—”

“Leaving on next train,” replied Chan. “I am calling at your office to collect more fitting clothes. Do not wait, however. Miss Wendell has kindly offered use of her car.”

“I’m waiting for Paula too,” Eden said. “I’ll see you at the station.” Holley and Victor said their goodbyes to Madden and his daughter, and departed. Bob Eden consulted his watch. “Well, the old home-week crowd is thinning out. Just one thing more, Charlie. When Mr. Madden here came in tonight you weren’t a bit surprised. Yet, recognizing Delaney, your first thought must have been that Madden had been killed.”

Chan laughed noiselessly. “I observe you have ignorance concerning detective customs. Surprised detective might as well put on iron collar and leap from dock. He is finished. Mr. Madden’s appearance staggering blow for me, but I am not letting rival policemen know it, thank you. It is apparent we keep Miss Wendell waiting. I have some property in cookhouse⁠—just one moment.”

“The cookhouse,” cried P. J. Madden. “By the Lord Harry, I’m hungry. I haven’t had anything but canned food for days.”

An apprehensive look flitted over Chan’s face. “Such a pity,” he said. “Present cook on ranch has resumed former profession. Miss Wendell, I am with you in five seconds.” He went hastily out.

Evelyn Madden put her arm about her father. “Cheer up, Dad,” she advised. “I’ll drive you in town and we’ll stop at the hotel tonight. You must have a doctor look at your shoulder at once.” She turned to Bob Eden. “Of course, there’s a restaurant in Eldorado?”

“Of course,” smiled Eden. “It’s called the Oasis, but it isn’t. However, I can heartily recommend the steaks.”

P. J. Madden was on his feet, himself again. “All right, Evelyn. Call up the hotel and reserve a suite⁠—five rooms⁠—no, make it a floor. Tell the proprietor I want supper served in my sitting-room⁠—two porterhouse steaks, and everything else they’ve got. Tell him to have the best doctor in town there when I arrive. Help me find the telegraph blanks. Put in five long-distance calls⁠—no, that had better wait until we reach the hotel. Find out if there’s anybody in Eldorado who can take dictation. Call up the leading real-estate man and put this place on the market. I never want to see it again. And oh, yes⁠—don’t let that Chinese detective get away without seeing me. I’m not through with him. Make a note to call a secretarial bureau in Los Angeles at eight in the morning⁠—”

Bob Eden hurried to his room, and packed his suitcase. When he returned Chan was standing in Madden’s presence, holding crisp banknotes in his hand.

“Mr. Madden has given receipt for necklace,” said the Chinese. “He has also enforced on me this vast sum of money, which I am somewhat loathsome to accept.”

“Nonsense,” Eden replied. “You take it, Charlie. You’ve earned it.”

“Just what I told him,” Madden declared.

Chan put the banknotes carefully away. “Free to remark the sum represents two and one-half years’ salary in Honolulu. This mainland climate not so bad after all.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Eden,” Madden said. “I’ve thanked Mr. Chan⁠—but what shall I say to you? You’ve been through a lot down here⁠—”

“Been through some of the happiest moments in my life,” Eden replied.

Madden shook his head. “Well, I can’t say I understand that⁠—”

“I think I do,” said his daughter. “Good luck, Bob, and thank you a thousand times.”

The desert wind was cool and bracing as they went out to the little roadster, waiting patiently in the yard. Paula Wendell climbed in behind the wheel. “Get in, Mr. Chan,” she invited. Chan took his place beside her. Bob Eden tossed his suitcase into the luggage compartment at the back, and returned to the car door.

“Squeeze in there, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t make a fool of the advertisements. This is a three-seater car.”

Charlie squeezed. “Moment of gentle embarrassment for me,” he remarked. “The vast extensiveness of my area becomes painfully apparent.”

They were out on the road. The Joshua-trees waved them a weird farewell in the white moonlight.

“Charlie,” said Eden, “I suppose you don’t dream why you are in this party?”

“Miss Wendell very kind,” remarked Chan.

“Kind⁠—and cautious,” laughed Eden. “You’re here as a Wilbur⁠—a sort of buffer between this young woman and the dread institution of marriage. She doesn’t believe in marriage, Charlie. Now where do you suppose she picked up that foolish notion?”

“Plenty foolish,” agreed Chan. “She should be argued at.”

“She will be argued at. She brought you along because she knows I’m mad about her. She’s seen it in my great trusting eyes. She knows that since I’ve met her that precious freedom of mine seems rather a stale joke. She realizes that I’ll never give up⁠—that I intend to take her away from the desert⁠—but she thought I wouldn’t mention it if you were along.”

“I begin to feel like skeleton at feast,” remarked Chan.

“Cheer up⁠—you certainly don’t feel like that to me,” Eden assured him. “Yes, she thought I’d fail to speak of the matter⁠—but we’ll fool her. I’ll speak of it, anyhow. Charlie, I love this girl.”

“Natural you do,” agreed Chan.

“I intend to marry her.”

“Imminently fitting purpose,” assented Chan. “But she has said no word.”

Paula Wendell laughed. “Marriage,” she said. “The last resort of feeble minds. I’m having a great time, thanks. I love my freedom. I mean to hang on to it.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Chan. “Permit me if I speak a few words in favour of married state. I am one who knows. Where is the better place than a new home? Truly an earthly paradise where cares vanish, where the heavenly melody of wife’s voice vibrates everything in a strange symphony.”

“Sounds pretty good to me,” remarked Eden.

“The ramble hand in hand with wife on evening streets, the stroll by moonly seaside. I recollect the happy spring of my own marriage with unlimited yearning.”

“How does it sound to you, Paula?” Eden persisted.

“And this young man,” continued Chan. “I am unable to grasp why you resist. To me he is plenty fine fellow. I have for him a great likeness.” Paula Wendell said nothing. “A very great likeness,” added Chan.

“Well,” admitted the girl, “if it comes to that, I have a little likeness for him myself.”

Chan dug his elbow deep into Eden’s side. They climbed between the dark hills and the lights of Eldorado shone before them. As they drove up to the hotel Holley and Victor Jordan greeted them.

“Here you are,” said the editor. “Your bag is in the office, Charlie. The door’s unlocked.”

“Many thanks,” returned Chan, and fled.

Holley looked up at the white stars. “Sorry you’re going, Eden,” he said. “It’ll be a bit lonesome down here without you.”

“But you’ll be in New York,” suggested Eden.

Holley shook his head and smiled. “Oh, no, I won’t. I sent a telegram this evening. A few years ago, perhaps⁠—but not now. I can’t go now. Somehow, this desert country⁠—well, it’s got me, I guess. I’ll have to take my New York in pictures from this on.”

Far off across the dreary waste of sand the whistle of the Barstow train broke the desert silence. Charlie came round the corner; the coat and waistcoat of Sergeant Chan had replaced the Canton crêpe blouse of Ah Kim.

“Hoarse voice of railroad proclaims end of our adventure,” he remarked. He took Paula Wendell’s hand. “Accept last wish from somewhat weary postman. May this be for you beginning of life’s greatest adventure! And happiest!”

They crossed the empty street. “Goodbye,” Eden said, as he and the girl paused in the shadow of the station. Something in the warm clasp of her slender, strong fingers told him all he wanted to know, and his heart beat faster. He drew her close.

“I’m coming back soon,” he promised. He transferred the emerald ring to her right hand. “Just by way of a reminder,” he added. “When I return I’ll bring a substitute⁠—the glittering pick of the finest stock on the coast. Our stock.”

“Our stock?”

“Yes.” The branch-line train had clattered in, and Chan was calling to him from the car steps. “You don’t know it yet, but for you the dream of every woman’s life has come true. You’re going to marry a man who owns a jewellery store.”