"You wanted to see me, didn't you?" Madden said. He led the way to his bedroom, and closed the door behind them. "What is it? Have you got those pearls, after all?"
The door opened, and the Chinese shuffled into the room.
"What the devil do you want?" cried Madden.
"You allight, boss?"
"Of course, I'm all right. Get out of here."
"Tomallah," said Charlie Chan in his role of Ah Kim, and a glance that was full of meaning passed between him and Bob Eden. "Tomallah nice day, you bet. See you tomallah, gentlemen."
He departed, leaving the door open. Eden saw him moving across the patio on silent feet. He was not waiting outside Madden's door.
"What was it you wanted?" Madden persisted.
Bob Eden thought quickly. "I wanted to see you alone for just a moment. This Thorn—you can trust him, can't you?"
Madden snorted. "You give me a pain," he said. "Any one would think you were bringing me the Bank of England. Of course, Thorn's all right. He's been with me for fifteen years."
"I just wanted to be sure," Eden answered. "I'll get hold of dad early in the morning. Good night."
He returned to the patio. The secretary was hurrying in from his unwelcome errand. "Good night, Mr. Thorn," Eden said.
"Oh—er—good night, Mr. Eden," answered the man. He passed furtively from sight.
Back in his room, Eden began to undress. He was both puzzled and disturbed. Was this adventure to be as tame as it looked? Still in his ears rang the unearthly scream of the parrot. After all, had it been in a barroom that Tony picked up that hideous cry for help?
Chapter VI. Tony's Happy New Year
Forgetting the promise he had made to rise and telephone his father early in the morning, Bob Eden lingered on in the pleasant company of his couch. The magnificent desert sunrise, famous wherever books are sold, came and went without the seal of his approval, and a haze of heat spread over the barren world. It was nine o'clock when he awoke from a most satisfactory sleep and sat up in bed.
Staring about the room, he gradually located himself on the map of California. One by one the events of the night before came back to him. First of all the scene at the Oasis—that agile steak eluding him with diabolic cunning—the girl whose charming presence made the dreary cafe an oasis indeed. The ride over the desert with Will Holley, the bright and cheery living-room of the ranch house, the fox-trot from a Denver orchestra. Madden, leaning close and breathing hard, demanding the Phillimore pearls. Chan in his velvet slippers, whispering of psychic fears and dark premonitions. And then the shrill cry of the parrot out of the desert night.
Now, however, the tense troubled feeling with which he had gone to bed was melting away in the yellow sunshine of the morning. The boy began to suspect that he had made rather a fool of himself in listening to the little detective from the islands. Chan was an Oriental, also a policeman. Such a combination was bound to look at almost any situation with a jaundiced eye. After all he, Bob Eden, was here as the representative of Meek and Eden, and he must act as he saw fit. Was Chan in charge of this expedition, or was he?
The door opened, and on the threshold stood Ah Kim, in the person of Charlie Chan.
"You come 'long, boss," said his confederate loudly. "You ac' lazy bimeby you no catch 'um bleckfast."
Having said which, Charlie gently closed the door and came in, grimacing as one who felt a keen distaste.
"Silly talk like that hard business for me," he complained. "Chinese without accustomed dignity is like man without clothes, naked, and ashamed. You enjoy long, restful sleep, I think."
Eden yawned. "Compared to me last night, Rip Van Winkle had insomnia."
"That's good. Humbly suggest you tear yourself out of that bed now. The great Madden indulges in nervous fit on living-room rug."
Eden laughed. "Suffering, is he? Well, we'll have to stop that." He tossed aside the covers.
Chan was busy at the curtains. "Favor me by taking a look from windows," he remarked. "On every side desert stretches off like floor of eternity. Plenty acres of unlimitable sand."
Bob Eden glanced out. "Yes, it's the desert, and there's plenty of it, that's a fact. But look here—we ought to talk fast while we have the chance. Last night you made a sudden change in our plans."
"Presuming greatly—yes."
"Why?"
Chan stared at him. "Why not? You yourself hear parrot scream out of the dark. 'Murder. Help. Help. Put down gun.'"
Eden nodded. "I know. But that probably meant nothing."
Charlie Chan shrugged. "You understand parrot does not invent talk. Merely repeats what others have remarked."
"Of course," Eden agreed. "And Tony was no doubt repeating something he heard in Australia, or on a boat. I happen to know that all Madden said of the bird's past was the truth. And I may as well tell you, Charlie, that looking at things in the bright light of the morning, I feel we acted rather foolishly last night. I'm going to give those pearls to Madden before breakfast."
Chan was silent for a moment. "If I might presume again, I would speak a few hearty words in praise of patience. Youth, pardon me, is too hot around the head. Take my advice, please, and wait."
"Wait. Wait for what?"
"Wait until I have snatched more conversation out of Tony. Tony very smart bird—he speaks Chinese. I am not so smart—but so do I."
"And what do you think Tony would tell you?"
"Tony might reveal just what is wrong on this ranch," suggested Chan.
"I don't believe anything's wrong," objected Eden.
Chan shook his head. "Not very happy position for me," he said, "that I must argue with bright boy like you are."
"But listen, Charlie," Eden protested. "I promised to call my father this morning. And Madden isn't an easy man to handle."
"Hoo malimali," responded Chan.
"No doubt you're right," Eden said. "But I don't understand Chinese."
"You have made natural error," Chan answered. "Pardon me while I correct you. That are not Chinese. It are Hawaiian talk. Well known in islands—hoo malimali—make Madden feel good by a little harmless deception. As my cousin Willie Chan, captain of All-Chinese baseball team, translate with his vulgarity, kid him along."
"Easier said than done," replied Eden.
"But you are clever boy. You could perfect it. Just a few hours, while I have talk with the smart Tony."
Eden considered. Paula Wendell was coming out this morning. Too bad to rush off without seeing her again. "Tell you what I'll do," he said. "I'll wait until two o'clock. But when the clock strikes two, if nothing has happened in the interval, we hand over those pearls. Is that understood?"
"Maybe," nodded Chan.
"You mean maybe it's understood?"
"Not precisely. I mean maybe we hand over pearls." Eden looked into the stubborn eyes of the Chinese, and felt rather helpless. "However," Chan added, "accept my glowing thanks. You are pretty good. Now proceed toward the miserable breakfast I have prepared."
"Tell Madden I'll be there very soon."
Chan grimaced. "With your kind permission, I will alter that message