"As you wish," agreed Eden. The car sped on. "Lady," he said presently, "I've known this desert country, man and boy, going on twenty-four hours. And believe me when I tell you, miss, it's a cruel land—a cruel land."
They climbed the road that lay between the two piles of brown rock pretending to be mountains, and before them lay Eldorado, huddled about the little red station. The town looked tiny and helpless and forlorn. As they alighted before the Desert Edge Hotel, Eden said:
"When shall I see you again?"
"Thursday, perhaps."
"Nonsense. I shall probably be gone by then; I must see you soon."
"I'll be out your way in the morning. If you like, I'll pick you up."
"That's kind of you—but morning's a long way off," he said. "I'll think of you tonight, eating at the Oasis. Give my love to that steak, if you see it. Until tomorrow, then—and can't I buy you an alarm clock?"
"I shan't oversleep—much," she laughed. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye," answered Eden. "Thanks for the buggy ride."
He crossed the street to the railroad station, which was also the telegraph office. In the little cubby-hole occupied by the agent, Will Holley stood, a sheaf of copy paper in his hand.
"Hello," he said. "Just getting that interview on the wire. Were you looking for me?"
"Yes, I was," Eden replied. "But first I want to send a wire of my own."
The agent, a husky youth with sandy hair, looked up. "Say, Mister, no can do. Mr. Holley here's tied up things forever."
Holley laughed. "That's all right. You can cut in with Mr. Eden's message, and then go back."
Frowning, Eden considered the wording of his rather difficult telegram. How to let his father know the situation without revealing it to the world? Finally he wrote:
BUYER HERE, BUT CERTAIN CONDITIONS MAKE IT ADVISABLE WE TREAT HIM TO A LITTLE HOO MALIMALI. MRS. JORDAN WILL TRANSLATE. WHEN I TALK WITH YOU OVER TELEPHONE PROMISE TO SEND VALUABLE PACKAGE AT ONCE THEN FORGET IT. ANY CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE FOR ME CARE WILL HOLLEY, ELDORADO TIMES. THEY HAVE NICE DESERT DOWN HERE BUT TOO FULL OF MYSTERY FOR FRANK AND OPEN YOUNG BUSINESS MAN LIKE YOUR LOVING SON. BOB.
He turned the yellow slip over to the worried telegrapher, with instructions to send it to his father's office, and in duplicate to his house. "How much?" he asked.
After some fumbling with a book, the agent named a sum, which Eden paid. He added a tip, upsetting the boy still further.
"Say, this is some day here," announced the telegrapher. "Always wanted a little excitement in my life, but now it's come I guess I ain't ready for it. Yes, sir—I'll send it twice—I know—I get you—"
Holley gave the boy a few directions about the Madden interview, and returned with Bob Eden to Main Street.
"Let's drop over to the office," the editor said. "Nobody there now, and I'm keen to know what's doing out at Madden's."
In the bare little home of the Eldorado Times, Eden took a chair that was already partly filled with exchanges, close to the editor's desk. Holley removed his hat and replaced it with an eye-shade. He dropped down beside his typewriter.
"My friend in New York grabbed at that story," he said. "It was good of Madden to let me have it. I understand they're going to allow me to sign it, too—the name of Will Holley back in the big papers again. But look here—I was surprised by what you hinted out at the ranch this morning. It seemed to me last night that everything was O.K. You didn't say whether you had that necklace with you or not, but I gathered you had—"
"I haven't," cut in Eden.
"Oh—it's still in San Francisco?"
"No. My confederate has it."
"Your what?"
"Holley, I know that if Harry Fladgate says you're all right, you are. So I'm going the whole way in the matter of trusting you."
"That's flattering—but suit yourself."
"Something tells me we'll need your help," Eden remarked. With a glance round the deserted office, he explained the real identity of the servant, Ah Kim.
Holley grinned. "Well, that's amusing, isn't it? But go on. I get the impression that although you arrived at the ranch last night to find Madden there and everything, on the surface, serene, such was not the case. What happened?"
"First of all, Charlie thought something was wrong. He sensed it. You know the Chinese are a very psychic race."
Holley laughed. "Is that so? Surely you didn't fall for that guff. Oh, pardon me—I presume you had some better reason for delay?"
"I'll admit it sounded like guff to me—at the start. I laughed at Chan and prepared to hand over the pearls at once. Suddenly out of the night came the weirdest cry for help I ever expect to hear."
"What! Really? From whom?"
"From your friend, the Chinese parrot. From Tony."
"Oh—of course," said Holley. "I'd forgotten him. Well, that probably meant nothing."
"But a parrot doesn't invent," Eden reminded him. "It merely repeats. I may have acted like a fool, but I hesitated to produce those pearls." He went on to tell how, in the morning, he had agreed to wait until two o'clock while Chan had further talk with Tony, and ended with the death of the bird just after lunch. "And there the matter rests," he finished.
"Are you asking my advice?" said Holley. "I hope you are, because I've simply got to give it to you."
"Shoot," Eden replied.
Holley smiled at him in a fatherly way. "Don't think for a moment I wouldn't like to believe there's some big melodrama afoot at Madden's ranch. Heaven knows little enough happens round here, and a thing like that would be manna from above. But as I look at it, my boy, you've let a jumpy Chinese lead you astray into a bad case of nerves."
"Charlie's absolutely sincere," protested Eden.
"No doubt of that," agreed Holley. "But he's an Oriental, and a detective, and he's simply got to detect. There's nothing wrong at Madden's ranch. True, Tony lets out weird cries in the night—but he always has."
"You've heard him, then?"
"Well, I never heard him say anything about help and murder, but when he first came I was living out at Doctor Whitcomb's, and I used to hang round the Madden ranch a good deal. Tony had some strange words in his small head. He'd spent his days amid violence and crime. It's nothing to wonder at that he screamed as he did last night. The setting on the desert, the dark, Charlie's psychic talk—all that combined to make a mountain out of a molehill, in your eyes."
"And Tony's sudden death this noon?"
"Just as Madden said. Tony was as old as the hills—even a parrot doesn't live forever. A coincidence, yes—but I'm afraid your father won't be pleased with you, my boy. First thing you know P.J. Madden, who is hot and impetuous, will kick you out and call the transaction off. And I can see you back home explaining that you didn't close the deal because a parrot on the place dropped dead. My boy, my boy—I trust your father is a gentle soul. Otherwise he's liable to annihilate you."
Eden considered. "How about that missing gun?"
Holley shrugged. "You can find something queer almost anywhere, if you look for it. The gun was gone—yes. What of it? Madden may have sold it, given it away, taken it to his room."
Bob Eden leaned back in his chair. "I guess you're right, at that. Yes, the more I think about it, here in the bright light of afternoon, the more foolish I feel." Through a side window he saw a flivver swing up before the grocery store next door, and Charlie Chan alight. He went out on to the porch.
"Ah Kim," he called.
The plump little Chinese detective