LITMIR.BIZ

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said the editor. "Why, hello, Paula—where you been? Eden, here's Ah Kim. Madden sent him in for you."

      "Hello, gentlemen," cried Eden gaily. "Before Ah Kim and I head for the ranch, we're all going over to the office of that grand old sheet, the Eldorado Times. I have something to impart."

      When they reached the newspaper office—which Ah Kim entered with obvious reluctance—Eden closed the door and faced them. "Well, folks," he announced, "the clouds are breaking. I've finally got hold of something definite. But before I go any further—Miss Wendell, may I present Ah Kim? So we sometimes call him, after our quaint fashion. In reality, you are now enjoying the priceless opportunity of meeting Detective-Sergeant Charlie Chan, of the Honolulu police."

      Chan bowed. "I'm so glad to know you, Sergeant," said the girl, and took up her favorite perch on Holley's typewriter table.

      "Don't look at me like that, Charlie," laughed Eden. "You're breaking my heart. We can rely on Miss Wendell, absolutely. And you can't freeze her out any longer because she now knows more about your case than you do. As they say on the stage—won't you—sit down?"

      Puzzled and wondering, Chan and Will Holley found chairs. "I said this morning I wanted a little light," Eden continued. "I've got it already—how's that for service? Aimless trip to Barstow, Charlie, proved to be all aim. Miss Wendell and I turned aside for a canter over the desert, and we have met and interviewed that little black-bearded one—our desert rat."

      "Boy—now you're talking," cried Holley.

      Chan's eyes lighted.

      "Chinese are psychic people, Charlie," Eden went on. "I'll tell the world. You were right. Before we arrived at Madden's ranch, some one staged a little murder there. And I know who did it."

      "Thorn," suggested Holley.

      "Thorn nothing! No piker like Thorn. No, gentlemen, it was the big chief—Madden himself—the great P.J. Last Wednesday night at his ranch Madden killed a man. Add favorite pastimes of big millionaires."

      "Nonsense," objected Holley

      "You think so, eh? Listen." Eden repeated the story Cherry had told.

      Chan and Holley heard him out in amazed silence.

      "And what are present whereabouts of old prospector?" inquired Chan when he had finished.

      "I know, Charlie," answered Eden. "That's the flaw in my armor. I let him go. He's on his way—over yonder. But I know where he's going and we can get hold of him when we need him. We've got other matters to look after first."

      "We certainly have," agreed Holley. "Madden! I can hardly believe it."

      Chan considered. "Most peculiar case ever shoved on my attention," he admitted. "It marches now, but look how it marches backwards. Mostly murder means dead body on the rug, and from clues surrounding, I must find who did it. Not so here. I sense something wrong, after long pause light breaks and I hear name of guilty man who killed. But who was killed? The reason, please? There is work to be done—much work."

      "You don't think," suggested Eden, "that we ought to call in the sheriff—"

      "What then?" frowned Chan. "Captain Bliss arrives on extensive feet, committing blunder with every step. Sheriff faces strange situation, all unprepared. Madden awes them with greatness, and escapes Scotch-free. None of the sheriff, please—unless maybe you lose faith in Detective-Sergeant Chan."

      "Never for a minute, Charlie," Eden answered. "Wipe out that suggestion. The case is yours."

      Chan bowed. "You're pretty good, thanks. Such a tipsy-turvy puzzle rouses professional pride. I will get to bottom of it or lose entire face. Be good enough to watch me."

      "I'll be watching," Eden answered. "Well, shall we go along?"

      In front of the Desert Edge Hotel Bob Eden held out his hand to the girl. "The end of a perfect day," he said. "Except for one thing."

      "Yes? What thing?"

      "Wilbur. I'm beginning to find the thought of him intolerable."

      "Poor Jack. You're so hard on him. Good night—and—"

      "And what?"

      "Be careful, won't you? Out at the ranch, I mean."

      "Always careful—on ranches—everywhere. Good night."

      As they sped over the dark road to Madden's, Chan was thoughtfully silent. He and Eden parted in the yard. When the boy entered the patio, he saw Madden sitting alone, wrapped in an overcoat, before a dying fire.

      The millionaire leaped to his feet. "Hello," he said. "Well?"

      "Well?" replied Eden. He had completely forgotten his mission to Barstow.

      "You saw Draycott?" Madden whispered.

      "Oh!" The boy remembered with a start. More deception—would it ever end? "Tomorrow at the door of the bank in Pasadena," he said softly. "Noon sharp."

      "Good," answered Madden. "I'll be off before you're up. Not turning in already?"

      "I think I will," responded Eden. "I've had a busy day."

      "Is that so?" said Madden carelessly, and strode into the living-room. Bob Eden stood staring after the big broad shoulders, the huge frame of this powerful man. A man who seemed to have the world in his grasp, but who had killed because he was afraid.

      Chapter XIV. The Third Man

       Table of Contents

      As soon as he was fully awake the following morning, Bob Eden's active brain returned to the problem with which it had been concerned when he dropped off to sleep. Madden had killed a man. Cool, confident and self-possessed though he always seemed, the millionaire had lost his head for once. Ignoring the possible effect of such an act on his fame, his high position, he had with murderous intent pulled the trigger on the gun Bill Hart had given him. His plight must have been desperate indeed.

      Whom had he killed? That was something yet to be discovered. Why had he done it? By his own confession, because he was afraid. Madden, whose very name struck terror to many and into whose presence lesser men came with awe and trembling, had himself known the emotion of fear. Ridiculous, but "you were always afraid of him," Thorn had said.

      Some hidden door in the millionaire's past must be found and opened. First of all, the identity of the man who had gone west last Wednesday night on this lonely ranch must be ascertained. Well, at least the mystery was beginning to clear, the long sequence of inexplicable, maddening events since they came to the desert was broken for a moment by a tangible bit of explanation. Here was a start, something into which they could get their teeth. From this they must push on to—what?

      Chan was waiting in the patio when Bob Eden came out. His face was decorated with a broad grin.

      "Breakfast reposes on table," he announced. "Consume it speedily. Before us stretches splendid day for investigation with no prying eyes."

      "What's that?" asked Eden. "Nobody here? How about Gamble?"

      Chan led the way to the living-room, and held Bob Eden's chair. "Oh, cut that, Charlie," the boy said. "You're not Ah Kim today. Do you mean to say that Gamble has also left us?"

      Chan nodded. "Gamble develops keen yearning to visit Pasadena," he replied. "On which journey he is welcome as one of his long-tailed rats."

      Eden quaffed his orange juice. "Madden didn't want him, eh?"

      "Not much," Chan answered. "I rise before day breaks and prepare breakfast, which are last night's orders. Madden and Thorn arrive, brushing persistent sleep out of eyes. Suddenly enters this Professor Gamble, plentifully awake and singing happy praise for desert sunrise. 'You are up early,' says Madden, growling like dissatisfied dog. 'Decided to take little journey to Pasadena along with you,' announces Gamble.

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