The Chinese Parrot · Chapter 3 (2/2)

“Not to me. I don’t welcome the attention of these Maydorfs⁠—and where, by the way, is the other one? They are not the modern type of crook that relies entirely on a gun. They are men of brains⁠—old-fashioned outlaws who are regarded with respect by the police whom they have fought for many years. I called Sally Jordan and tried to abandon the whole proceeding⁠—but that son of hers! He’s itching to get the money, and he’s urging her to go ahead. So what can I do? If it was anyone else I’d certainly drop out of the deal⁠—but Sally Jordan⁠—well, she’s an old friend. And as you said this afternoon, Mr. Chan, there is such a thing as loyalty in the world. But I tell you I’m sending you two down there with the deepest reluctance.”

“Don’t you worry, Dad. It’s going to be great fun, I’m sure. All my life I’ve wanted to be mixed up in a good exciting murder. As a spectator, of course.”

“What are you talking about?” the father demanded.

“Why, Mr. Chan here is a detective, isn’t he? A detective on a vacation. If you’ve ever read a mystery story you know that a detective never works so hard as when he’s on vacation. He’s like the postman who goes for a long walk on his day off. Here we are, all set. We’ve got our bright and shining mark, our millionaire⁠—P. J. Madden, one of the most famous financiers in America. I tell you, poor P. J. is doomed. Ten to one Mr. Chan and I will walk into that ranch-house and find him dead on the first rug we come to.”

“This is no joking matter,” Eden rebuked severely. “Mr. Chan⁠—you seem to be a man of considerable ability. Have you anything to suggest?”

Charlie smiled in the dark car. “Flattery sounds sweet to any ear,” he remarked. “I have, it is true, inclination for making humble suggestion.”

“Then for heaven’s sake make it,” Eden said.

“Pray give the future a thought. Young Mr. Eden and I walk hand in hand, like brothers, on to desert ranch. What will spectator say? Aha, they bring pearls. If not, why come together for strength?”

“Absolutely true,” Eden agreed.

“Then why travel side by side?” Charlie continued. “It is my humble hint that Mr. Bob Eden arrive alone at ranch. Answering all inquiries he says no, he does not carry pearls. So many dark clouds shade the scene, he is sent by honourable father to learn if all is well. When he is sure of that he will telegraph necklace be sent at once, please.”

“A good idea,” Eden said. “Meanwhile⁠—”

“At somewhat same hour,” Chan went on, “there stumble on to ranch weary old Chinese, seeking employment. One whose clothes are of a notable shabbiness, a wanderer over sand, a what you call⁠—a desert rat. Who would dream that on the stomach of such a one repose those valuable Phillimore pearls?”

“Say⁠—that’s immense,” cried Bob Eden enthusiastically.

“Might be,” admitted Chan. “Both you and old Chinese look carefully about. If all is well, together you approach this Madden and hand over necklace. Even then, others need not know.”

“Fine,” said the boy. “We’ll separate when we board the train. If you’re in doubt at any time just keep your eye on me, and tag along. We’re due in Barstow tomorrow at one-fifteen, and there’s a train to Eldorado at three-twenty, which arrives about six. I’m taking it, and you’d better do the same. One of my newspaper friends here has given me a letter to a fellow named Will Holley, who’s editor of a little paper at Eldorado. I’m going to invite him to have dinner with me, then I’ll drive out to Madden’s. You, of course, will get out some other way. As somebody may be watching us, we won’t speak on our journey. Friends once, but strangers now. That’s the idea, isn’t it?”

“Precisely the notion,” agreed Chan.

The car had stopped before the ferry building. “I have your tickets here,” Alexander Eden said, handing over a couple of envelopes. “You have lower berths, in the same car, but at different ends. You’ll find a little money there for expenses, Mr. Chan. I may say that I think your plan is excellent⁠—but for heaven’s sake be careful, both of you. Bob, my boy⁠—you’re all I’ve got. I may have spoken harshly to you, but I⁠—I⁠—take care of yourself.”

“Don’t you worry, Dad,” Bob Eden said. “Though you’ll never believe it, I’m grown up. And I’ve got a good man with me.”

“Mr. Chan,” Eden said, “good luck. And thank you a thousand times.”

“Don’t talk about it,” smiled Charlie. “Happiest walk of postman’s life is on his holiday. I will serve you well. Goodbye.”

He followed Bob Eden through the gates and on to the ferryboat. A moment later they had slipped out upon the black waters of the harbour. The rain was gone, the sky spattered with stars, but a chill wind blew through the Gate. Charlie stood alone by the rail; the dream of his life had come true; he knew the great mainland at last. The flaming ball atop the ferry building receded; the yellow lamps of the city marched up the hills and down again. He thought of the tiny island that was his home, of the house on Punch Bowl Hill where his wife and children patiently awaited his return. Suddenly he was appalled at the distance he had come.

Bob Eden joined him there in the dark, and waved his hand toward the glow in the sky above Grant Avenue. “A big night in Chinatown,” he said.

“Very large night,” agreed Chan. “And why not? Tomorrow is the first day of the new year. Of the year four thousand eight hundred and sixty-nine.”

“Great Scott,” smiled Eden. “How time flies. A Happy New Year to you.”

“Similar one to you,” said Chan.

The boat ploughed on. From the prison island of Alcatraz a cruel, relentless searchlight swept at intervals the inky waters. The wind was bitter now.

“I’m going inside,” shivered Bob Eden. “This is goodbye, I guess.”

“Better so,” admitted Charlie. “When you are finally at Madden’s ranch, look about for that desert rat.”

Alone, he continued to stare at the lamps of the city, cold and distant now, like the stars.

“A desert rat,” he repeated softly, “with no fondly feeling for a trap.”