“Perhaps—the ranch of Madden,” said Chan hopefully.
She nodded. “Yes—that was the name. It was a most unusual call.”
“And it came from Chinatown?”
“Of course. From the bowl shop of Wong Ching, in Jackson Street. He desired to speak to his relative, Louie Wong, caretaker on Madden’s Ranch. The number. Eldorado 76.”
Chan dissembled his eagerness, but his heart was beating faster. He was of the foreign devil police now. “Perhaps you heard what was said?”
“Louie Wong must come to San Francisco at once. Much money and a fine position awaited him here—”
“Haie!” cut in Kee Lim. “It is not fitting that you reveal thus the secrets of your white devil profession. Even to one of the family of Chan.”
“You are right, ever wise cousin,” Charlie agreed. He turned to the girl. “You and I, little blossom, will meet again. Even though the desert has telephones, I am beyond reach there. Now, to my great regret, I must go.”
Kee Lim followed him to the door. He stood there on the reed mat, stroking his thin beard and blinking. “Farewell, notable cousin. On that long journey of yours upon which you now set out—walk slowly.”
“Farewell,” Charlie answered. “All my good wishes for happiness in the new year.” Suddenly he found himself speaking English. “See you later,” he called, and hurried down the stairs.
Once in the street, however, he obeyed his cousin’s parting injunction, and walked slowly indeed. A startling bit of news, this, from Rose, the telephone operator. Louie Wong was wanted
