Avenue’s corners, and the man in the overcoat went inside.
Glancing at his watch, Chan decided to let his quarry escape, and turned in the direction of Union Square. His mind was troubled. “This much even a fool could grasp,” he thought. “We move toward a trap. But with eyes open—with eyes keenly open.”
Back in his tiny hotel room, he restored to his inexpensive suitcase the few articles he had previously removed. Returning to the desk, he found that his trunk had reached the hotel but had not yet been taken upstairs. He arranged for its storage until his return, paid his bill and sitting down in a great leather chair in the lobby, with his suitcase at his feet, he waited patiently.
At precisely ten-thirty Bob Eden stepped inside the door of the hotel and beckoned. Following the young man to the street, Chan saw a big limousine drawn up to the curb.
“Jump in, Mr. Chan,” said the boy, taking his bag. As the detective entered the darkened interior, Alexander Eden greeted him from the gloom. “Tell Michael to drive slowly—I want to talk,” called the older man to his son. Bob Eden spoke to the chauffeur, then leaped into the car and it moved off down Geary Street.
“Mr. Chan,” said the jeweler in a low voice, “I am very much disturbed.”
“More events have taken place,” suggested Chan.
“Decidedly,” Eden replied. “You were not in the room this afternoon when I spoke of a telephone call I had received from a pay-station at Sutter and Kearny Streets.” He repeated the details. “This evening I called into consultation Al Draycott, head of the Gale Detective Agency, with which
