Eden glanced toward the closed door. “What became of you? I lost you at Barstow.”
“Thinking deep about the matter,” said Chan softly, “I decide not to await train. On auto truck belonging to one of my countrymen, among many other vegetables, I ride out of Barstow. Much better I arrive on ranch in warm daylight. Not so shady look to it. I am Ah Kim, the cook. How fortunate I mastered that art in far-away youth.”
“You’re darned good,” laughed Eden.
Chan shrugged. “All my life,” he complained, “I study to speak fine English words. Now I must strangle all such in my throat, lest suspicion rouse up. Not a happy situation for me.”
“Well, it won’t last long,” replied Eden. “Everything’s all right, evidently.”
Again Chan shrugged, and did not answer.
“It is all right, isn’t it?” Eden asked with sudden interest.
“Humbly offering my own poor opinion,” said Chan, “it are not so right as I would be pleased to have it.”
Eden stared at him. “Why—what have you found out?”
“I have found nothing whatever.”
“Well, then—”
“Pardon me,” Chan broke in. “Maybe you know—Chinese are very psychic people. Can not say in ringing words what is wrong here. But deep down in heart—”
“Oh, forget that,” cut in Eden. “We can’t go by instinct now. We came to deliver a string of pearls to Madden, if he proved to be here, and get his receipt. He’s here, and our course is simple. For my part, I’m not
