“Charlie, what more do you know?” Eden asked.
“This morning I am about my old woman duties in bedroom of Thorn. I see on wall stained outline same size and shape as handsome picture of desert scene near by. I investigate. Picture has been moved, I note, and not so long ago. Why was picture moved? I lift it in my hands and underneath I see little hole that could only be made by flying bullet.”
Eden gasped. “A bullet?”
“Precisely the fact. A bullet embedded deep in wall. One bullet that has gone astray and not found resting place in body of that unhappy man Tony heard cry for help some recent night.”
Again Eden and Holley looked at each other. “Well,” said the editor, “there was that gun, you know. Bill Hart’s gun—the one that’s gone from the living-room. We must tell Mr. Chan about that.”
Chan shrugged. “Spare yourself trouble,” he advised. “Already last night I have noted empty locality deserted by that weapon. I also found this, in waste-basket.” He took a small crumpled card from his pocket, a typewritten card which read: “Presented to P.J. Madden by William S. Hart. September 29, 1923.” Will Holley nodded and handed it back. “All day,” continued Chan, “I search for missing movie pistol. Without success—so far.”
Will Holley rose, and warmly shook Chan’s hand. “Mr. Chan,” he said, “permit me to go on record here and now to the effect that you’re all right.” He turned to Bob Eden. “Don’t ever come to me for advice again. You follow Mr. Chan.”
Eden nodded. “I think I will,” he said.
