X. Bliss Of The Homicide Squad
In another moment Madden was with them there by the car, and they felt rather than saw a quivering, suppressed fury in every inch of the millionaire’s huge frame. With an oath he snatched the flashlight from the hand of Charlie Chan and bent over the silent form in the back of the flivver. The glow from the lamp illuminated faintly his big red face, his searching eyes, and Bob Eden watched him with interest.
There in that dusty car lay the lifeless shape of one who had served Madden faithfully for many years. Yet no sign either of compassion or regret was apparent in the millionaire’s face—nothing save a constantly growing anger. Yes, Bob Eden reflected, those who had reported Madden lacked a heart spoke nothing but the truth.
Madden straightened, and flashed the light into the pale face of his secretary.
“Fine business!” he snarled.
“Well, what are you staring at me for?” cried Thorn, his voice trembling.
“I’ll stare at you if I choose—though God knows I’m sick of the sight of your silly face—”
“I’ve had about enough from you,” warned Thorn, and the tremor in his voice was rage. For a moment they regarded
