“Of course,” answered Madden. “Fire away. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you a thing. I was in my room when my secretary”—he indicated Thorn—“came in and said that Mr. Eden here had just driven into the yard with the dead body of Louie in the car.”
The constable turned with interest to Eden. “Where’d you find him?” he inquired.
“He was perfectly all right when I picked him up,” Eden explained. He launched into his story—the meeting with Louie at the Oasis, the ride across the desert, the stop at the gate, and finally the gruesome discovery in the yard. The constable shook his head.
“All sounds mighty mysterious to me,” he admitted. “You say you think he was killed while you was openin’the gate. What makes you think so?”
“He was talking practically all the way out here,” Eden replied. “Muttering to himself there in the back seat. I heard him when I got out to unfasten the gate.”
“What was he sayin’?”
“He was talking in Chinese. I’m sorry, but I’m no sinologue.”
“I ain’t accused you of anything, have I?”
“A sinologue is a man who understands the Chinese language,” Bob Eden smiled.
“Oh.” The constable scratched his head. “This here secretary, now—”
Thorn came forward. He had been in his room, he said, when he heard a disturbance in the yard, and went outside. Absolutely nothing to offer. Bob Eden’s glance fell on the tear across the back of Thorn’s coat. He looked at Charlie Chan, but the detective shook his head. Say nothing, his eyes directed.
