“Oh, sure,” replied Madden. “Just attend to anything that comes up, and send all the bills to me. Believe me, I’m sorry this thing has happened.”
“So am I,” said the constable. “Louie was a good old scout.”
“Yes—and—well, I don’t like it. It’s annoying.”
“All mighty mysterious to me,” the constable admitted again. “My wife told me I never ought to take this job. Well, so long, Mr. Madden—great pleasure to meet a man like you.”
When Bob Eden retired to his room, Madden and Thorn were facing each other on the hearth. Something in the expression of each made him wish he could overhear the scene about to be enacted in that room.
Ah Kim was waiting beside a crackling fire. “I make’um burn, boss,” he said. Eden closed the door and sank into a chair.
“Charlie, in heaven’s name, what’s going on here?” he inquired helplessly.
Chan shrugged. “Plenty goes on,” he said. “Two nights now gone since in this room I hint to you Chinese are psychic people. On your face then I see well-bred sneer.”
“I apologize,” Eden returned. “No sneering after this, even the well-bred kind. But I’m certainly stumped. This thing tonight—”
“Most unfortunate, this thing tonight,” said Chan thoughtfully. “Humbly suggest you be very careful, or everything spoils. Local police come thumping on to scene, not dreaming in their slight brains that murder of Louie are of no importance in the least.”
“Not important, you say?”
