“We certainly have,” agreed Holley. “Madden! I can hardly believe it.”
Chan considered. “Most peculiar case ever shoved on my attention,” he admitted. “It marches now, but look how it marches backwards. Mostly murder means dead body on the rug, and from clues surrounding, I must find who did it. Not so here. I sense something wrong, after long pause light breaks and I hear name of guilty man who killed. But who was killed? The reason, please? There is work to be done—much work.”
“You don’t think,” suggested Eden, “that we ought to call in the sheriff—”
“What then?” frowned Chan. “Captain Bliss arrives on extensive feet, committing blunder with every step. Sheriff faces strange situation, all unprepared. Madden awes them with greatness, and escapes Scotch-free. None of the sheriff, please—unless maybe you lose faith in Detective-Sergeant Chan.”
“Never for a minute, Charlie,” Eden answered. “Wipe out that suggestion. The case is yours.”
Chan bowed. “You’re pretty good, thanks. Such a tipsy-turvy puzzle rouses professional pride. I will get to bottom of it or lose entire face. Be good enough to watch me.”
“I’ll be watching,” Eden answered. “Well, shall we go along?”
In front of the Desert Edge Hotel Bob Eden held out his hand to the girl. “The end of a perfect day,” he said. “Except for one thing.”
“Yes? What thing?”
“Wilbur. I’m beginning to find the thought of him intolerable.”
