“I know a lot about him,” Boston replied. He came close, and Bob Eden could barely distinguish the words. “I know all about Delaney, Mr. Madden.”
For a moment they stood staring at each other.
“Come inside, Mr. Boston,” Madden suggested, and Eden watched them disappear through the door into the living-room.
Ah Kim came into the patio with a tray on which were cigars and cigarettes, the offering of the host. As he paused before the director, that gentleman looked at him keenly. “By gad, here’s a type,” he cried. “Say, John—how’d you like to act in the pictures?”
“You clazy, boss,” grinned Ah Kim.
“No, I’m not. We could use you in Hollywood.”
“Him lookee like you make’um big joke.”
“Nothing of the kind. You think it over. Here.” He wrote on a card. “You change your mind, you come and see me. Savvy?”
“Maybe nuddah day, boss. Plenty happly heah now.” He moved along with his tray.
Bob Eden sat down beside Paula Wendell. He was, for all his outward calm, in a very perturbed state of mind.
“Look here,” he began, “something has happened, and you can help us again.” He explained about Jerry Delaney, and repeated the conversation he had just overheard between Madden and Eddie Boston. The girl’s eyes were wide. “It wouldn’t do for Chan or me to make any inquiries,” he added. “What sort of fellow is this Boston?”
“Rather unpleasant person,” she said. “I’ve never liked him.”
