is nervous—he is harassed. We have every reason to believe that he is the victim of a gang of blackmailers. Mr. Chan—” Chan opened his coat for a brief second, and the celebrated California sun flashed on a silver badge.
Peter Fogg nodded. “I’m not surprised,” he said seriously. “But I’m sorry to hear it, just the same. I’ve always liked Madden. Not many people do—but he has certainly been a friend to me. As you may imagine, this work I’m doing here is hardly in my line. I was a lawyer back east. Then my health broke, and I had to come out here. It was a case of taking anything I could get. Yes sir, Madden has been kind to me, and I’ll help you any way I can.”
“You say you’re not surprised. Have you any reason for that statement?”
“No particular reason—but a man as famous as Madden—and as rich—well, it seems to me inevitable.”
For the first time Charlie Chan spoke. “One more question, sir. Is it possible you have idea why Mr. Madden should fear a certain man. A man named—Jerry Delaney.”
Fogg looked at him quickly, but did not speak.
“Jerry Delaney,” repeated Bob Eden. “You’ve heard that name, Mr. Fogg?”
“I can tell you this,” answered Fogg. “The chief is rather friendly at times. Some years ago he had this house gone over and a complete set of burglar-alarms installed. I met him in the hall while the men were busy at the windows.’I guess that’ll give us plenty of notice if anybody tries to break in,’he said.’I imagine a big man like you has plenty of enemies, Chief,’said I. He looked
