A call sounded, and the extras filed on to the set and took their allotted stations at the various tables. Chan watched fascinated; evidently he could stay here forever. But Bob Eden, sadly lacking in that lovely virtue, patience, became restless.
“This is all very well,” he said. “But we have work to do. How about Eddie Boston?”
“I have his address for you,” the girl replied. “I doubt whether you’ll find him in at this hour, but you can try.”
An old man appeared in the shadowy space behind the cameras. Eden recognized the veteran player who had been yesterday at Madden’s ranch—the actor known as “Pop.”
“Hello,” cried Paula Wendell. “Maybe Pop can help you.” She hailed him. “Know where we can find Eddie Boston?” she inquired.
As Pop joined them, Charlie Chan stepped back into a dark corner.
“Why—how are you, Mr. Eden?” the old man said. “You want to see Eddie Boston, you say?”
“I’d like to—yes.”
“That’s too bad. You won’t find him in Hollywood.”
“Why not? Where is he?”
“On his way to San Francisco by this time,” Pop answered. “At least, that was where he was going when I saw him late last night.”
“San Francisco? What’s he going there for?” asked Eden, amazed.
“One grand outbreak, to hear him tell it. You know, it looks to me like Eddie’s come into a bit of money.”
“He has, has he?” Eden’s eyes narrowed.
