“Pretty close to right,” admitted Chan.
“I tell you, Charlie, we can’t go on. Our position is hopeless. We’ll have to go to the sheriff—”
“With what? Pardon that I interrupt. But realize, please, that all our evidence is hazy, like flowers seen in a pool. Madden is big man, his word law to many.” The train paused at a station. “We go to sheriff with queer talk—a dead parrot, tale of a desert rat, half-blind and maybe crazy, suitcase in attic filled with old clothes. Can we prove famous man guilty of murder on such foolish grounds? Where is body? Few policemen alive who would not laugh at us—”
Chan broke off suddenly, and Eden followed his gaze. In the aisle of the car stood Captain Bliss of the Homicide Squad, staring at them.
Eden’s heart sank. The captain’s little eyes slowly took in every detail of Chan’s attire, then were turned for a moment on the boy. Without a sign, he turned about and went down the aisle and into the car behind.
“Good night!” said Eden.
Chan shrugged. “Fret no longer,” he remarked. “We need not go to sheriff—sheriff will come to us. Our time is brief at Madden’s ranch. Poor old Ah Kim may yet be arrested for the murder of Louie Wong.”
