He laid the pearls on the table, under a brilliant light. Bob Eden reached over, and thoughtfully ran them through his fingers.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” he said. “Look here, Charlie—you and I must have a frank talk.” Chan nodded. “Tell me, and tell me the truth—have you got the faintest glimmering as to what’s doing out at Madden’s ranch?”
“One recent day,” said Chan, “I thought—”
“Yes?”
“But I was wrong.”
“Precisely. I know it’s a tough thing for a detective to admit, but you’re absolutely stumped, aren’t you?”
“You have stumped feeling yourself, maybe—”
“All right—I’ll answer the question for you. You are. You’re up against it, and we can’t go on. Tomorrow afternoon I come back to the ranch. I’m supposed to have seen Draycott—more lies, more deception. I’m sick of it, and besides, something tells me it won’t work any longer. No, Charlie—we’re at the zero hour. We’ve got to give up the pearls.”
Chan’s face saddened. “Please do not say so,” he pleaded. “At any moment—”
“I know—you want more time. Your professional pride is touched. I can understand, and I’m sorry.”
“Just a few hours,” suggested Chan.
Eden looked for a long moment at the kindly face of the Chinese. He shook his head. “It’s not only me—it’s Bliss. Bliss will come thumping in presently. We’re at the end of our rope. I’ll make one last concession—I’ll give you until eight o’clock tomorrow night. That’s provided Bliss doesn’t show up in the interval. Do you agree?”
