putting handcuffs on Thorn and the professor. If the sheriff will so kindly return my personal automatic, which I employ as detective in Hawaii, I will be responsible for this Madden here.”
“Sure, I’ll return it,” said Cox. “And I want to congratulate you. I don’t know as I ever saw a finer exhibition of courage—”
Chan grinned. “Pardon me if I make slight correction. One recent morning at dawn I have busy time removing all cartridges from this splendid collection of old-time pistols on the wall. Long dusty job, but I am glad I did it.” He turned suddenly to the big man beside him. “Put up the hands, Delaney,” he cried.
“Delaney?” repeated the sheriff.
“Undubitably,” replied Chan. “You have questioned value of my speech against word of P.J. Madden. Happy to say that situation does not arise. This is not P.J. Madden. His name is Jerry Delaney.”
Bob Eden had entered quietly from the patio. “Good work, Charlie,” he said. “You’ve got it now. But how in Sam Hill did you know?”
“Not long ago,” answered Chan, “I shoot gun from his grasp. Observe the bandage on his hand, and note it is the left. Once in this room I told you Delaney was left-handed.”
Through the open door behind Eden came a huge, powerful, but weary-looking man. One of his arms was in a sling, and his face was pale beneath a ten days’growth of beard. But there was about him an air of authority and poise; he loomed like a tower of granite, though the gray suit was sadly rumpled now. He stared grimly at Delaney.
