Earl Derr Biggers: Complete 11 Novels in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers

maybe I can help you," Eden suggested. "Go on. You say you saw murder—"

      "Jest hold yer horses, boy," Mr. Cherry advised. "As I was sayin', last Wednesday night after dark I drifts in at Madden's as usual. But the minute I comes into the yard, I see there's something doin' there. The boss has come. Lights in most o' the windows, an' a big car in the barn. Longside Louie's old flivver. Howsomever, I'm tired, an' I figures I'll jest wait round fer Louie, keepin' out o' sight o' the big fellow. A little supper an' a bed, maybe, kin be negotiated without gettin' too conspicuous.

      "So I puts my pack down in the barn, an' steps over to the cookhouse. Louie ain't there. Jest as I'm comin' out o' the place, I hears a cry from the house—a man's voice, loud an' clear. 'Help.' he says. 'Put down that gun. I know your game. Help. Help.' Jest as you said. Well, I ain't lookin' fer no trouble, an' I stands there a minute, uncertain. An' then the cry comes again, almost the same words—but not the man this time. It's Tony, the Chinese parrot, on his perch in the patio, an' from him the words is shrill an' piercin'—more terrible, somehow. An' then I hears a sharp report—the gun is workin'. The racket seems to come from a lighted room in one ell—a window is open. I creeps closer, an' there goes the gun ag'in. There's a sort of groan. It's hit, sure enough. I goes up to the window an' looks in."

      He paused. "Then what?" Bob Eden asked breathlessly.

      "Well, it's a bedroom, an' he's standin' there with the smokin' gun in his hand, lookin' fierce but frightened like. An' there's somebody on the floor, t'other side o' the bed—all I kin see is his shoes. He turns toward the window, the gun still in his hand—"

      "Who?" cried Bob Eden. "Who was it with the gun in his hand? You're talking about Martin Thorn?"

      "Thorn? You mean that little sneakin' secretary? No—I ain't speakin' o' Thorn. I'm speakin' o' him—"

      "Who?"

      "The big boss. Madden. P.J. Madden himself."

      There was a moment of tense silence. "Good lord," gasped Eden. "Madden? You mean to say that Madden—Why, it's impossible. How did you know? Are you sure?"

      "O' course I'm sure. I know Madden well enough. I seen him three years ago at the ranch. A big man, red-faced, thin gray hair—I couldn't make no mistake about Madden. There he was standin', the gun in his hand, an' he looks toward the window. I ducks back. An' at that minute this Thorn you're speakin' of—he comes tearin' into the room. 'What have you done now?' he says. 'I've killed him,' says Madden, 'that's what I've done.' 'You poor fool,' says Thorn. 'It wasn't necessary.' Madden throws down the gun. 'Why not?' he wants to know. 'I was afraid of him.' Thorn sneers. 'You was always afraid o' him,' he says. 'You dirty coward. That time in New York—' Madden gives him a look. 'Shut up,' he says 'Shut up an' fergit it. I was afraid o' him an' I killed him. Now git busy an' think what we better do.'"

      The old prospector paused, and regarded his wide-eyed audience. "Well, mister," he continued. "An' miss—I come away. What else was there to be done? It was no affair o' mine, an' I wasn't hungerin' fer no courtroom an' all that. Jest slip away into the night, I tells myself, the good old night that's been yer friend these many years. Slip away an' let others worry. I runs to the barn an' gits my pack, an' when I comes out, a car is drivin' into the yard. I crawls through the fence an' moseys down the road. I thought I was out o' it an' safe, an' how you got on to me is a mystery. But I'm decent, an' I ain't hidin' anything. That's my story—the truth, s'help me."

      Bob Eden rose and paced the sand. "Man alive," he said, "this is serious business."

      "Think so?" inquired the old prospector.

      "Think so! You know who Madden is, don't you? One of the biggest men in America—"

      "Sure he is. And what does that mean? You'll never git him fer what he done. He'll slide out o' it some way—Self-defense—"

      "Oh, no, he won't. Not if you tell your story. You've got to go back with me to Eldorado—"

      "Wait a minute," cut in Cherry. "That's something I don't aim to do—go an' stifle in no city. Leastways, not till it's absolutely necessary. I've told my story, an' I'll tell it ag'in, any time I'm asked. But I ain't goin' back to Eldorado—bank on that, boy."

      "But listen—"

      "Listen to me. How much more information you got? Know who that man was, layin' behind the bed? Found his body yet?"

      "No, we haven't, but—"

      "I thought so. Well, you're jest startin' on this job. What's my word ag'in' the word o' P.J. Madden—an' no other evidence to show? You got to dig some up."

      "Well, perhaps you're right."

      "Sure I am. I've done you a favor—now you do one fer me. Take this here information an' go back an' make the most o' it. Leave me out entirely if you kin. If you can't—well, I'll keep in touch. Be down round Needles in about a week—goin' to make a stop there with my old friend, Slim Jones. Porter J. Jones, Real Estate—you kin git me there. I'm makin' you a fair proposition—don't you say so, miss?"

      The girl smiled at him. "Seems fair to me," she admitted.

      "It's hardly according to Hoyle," said Eden. "But you have been mighty kind. I don't want to see you stifle in a city—though I find it hard to believe you and I are talking about the same Eldorado. However, we're going to part friends, Mr. Cherry. I'll take your suggestion—I'll go back with what you've told me—it's certainly very enlightening. And I'll keep you out of it—if I can."

      The old man got painfully to his feet. "Shake," he said. "You're a white man, an' no mistake. I ain't tryin' to save Madden—I'll go on the stand if I have to. But with what I've told you, maybe you can land him without me figurin' in it."

      "We'll have to go along," Eden told him. He laughed. "I don't care what the book of etiquette says—Mr. Cherry, I'm very pleased to have met you."

      "Same here," returned Cherry. "Like a talk now an' then with a good listener. An' the chance to look at a pretty gal—well, say, I don't need no specs to enjoy that."

      They said good-bye, and left the lonely old man standing by the trolley-car there on the barren desert. For a long moment they rode in silence.

      "Well," said Eden finally, "you've heard something, lady."

      "I certainly have. Something I find it difficult to believe."

      "Perhaps you won't find it so difficult if I go back and tell you a few things. You've been drawn into the big mystery at Madden's at last, and there's no reason why you shouldn't know as much as I do about it. So I'm going to talk."

      "I'm keen to hear," she admitted.

      "Naturally, after today. Well, I came down here to transact a bit of business with P.J.—I needn't go into that, it has no particular bearing. The first night I was on the ranch—" He proceeded to detail one by one the mysterious sequence of events that began with the scream of the parrot from the dark. "Now you know. Some one had been killed, that was evident. Some one before Louie. But who? We don't know yet. And by whom? Today gave us that answer, anyhow."

      "It seems incredible."

      "You don't believe Cherry's story?" he suggested.

      "Well—these old boys who wander the desert get queer sometimes. And there was that about his eyes—the doctor at Redlands, you know—"

      "I know. But all the same, I think Cherry told the truth. After a few days with Madden, I consider him capable of anything. He's a hard man, and if any one stood in his way—good night. Some poor devil stood there—but not for long. Who? We'll find out. We must."

      "We?"

      "Yes—you're in on this thing, too. Have to be, after this, whether you like it or not."

      "I think I'm going to like it," Paula Wendell said.

      They returned their tired horses to the stable at Seven Palms, and after a sketchy dinner at the local hotel, caught the Eldorado train. When they alighted, Charlie and Will Holley were