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

a way. Nothing special—just the old trade smile. But look here—I'm on to you. You want to interest me in the obsolete institution of marriage."

      "It's what you need. It's what all young men need."

      "What for?"

      "As an incentive. Something to spur you on to get the most out of life."

      Bob Eden laughed. "Listen, my dear. When the fog begins to drift in through the Gate, and the lights begin to twinkle on O'Farrell Street—well, I don't want to be hampered by no incentive, lady. Besides, the girls aren't what they were when you were breaking hearts."

      "Rot," she answered. "They're very much nicer. The young men are growing silly. Alec, I'll go along."

      "I'll get in touch with you next Thursday," the elder Eden said. "By the way—I'm sorry it wasn't more, for your sake."

      "It was an amazing lot," she replied. "I'm very happy." Her eyes filled. "Dear dad—he's taking care of me still," she added, and went quickly out.

      Eden turned to his son. "I judge you haven't taken a newspaper job yet?"

      "Not yet." The boy lighted a cigarette. "Of course, the editors are all after me. But I've been fighting them off."

      "Well, fight them off a little longer. I want you to be free for the next two or three weeks. I've a little job for you myself."

      "Why of course, dad." He tossed a match into a priceless Kang-Hsi vase. "What sort of job? What do I do?"

      "First of all, you meet the President Pierce late next Thursday afternoon."

      "Sounds promising. I presume a young woman, heavily veiled, comes ashore—

      "No. A Chinese comes ashore."

      "A what?"

      "A Chinese detective from Honolulu, carrying in his pocket a pearl necklace worth over a quarter of a million dollars."

      Bob Eden nodded. "Yes. And after that—"

      "After that," said Alexander Eden thoughtfully, "who can say? That may be only the beginning."

      Chapter II. The Detective From Hawaii

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      At six o'clock on the following Thursday evening, Alexander Eden drove to the Stewart Hotel. All day a February rain had spattered over the town, bringing an early dusk. For a moment Eden stood in the doorway of the hotel, staring at the parade of bobbing umbrellas and at the lights along Geary Street, glowing a dim yellow in the dripping mist. In San Francisco age does not matter much, and he felt like a boy again as he rode up in the elevator to Sally Jordan's suite.

      She was waiting for him in the doorway of her sitting-room, lovely as a girl in a soft clinging dinner gown of gray. Caste tells, particularly when one has reached the sixties, Eden thought as he took her hand.

      "Ah, Alec," she smiled. "Come in. You remember Victor."

      Victor stepped forward eagerly, and Eden looked at him with interest. He had not seen Sally Jordan's son for some years and he noted that, at thirty-five, Victor began to show the strain of his giddy career as man about town. His brown eyes were tired, as though they had looked at the bright lights too long, his face a bit puffy, his waistline far too generous. But his attire was perfection; evidently his tailor had yet to hear of the failing Phillimore fortunes.

      "Come in, come in," said Victor gaily. His heart was light, for he saw important money in the offing. "As I understand it, tonight's the night."

      "And I'm glad it is," Sally Jordan added. "I shall be happy to get that necklace off my mind. Too great a burden at my age."

      Eden sat down. "Bob's gone to the dock to meet the President Pierce," he remarked. "I told him to come here at once with your Chinese friend."

      "Ah, yes," said Sally Jordan.

      "Have a cocktail," suggested Victor.

      "No, thanks," Eden replied. Abruptly he rose and strode about the room.

      Mrs. Jordan regarded him with concern. "Has anything happened?" she inquired.

      The jeweler returned to his chair. "Well, yes—something has happened," he admitted. "Something—well, something rather odd."

      "About the necklace, you mean?" asked Victor with interest.

      "Yes," said Eden. He turned to Sally Jordan. "You remember what Madden told us, Sally? Almost his last words. 'New York, and nowhere else.'"

      "Why, yes—I remember," she replied.

      "Well, he's changed his mind," frowned the jeweler. "Somehow, it doesn't seem like Madden. He called me up this morning from his ranch down on the desert, and he wants the necklace delivered there."

      "On the desert?" she repeated, amazed.

      "Precisely. Naturally, I was surprised. But his instructions were emphatic, and you know the sort of man he is. One doesn't argue with him. I listened to what he had to say, and agreed. But after he had rung off, I got to thinking. What he had said that morning at my office, you know. I asked myself—was it really Madden talking? The voice had an authentic ring—but even so—well, I determined to take no chances."

      "Quite right, too," nodded Sally Jordan.

      "So I called him back. I had a devil of a time finding his number, but I finally got it from a business associate of his here in town. Eldorado 76. I asked for P.J. Madden and I got him. Oh, it was Madden right enough."

      "And what did he say?"

      "He commended me for my caution, but his orders were even more emphatic than before. He said he had heard certain things that made him think it risky to take the necklace to New York at this time. He didn't explain what he meant by that. But he added that he'd come to the conclusion that the desert was an ideal place for a transaction of this sort. The last place in the world any one would come looking for a chance to steal a quarter of a million dollar necklace. Of course he didn't say all that over the wire, but that was what I gathered."

      "He's absolutely right, too," said Victor.

      "Well, yes—in a way, he is. I've spent a lot of time on the desert myself. In spite of the story writers, it's the most law-abiding place in America today. Nobody ever locks a door, or so much as thinks of thieves. Ask the average rancher about police protection, and he'll look surprised and murmur something about a sheriff several hundred miles away. But for all that—"

      Eden got up again and walked anxiously about the room. "For all that—or rather, for those very reasons, I don't like the idea at all. Suppose somebody did want to play a crooked game—what a setting for it! Away out there on that ocean of sand, with only the Joshua trees for neighbors. Suppose I send Bob down there with your necklace, and he walks into a trap. Madden may not be at that lonely ranch. He may have gone east. He may even, by the time Bob gets there, have gone west—as they said in the war. Lying out on the desert, with a bullet in him—"

      Victor laughed derisively. "Look here, your imagination is running away with you," he cried.

      Eden smiled. "Maybe it is," he admitted. "Begins to look as though I were growing old, eh, Sally?" He took out his watch. "But where's Bob? Ought to be here by now. If you don't mind, I'll use your telephone."

      He called the dock, and came away from the phone with a still more worried look. "The President Pierce got in a full forty-five minutes ago," he announced. "Half an hour should bring them here."

      "Traffic's rather thick at this hour," Victor reminded him.

      "Yes—that's right, too," Eden agreed. "Well, Sally, I've told you the situation. What do you think?"

      "What should she think?" Victor cut in. "Madden's bought the necklace and wants it delivered on the desert. It isn't up to us to question his orders. If we do, he may get