The Chinese Parrot

by Earl Derr Biggers

Holley shrugged. “No,” he said. “It was not. Somebody has been out here with a broom, my boy, and obliterated every trace of footsteps about that car.”

  Eden nodded. “You’re right Somebody—but who? Our old friend Thorn, of course.”

  They stepped aside as a car swung by them and entered Madden’s yard.

  “There’s Bliss now, with the constable,” Holley remarked. “Well, they get no help from us, eh?”

  “Not a bit,” replied Eden. “Encourage them off the ranch at earliest possible moment. That’s Charlie’s suggestion.”

  They returned to the yard and waited. Inside the living-room they heard Thorn and Madden talking with the two officers. After a time Bliss came out, followed by the millionaire and Constable Brackett. He greeted Holley as an old friend, and the editor introduced Bob Eden.

  “Oh, yes, Mr Eden,” said the captain. “Want to talk to you. What’s your version of this funny business?”

  Bob Eden looked at him with distaste. He was a big, flat-footed policeman of the usual type, and no great intelligence shone in his eyes. The boy gave him a carefully edited story of the night before.

  “Humph,” said Bliss. “Sounds queer to me.”

  “Yes?” smiled Eden. “To me too. But it happens to be the truth.”

  “Well, I’ll have a look at the ground out there,” remarked Bliss.

  “You’ll find nothing,” said Holley. “Except the footprints of this young man and myself. We’ve just been taking a squint round.”

  “Oh, you have, have you?” replied Bliss grimly. He strode through the gate, the constable tagging after him. After a perfunctory examination the two returned.

  “This is sure some puzzle,” said Constable Brackett.

  “Is that so?” Bliss sneered. “Well, get on to yourself. How about this Chink, Ah Kim? Had a good job here, didn’t he? Louie Wong comes back. What does that mean? Ah Kim loses his job.”

  “Nonsense,” protested Madden.

  “Think so, do you?” remarked Bliss. “Well, I don’t. I tell you I know these Chinks. They think nothing of sticking knives in each other. Nothing at all.” Ah Kim emerged from round the side of the house. “Hey, you,” cried Captain Bliss. Bob Eden began to worry.

  Ah Kim came up. “You wantum me, boss?”

  “You bet I want you. Going to lock you up.”

  “Why foah, boss?”

  “For knifing Louie Wong. You can’t get away with that Stuff round here.”

  The Chinese regarded this crude practitioner of his own arts with a lifeless eye. “You clazy, boss,” he said.

  “Is that so?” Bliss’s face hardened. “I’ll show you just how crazy I am. Better tell me the whole story now. It’ll go a lot easier with you if you do.”

  “What stoahy, boss?”

  “How you sneaked out and put a knife in Louie last night.”

  “Maybe you catch ’um knife, hey, boss?” asked Ah Kim maliciously.

  “Never mind about that!”

  “Poah old Ah Kim’s fingah plints on knife, hey, boss?”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Bliss.

  “Maybe you takee look-see, find velvet-slippah plints in sand, hey, boss?” Bliss glared at him in silence. “What I tell you—you clazy cop, hey, boss?”

  Holley and Eden looked at each other with keen enjoyment. Madden broke in: “Oh, come now, captain, you haven’t got a thing against him, and you know it. You take my cook away from me without any evidence, and I’ll make you sweat for it.”

  “Well—I—” Bliss hesitated. “I know he did it, and I’ll prove it later.” His eyes lighted. “How’d you get into this country?” he demanded.

  “‘Melican citizen, boss. Boahn San Flancisco. Foahty-flive yeah old now.”

  “Born here, eh? Is that so? Then you’ve got your chock-gee, I suppose. Let me see it.”

  Bob Eden’s heart sank to his boots. Though many Chinese were without chock-gees, he knew that the lack of one would be sufficient excuse for this stupid policeman to arrest Chan at once. Another moment, and they’d all be done for.…

  “Come on,” bellowed Bliss.

  “What you say, boss?” parried Ah Kim.

  “You know what I said. Your chock-gee—certificate—hand it over, or by heaven I’ll lock you up so quick—”

  “Oh, boss—ce’tiflicate—allight, boss.” And before Eden’s startled gaze the Chinese took from his blouse a worn slip of paper about the size of a banknote, and handed it to Bliss.

  The captain read it sourly and handed it back. “All right—but I ain’t through with you yet,” he said.

  “Thanks, boss,” returned Ah Kim, brightening. “You plenty clazy, boss. Thasaw? Goo’-bye.” And he shuffled away.

  “I told you it looked terrible mysterious to me,” commented the constable.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, shut up,” cried Bliss. “Mr Madden, I’ll have to admit I’m stumped for the time being. But that condition don’t last long with me. I’ll get to the bottom of this yet. You’ll see me again.”

  “Run out any time,” Madden invited, with deep insincerity. “If I happen on anything, I’ll call Constable Brackett.”

  Bliss and the constable got into their car and rode away. Madden returned to the house.

  “Oh, excellent Chan,” said Will Holley softly. “Where in Sam Hill did he get that chock-gee?”

  “It looked as though we were done for,” Eden admitted. “But good old Charlie thinks of everything.”

  Holley climbed into his car. “Well, I guess Madden isn’t going to invite me to lunch. I’ll go along. You know, I’m keener than ever to get the answer to this puzzle. Louie was my friend. It’s a rotten shame.”

  “I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re on our way,” Eden answered. “I’d feel pretty helpless if I didn’t have Charlie with me.”

  “Oh, you’ve got a few brains too,” Holley assured him.

  “You’re clazy, boss,” Eden laughed, as the editor drove away.

  Returning to his room, he found Ah Kim calmly making the bed.

  “Charlie, you’re a peach,” said the boy, closing the door. “I thought we were sunk without warning. Whose chock-gee did you have, anyhow?”

  “Ah Kim’s chock-gee, to be sure,” smiled Chan.

  “Who’s Ah Kim?”

  “Ah Kim humble vegetable merchant who drive me amidst other garden truck from Barstow to Eldorado. I make simple arrangement to rent chock-gee short while. Happy to note long wear in pockets make photograph look like image of anybody. Came to me in bright flash Madden might ask for identification certificate before engaging me for honourable tasks. Madden did not do so, but thing fit in plenty neat all the same.”

  “It certainly did,” Eden agreed. “You’re a brick to do all this for the Jordans—and for Dad. I hope they pay you handsomely.”

  Chan shook his head. “What you say in car riding to ferry? Postman on holiday itches to try long stretch of road. All this sincere pleasure for me. When I untie knots and find answer, that will be fine reward.” He bowed and departed.

  Some hours later, while they waited for lunch, Bob Eden and Madden sat talking in the big living-room. The millionaire was reiterating his desire to return East at the earliest possible moment. He was sitting facing the door. Suddenly on his big red face appeared a look of displeasure so intense it startled the boy. Turning about, Eden saw standing in the doorway the slight figure of a man, a stooped, studious-looking man who carried a suit-case in one hand. The little naturalist of the Oasis Café.

  “Mr Madden?” inquired the newcomer.

  “I’m Madden,” said the millionaire. “What is it?”

  “Ah, yes.” The stranger came into the room, and set down his bag. “My name, sir, is Gamble, Thaddeus Gamble, and I am keenly interested in certain fauna surrounding your desert home. I have here a letter from an old friend of yours, the president of a college that has received many benefactions at your hands. If you will be so kind as to look it over—”


  He offered the letter, and Madden took it, glaring at him in a most unfriendly manner. When the millionaire had read the brief epistle he tore it into bits and, rising, tossed them into the fireplace.

  “You want to stop here a few days?” he said.

  “It would be most convenient if I could,” answered Gamble. “Of course, I should like to pay for my accommodation—”

  Madden waved his hand. Ah Kim came in, headed for the luncheon-table. “Another place, Ah Kim,” ordered Madden. “And show Mr Gamble to the room in the left wing—the one next to Mr Eden’s.”

  “Very kind of you, I’m sure,” remarked Gamble suavely. “I shall try to make as little trouble as may be. Luncheon impends, I take it. Not unwelcome, either. This—er— this desert air, sir—er—I’ll return in a moment.”

  He followed Ah Kim out. Madden glared after him, his face purple. Bob Eden realized that a new puzzle had arrived.

  “The devil with him,” cried Madden. “But I had to be polite. That letter.” He shrugged. “Gad, I hope I get out of here soon.”

  Bob Eden continued to wonder. Who was Mr Gamble? What did he want at Madden’s ranch?

  Chapter XI

  Thorn goes on a Mission

  Whatever Mr Gamble’s mission at the ranch, Bob Eden reflected during lunch, it was obviously a peaceful one. Seldom had he encountered a milder-mannered little chap. All through the meal the newcomer talked volubly and well, with the gentle, cultivated accent of a scholar. Madden was sour and unresponsive; evidently he still resented the intrusion of this stranger. Thorn as usual sat silent and aloof, a depressing figure in the black suit he had to-day donned to replace the one torn so mysteriously the night before. It fell to Bob Eden to come to Mr Gamble’s aid and keep the conversation going.

  The luncheon over, Gamble rose and went to the door. For a moment he stood staring out across the blazing sand in the direction of the cool, white tops of the mountains, far away.

  “Magnificent,” he commented. “I wonder, Mr Madden, if you realize the true grandeur of this setting for your ranch-house? The desert, the broad, lonely desert, that has from time immemorial cast its weird spell on the souls of men. Some find it bleak and disquieting, but as for myself—”

  “Be here long?” cut in Madden.

  “Ah, that depends. I sincerely hope so. I want to see this country after the spring rains—the verbena and the primroses in bloom. The thought enchants me. What says the prophet Isaiah? ‘And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water.’ You know Isaiah, Mr Madden?”

  “No, I don’t. I know too many people now,” responded Madden grimly.

  “I believe you said you were interested in the fauna round here, professor?” Bob Eden remarked.

  Gamble looked at him quickly. “You give me my title,” he said. “You are an observant young man. Yes, there are certain researches I intend to pursue—the tail of the kangaroo-rat, which attains here a phenomenal length. The maxillary arch in the short-nosed pocket-mouse, I understand, has also reached in this neighbourhood an eccentric development.”

  The telephone rang, and Madden himself answered it. Listening carefully, Bob Eden heard: “Telegram for Mr Madden.” At this point the millionaire pressed the receiver close to his ear, and the rest of the message was an indistinct blur.

  Eden was sorry for that, for he perceived that as Madden listened an expression of keen distress came over his face. When finally he put the receiver slowly back on to its hook he sat for a long time looking straight before him, obviously very much perplexed.

  “What do you grow here in this sandy soil, Mr Madden?” Professor Gamble inquired.

  “Er—er—” Madden came gradually back to the scene. “What do I grow? A lot of things. You’d be surprised, and so would Isaiah.” Gamble was smiling at him in a kindly way, and the millionaire warmed up a little. “Come out, since you’re interested, and I’ll show you round.”

  “Very good of you, sir,” replied Gamble, and meekly followed into the patio. Thorn rose and joined them. Quickly Eden went to the telephone and got Will Holley on the wire.

  “Look here,” he said in a low voice, “Madden has just taken a telegram over the ’phone, and it seemed to worry him considerably. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I’d like to know at once. Do you stand well enough with the operator to find out—without rousing suspicion, of course?”

  “Sure,” Holley replied. “That kid will tell me anything. Are you alone there? Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

  “I’m alone just now,” Eden responded. “If I shouldn’t be when you call back, I’ll pretend you want Madden and turn you over to him. You can fake something to say. But if you hurry that may not be necessary. Speed, brother, speed!”

  As he turned away Ah Kim came in to gather up the luncheon things.

  “Well, Charlie,” Eden remarked. “Another guest at our little hotel, eh?”

  Chan shrugged. “Such news comes plenty quick to cookhouse,” he said.

  Eden smiled. “You’re the one who wanted to watch and wait,” he reminded the detective. “If you’re threatened with housemaid’s knee don’t blame me.”

  “This Gamble,” mused Chan. “Seems harmless like May morning, I think.”

  “Oh, very. A Bible student. And it strikes me there’s a fair opening for a good Bible student round here.”

  “Undangerous and mild,” continued Chan. “Yet hidden in his scant luggage is one pretty new pistol completely loaded.”

  “Going to shoot the tails off the rats most likely,” Eden smiled. “Now, don’t get suspicious of him, Charlie. He’s probably just a tenderfoot who believes the movies, and so came to this wild country armed to defend himself. By the way, Madden just got a telegram over the ’phone, and it was, judging by appearances, another bit of unwelcome news for our dear old friend. Holley’s looking it up for me. If the telephone rings go to the patio, and be ready to tip me off in case anyone is coming.”

  Silently Ah Kim resumed his work at the table. In a few moments, loud and clear, came the ring of Holley on the wire. Running to the telephone, Eden put his hand over the bell, muffling it. Chan stepped into the patio.

  “Hello, Holley,” said the boy softly. “Yes. Yes. O.K. Shoot. Um.… Say, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Coming to-night, eh? Thanks, old man.”

  He hung up, and Charlie returned. “A bit of news,” said Eden, rising. “That telegram was from Miss Evelyn Madden. Got tired of waiting in Denver, I guess. The message was sent from Barstow. The lady arrives to-night at Eldorado on the six-forty. Looks as though I may have to give up my room and check out.”

  “Miss Evelyn Madden?” repeated Chan.

  “That’s right—you don’t know, do you? She’s Madden’s only child. A proud beauty too—I met her in San Francisco. Well, it’s no wonder Madden was perplexed, is it?”

  “Certainly not,” agreed Chan. “Murderous ranch like this no place for refined young woman.”

  Eden sighed. “Just one more complication,” he said. “Things move, but we don’t seem to get anywhere.”

  “Once more,” returned Chan, “I call to your attention that much unused virtue, patience. Aspect will be brighter here now. A woman’s touch—”

  “This woman’s touch means frost-bite,” smiled Eden. “Charlie, I’ll bet you a million—not even the desert will thaw out Evelyn Madden.”

  Chan departed to his duties in the cookhouse. Madden and Thorn drifted in after a time; Gamble, it appeared, had retired to his room. The long, hot afternoon dragged by, baking hours of deathly calm, during which the desert lived up to its reputation. Madden disappeared, and presently his “noisome” snores filled the air. A good idea, Bob Eden decided.

  In a recumbent position on his bed he found that time passed more swiftly. In fact, he didn’t know it was passing. Toward evening he awoke, hot and muddled of mind, but a cold shower made him feel human again.

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nbsp; At six o’clock he crossed the patio to the living-room. In the yard before the barn he saw Madden’s big car standing ready for action, and remembered. The millionaire was no doubt about to meet his daughter in town, and the haughty Evelyn was not to be affronted with the unpretentious runabout.

  But when he reached the living-room Eden saw that it was evidently Thorn who had been selected for the trip to Eldorado. The secretary stood there in his gloomy clothes, a black slouch hat accentuating the paleness of his face. As Eden entered what was obviously a serious conversation between Thorn and the millionaire came to a sudden halt.

  “Ah, good evening,” said Eden. “Not leaving us, Mr Thorn?”

  “Business in town,” returned Thorn. “Well, chief, I’ll go along.”

  Again the telephone rang. Madden leaped to it. For a moment he listened, and history repeated itself on his face. “Bad news all the time,” Eden thought.

  Madden put his great hand over the mouthpiece, and spoke to his secretary. “It’s that old bore down the road, Doctor Whitcomb,” he announced, and Eden felt a flash of hot resentment at this characterization. “She wants to see me this evening—says she has something very important to tell me.”

  “Say you’re busy,” suggested Thorn.

  “I’m sorry, doctor,” Madden began over the ’phone, “but I am very much occupied—”

  He stopped, evidently interrupted by a flood of conversation. Again he put his hand over the transmitter. “She insists, confound it,” he complained.

  “Well, you’ll have to see her, then,” said Thorn.

  “All right, doctor,” Madden capitulated. “Come about eight.”

  Thorn went out, and the big car roared off toward the road and Evelyn Madden’s train. Mr Gamble entered, refreshed and ready with a few apt quotations. Eden amused himself with the wireless apparatus.

  At the usual hour, much to Eden’s surprise, they dined. Thorn’s chair was empty, and there was, oddly enough, no place for Evelyn; nor did the millionaire make any arrangements regarding a room for his daughter. Strange, Eden thought.

  After dinner Madden led them to the patio. Again he had arranged for a fire out there, and the blaze glowed red on the stone floor, on the adobe walls of the house, and on the near-by perch of Tony, now empty and forlorn.