The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers

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      Chapter XVI. "The Movies are in Town"

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      The sun set behind far peaks of snow; the desert purpled under a sprinkling of stars. In the thermometer that hung on a patio wall the mercury began its quick relentless fall, a sharp wind swept over the desolate waste, and loneliness settled on the world.

      "Warm food needed now," remarked Chan. "With your permission I will open numerous cans."

      "Anything but the arsenic," Eden told him. He departed for the cookhouse.

      Holley had long since gone, and Bob Eden sat alone by the window, looking out at a vast silence. Lots of room left in America yet, he reflected. Did they think that, those throngs of people packed into subways at this hour, seeking tables in noisy restaurants, waiting at jammed corners for the traffic signal, climbing weary and worn at last to the pigeon-holes they called home? Elbow room on the desert; room to expand the chest. But a feeling of disquiet, too, a haunting realization of one man's ridiculous unimportance in the scheme of things.

      Chan entered with a tray on which the dishes were piled high. He set down on the table two steaming plates of soup.

      "Deign to join me," he suggested. "First course is now served with the kind assistance of the can-opener."

      "Aged in the tin, eh, Charlie?" smiled Eden, drawing up. "Well, I'll bet it's good, at that. You're a bit of a magician in the kitchen." They began to eat. "Charlie, I've been thinking," the boy continued. "I know now why I have this sense of unrest on the desert. It's because I feel so blamed small. Look at me, and then look out the window, and tell me where I get off to strut like a somebody through the world."

      "Not bad feeling for the white man to experience," Chan assured him. "Chinese has it all time. Chinese knows he is one minute grain of sand on seashore of eternity. With what result? He is calm and quiet and humble. No nerves, like hopping, skipping Caucasian. Life for him not so much ordeal."

      "Yes, and he's happier, too," said Eden.

      "Sure," replied Chan. He produced a platter of canned salmon. "All time in San Francisco I behold white men hot and excited. Life like a fever, always getting worse. What for? Where does it end? Same place as Chinese life, I think."

      When they had finished Eden attempted to help with the dishes, but was politely restrained. He sat down and turned on the radio. The strong voice of a leather-lunged announcer rang out in the quiet room.

      "Now, folks, we got a real treat for you this balmy, typical California evening. Miss Norma Fitzgerald, of the One Night in June company now playing at the Mason, is going to sing—er—what are you going to sing, Norma? Norma says wait and find out."

      At mention of the girl's name, Bob Eden called to the detective, who entered and stood expectantly. "Hello, folks," came Miss Fitzgerald's greeting. "I certainly am glad to be back in good old L.A."

      "Hello, Norma," Eden said, "never mind the songs. Two gentlemen out on the desert would like a word with you. Tell us about Jerry Delaney."

      She couldn't have heard him, for she began to sing in a clear, beautiful soprano voice. Chan and the boy listened in silence.

      "More of the white man's mysteries," Charlie remarked when she had finished. "So near to her, and yet so far away. Seems to me that we must visit this lady soon."

      "Ah yes—but how?" inquired Eden.

      "It will be arranged," Chan said, and vanished.

      Eden tried a book. An hour later he was interrupted by the peal of the telephone bell, and a cheery voice answered his hello.

      "Still pining for the bright lights?"

      "I sure am," he replied.

      "Well, the movies are in town," said Paula Wendell. "Come on in."

      He hurried to his room. Chan had built a fire in the patio, and was sitting before it, the warm light flickering on his chubby impassive face. When Eden returned with his hat, he paused beside the detective.

      "Getting some new ideas?" he asked.

      "About our puzzle?" Chan shook his head. "No. At this moment I am far from Madden's ranch. I am in Honolulu where nights are soft and sweet, not like chilly desert dark. Must admit my heart is weighed a little with homesick qualms. I picture my humble house on Punchbowl Hill, where lanterns glow and my ten children are gathered round."

      "Ten!" cried Eden. "Great Scott—you are a father."

      "Very proud one," assented Chan. "You are going from here?"

      "I'm running in town for a while. Miss СКАЧАТЬ