“Well, 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 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 agin. 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 of 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 was—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 grey 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 of 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. An’ what does that mean? You’ll never git him fer what he done. He’ll slide out o’ it some way. Self-defence—”
“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 agin, 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 agin 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 favour—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 round down 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
