He was in a position to help in the matter. He insisted, so I finally said: ‘Very good, Mr. Madden. Hang up your receiver and I’ll call you back in ten minutes with the information you want.’ There was a pause, then I heard him hang up. But I didn’t phone the desert. Instead I had that call traced, and I found it came from a pay-station in a cigar store at the corner of Sutter and Kearny Streets.”

Eden paused. He saw Charlie Chan regarding him with deep interest.

“Can you wonder I’m worried about Bob?” the jeweler continued. “There’s some funny business going on, and I tell you I don’t like it —”

A knock sounded on the door, and Eden himself opened it. His son stepped into the room, debonair and smiling. At sight of him, as so often happens in such a situation, the anxious father’s worry gave way to a deep rage.

“You’re a hell of a business man,” he cried.

“Now, father — no compliments,” laughed Bob Eden. “And me wandering all over San Francisco in your service.”

“I suppose so. That’s about what you would be doing, when it was your job to meet Mr. Chan at the dock.”

“Just a moment, dad.” Bob Eden removed a glistening rain coat. “Hello, Victor. Madame Jordan. And this, I imagine, is Mr. Chan.”

“So sorry to miss meeting at dock,” murmured Chan. “All my fault, I am sure —”

“Nonsense,” cried the jeweler. “His fault, as usual. When, in heaven’s name, are you going to show a sense of responsibility?”

“Now, dad. And a sense of responsibility is just what I’ve only this minute stopped showing nothing else but.”

“Good lord — what language is that? You didn’t meet Mr. Chan, did you?”

“Well, in a way, I didn’t —”

“In a way? In a way!”

“Precisely. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell it if you’ll stop interrupting with these unwarranted attacks on my character. I’ll sit down, if I may. I’ve been about a bit, and I’m tired.”

He lighted a cigarette. “When I came out of the club about five to go to the dock, there was nothing in sight but a battered old taxi that had seen better days. I jumped in. When I got down on the Embarcadero I noticed that the driver was a pretty disreputable lad with a scar on one cheek and a cauliflower ear. He said he’d wait for me, and he said it with a lot of enthusiasm. I went into the pier-shed.