"Eden thought deeply. What had Charlie Chan been talking about anyhow? Rot and nonsense. They loved to dramatize things these Chinese. Loved to dramatize themselves. Here was Chan playing a novel role and his complaint against it was not sincere. He wanted to go on playing it to spy around and imagine vain things. Well that wasn't the American way. It wasn't Bob Eden's way.
The boy looked at his watch. Ten minutes since Charlie had left him; in ten minutes more he would go to Madden's room and get those pearls off his hands forever. He rose and walked about. From his window opposite the patio he looked out across the dim gray desert to the black bulk of distant hills. Ye gods what a country. Not for him he thought. Rather street lamps shining on the pavements the clamor of cable-cars crowds crowds of people. Confusion and noise. Something terrible about this silence. This lonely silence ."