The Chinese Parrot (Charlie Chan Detective Series) — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a. "I know he didn't," Eden replied. He studied the room thoughtfully. One great question worried him—where was Charlie Chan? They stood there, waiting. A tall clock at the rear of the room struck the hour of nine, slowly, deliberately. The fire sputtered; the metallic tinkle of jazz flowed on. Suddenly the door through which Thorn had gone opened suddenly behind them, and they swung quickly about. In the doorway, standing like a tower of granite in the gray clothes he always affected, was the man Bob Eden had last seen on the stairs descending from his father's office, Madden, the great financier—P.J. himself. Bob Eden's first reaction was one of intense relief, as of a burden dropping from his shoulders with a "most delectable thud." But almost immediately after came a feeling of disappointment. He was young, and he craved excitement. Here was the big desert mystery crashing about his ears, Madden alive and well, and all their fears and premonitions proving groundless. Just a tame handing over of the pearls—when Charlie came—and then back to the old rut again. He saw Will Holley smiling. "Good evening, gentlemen," Madden was saying. "I'm very glad to see you. Martin,” he added to his secretary, who had followed him in, "turn off that confounded racket. An orchestra, gentlemen—an orchestra in the ballroom of a hotel in Denver. Who says the day of 81 comiicboeoe S CO