“This is living,” remarked Gamble, when they had sat down and he had lighted one of Madden’s cigars. “The poor fools cooped up in cities—they don’t know what they’re missing. I could stay here for ever.”
His final sentence made no hit with the host, and silence fell. At a little past eight they heard the sound of a car entering the yard. Thorn and the girl, perhaps—but evidently Madden didn’t think so, for he said:
“That’s the doctor. Ah Kim!” The servant appeared. “Show the lady out here.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to see me,” Gamble said, getting up. “I’ll go in and find a book.”
Madden looked at Bob Eden, but the boy remained where he was. “The doctor’s a friend of mine,” he explained.
“Is that so?” growled Madden.
“Yes— I met her yesterday morning. A wonderful woman.”
Doctor Whitcomb appeared. “Well, Mr Madden?” She shook hands. “It’s a great pleasure to have you with us again.”
“Thanks,” said Madden coolly. “You know Mr Eden, I believe?”
“Oh, hello!” smiled the woman. “Glad to see you. Not very pleased with you, however. You didn’t drop in to-day.”
“Rather busy,” Eden replied. “Won’t you sit down, please?”
He brought forward a chair; it seemed that Madden needed a hint or two on hospitality. The guest sank into it Madden, his manner very haughty and aloof, sat down some distance away, and waited.
“Mr Madden,” said Doctor Whitcomb, “I’m sorry if I seem to intrude—I know that you are here to rest, and that you don’t welcome visitors. But this is not a social call. I came here about—about this terrible thing that has happened on your place.”
For a moment Madden did not reply. “You—mean—” he said slowly.
“I mean the murder of poor Louie Wong,” the woman answered.
“Oh.” Was there relief in Madden’s voice? “Yes—of course.”
“Louie was my friend—he often came to see me. I was so sorry when I heard. And you—he served you faithfully, Mr Madden. Naturally you’re doing everything possible to run down his murderer?”
“Everything,” replied Madden carelessly.
“Whether what I have to tell has any connexion with the killing of Louie—that’s for policemen to decide,” went on the doctor. “You can hand my story on to them—if you will.”
“Gladly,” replied the millionaire. “What is your story, doctor?”
“On Saturday evening a man arrived at my place who said his name was McCallum, Henry McCallum,” began Doctor Whitcomb, “and that he came from New York. He told me he suffered from bronchitis, though I must say I saw no symptoms of it. He took one of my cabins and settled down for a stay—so I thought.”
“Yes,” nodded Madden. “Go on.”
“At dark Sunday night—a short time before the hour when poor Louie was killed—some one drove up in a big car before my place and blew the horn. One of my boys went out, and the stranger asked for McCallum. McCallum came, talked with the man in the car for a moment, then got in and rode off with him—in this direction. That was the last I’ve seen of Mr McCallum. He left a suit-case filled with clothes in his cabin, but he has not returned.”
“And you think he killed Louie?” asked Madden, with a note of polite incredulity in his voice.
“I don’t think anything about it. How should I know? I simply regard it as a matter that should be called to the attention of the police. As you are much closer to the investigation than I am, I’m asking you to tell them about it. They can come down and examine McCallum’s property if they wish.”
“All right,” said Madden, rising pointedly. “I’ll tell them. Though if you’re asking my opinion, I don’t think—”
“Thank you,” smiled the doctor. “I wasn’t asking your opinion, Mr Madden.” She too stood. “Our interview, I see, is ended. I’m sorry if I’ve intruded—”
“Why, you didn’t intrude,” protested Madden. “That’s all right. Maybe your information is valuable. Who knows?”
“Very good of you to say so,” returned the doctor, with gentle sarcasm. She glanced toward the parrot’s perch. “How’s Tony? He, at least, must miss Louie a lot.”
“Tony’s dead,” said Madden brusquely.
“What! Tony too!” The doctor was silent for a moment. “A rather memorable visit, this one of yours,” she said slowly. “Please give my regards to your daughter. She is not with you?”
“No,” returned Madden. “She is not with me.” That was all.
“A great pity,” Doctor Whitcomb replied. “I thought her a charming girl.”
“Thank you,” Madden said. “Just a moment. My boy will show you to your car.”
“Don’t trouble,” put in Bob Eden. “I’ll attend to that.” He led the way through the bright living-room, past Mr Gamble deep in a huge book. In the yard the doctor turned to him.
“What a man!” she said. “As hard as granite. I don’t believe the death of Louie means a thing to him.”
“Very little, I’m afraid,” Eden agreed.
“Well, I rely on you. If he doesn’t repeat my story to the sheriff, you must.”
The boy hesitated. “I’ll tell you something—in confidence,” he said. “Everything possible is being done to find the murderer of Louie. Not by Madden—but by—others.”
The doctor sat silent for a moment in the dark car under the dark, star-spangled sky. “I think I understand,” she said softly. “With all my heart, I wish you luck, my boy.”
Eden took her hand. “If I shouldn’t see you again, doctor—I want you to know. Just meeting you has been a privilege.”
“I’ll remember that,” she answered. “Good night.”
The boy watched her back the car through the open gate. When he returned to the living-room Madden and Gamble were together there. “Confounded old busybody,” Madden said.
“Wait a minute,” Eden said hotly. “That woman with just her two hands has done more good in the world than you with all your money. And don’t you forget it.”
“Does that give her a licence to butt into my affairs?” demanded Madden.
Further warm words were on the tip of the boy’s tongue, but he restrained himself. However, he reflected that he was about fed up with this arrogant, callous millionaire.
He looked toward the clock. A quarter to nine, and still no sign of Thorn and Evelyn Madden. Was the girl’s train late? Hardly likely.
Though he did not feel particularly welcome in the room, he waited on. He would see this latest development through. At ten o’clock Mr Gamble rose and, commenting favourably on the desert air, went to his room.
At five minutes past ten the roar of the big car in the yard broke the intense stillness. Bob Eden sat erect, his eager eyes Straying from one door to another. Presently the glass doors leading to the patio opened. Martin Thorn came in alone.
Without a word to his chief, the secretary threw down his hat and dropped wearily into a chair. The silence became oppressive.
“Got your business attended to, eh?” suggested Eden cheerfully.
“Yes,” said Thorn—no more. Eden rose.
“Well, I guess I’ll turn in,” he said, and went to his room. As he entered he heard the splash of Mr Gamble in the bath that lay between his apartment and that occupied by the professor. His seclusion was ended. Have to be more careful in the future.
Shortly after his lights were on Ah Kim appeared at the door. Eden, finger on lips, indicated the bath. The Chinese nodded. They stepped to the far side of the bedroom and spoke in low tones.
“Well, where’s little Evelyn?” asked the boy.
Chan shrugged. “More mystery,” he whispered.
“Just what has our friend Thorn been doing for the past four hours?” Eden wondered.
“Enjoying moonlit ride on desert, I think,” Chan returned. “When big car go out, I note speedometer. Twelve thousand eight hundred and forty miles. Four miles necessary t
o travel to town, and four to return with. But when big car arrives home, speedometer announces quietly twelve thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine miles.”
“Charlie, you think of everything,” Eden said admiringly.
“Strange place this Thorn has been,” Charlie added. “Much red clay on ground.” He exhibited a fragment of earth. “Scraped off on accelerator,” he explained. “Maybe you have seen such place round here?”
“Nothing like it,” Eden replied. “You don’t suppose he’s harmed the gal—but no, Madden seems to be in on it, and she’s his darling.”
“Just one more little problem rising up,” said Chan.
Eden nodded. “Lord, I haven’t met so many problems since I gave up algebra. And by the way, to-morrow’s Tuesday. The pearls are coming, hurrah, hurrah. At least, old P. J. thinks they are. He’s going to be hard to handle tomorrow.”
A faint knock sounded on the door to the patio, and Chan had just time to get to the fireplace and busy himself there when it was opened and Madden, oddly noiseless for him, entered.
“Why, hello—” began Eden.
“Hush!” said Madden. He looked toward the bathroom. “Go easy, will you? Ah Kim, get out of here.”
“Allight, boss,” said Ah Kim, and went.
Madden stepped to the bathroom door and listened. He tried it gently; it opened at his touch. He went in, locked the door leading into the room occupied by Gamble, and returned, shutting the door behind him.
“Now,” he began, “I want to see you. Keep your voice down. I’ve finally got hold of your father on the telephone, and he tells me a man named Draycott will arrive with the pearls at Barstow to-morrow noon.”
Eden’s heart sank. “Ah—er—that ought to bring him here to-morrow night—”
Madden leaned close, and spoke in a hoarse undertone. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I don’t want that fellow to come to the ranch.”
Eden stared at him in amazement. “Well, Mr Madden, I’ll be—”
“Hush! Leave my name out of it.”
“But after all our preparation—”
“I tell you I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want the pearls brought to the ranch at all. I want you to go to Barstow tomorrow, meet this Draycott, and order him to go on to Pasadena. I’m going down there on Wednesday. Tell him to meet me at the door of the Garfield National Bank in Pasadena at noon, sharp, Wednesday. I’ll take the pearls then— and I’ll put them where they’ll be safe.”
Bob Eden smiled. “All right,” he agreed. “You’re the boss.”
“Good,” said Madden. “I’ll have Ah Kim drive you into town in the morning, and you can catch the Barstow train. But remember—this is between you and me. Not a word to anybody. Not to Gamble—of course. Not even to Thorn.”
“I get you,” Eden answered.
“Fine! Then it’s set. Good night.”
Madden went softly out. For a long time Eden stared after him, more puzzled than ever.
“Well, anyhow,” he said at last, “it means another day grace. For this relief, much thanks.”
Chapter XII
The Tram-Car in the Desert
A new day dawned, and over the stunted, bizarre shapes of that land of drought the sun resumed its merciless vigil. Bob Eden was early abroad; it was getting to be a habit with him. Before breakfast was served he had a full hour for reflection, and it could not be denied that he had much upon which to reflect. One by one he recalled the queer things that had happened since he came to the ranch. Foremost in his thoughts was the problem of Evelyn Madden. Where was that haughty lady now? No morning mists on the landscape here, but in his mind a constantly increasing fog. If only something definite would occur, something they could understand.
After breakfast he rose from the table and lighted a cigarette. He knew that Madden was eagerly waiting for him to speak.
“Mr Madden,” he said, “I find that I must go to Barstow this morning on rather important business. It’s an imposition, I know. But if Ah Kim could drive me to town in time for the ten-fifteen train—”
Thorn’s green eyes widened with sudden interest. Madden looked at the boy with ill-concealed approval.
“Why, that’s all right,” he replied. “I’ll be glad to arrange it for you. Ah Kim—you drive Mr Eden in town in half an hour. Savvy?”
“All time moah job,” complained Ah Kim. “Gettum up sunlise, woik, woik till sun him dlop. You want ’um taxi-dliver why you no say so?”
“What’s that?” cried Madden.
Ah Kim shrugged. “Allight, boss. I dlive ’um.”
When, later on, Eden sat in the car beside the Chinese and the ranch was well behind them Chan regarded him questioningly.
“Now you produce big mystery,” he said. “Barstow on business has somewhat unexpected sound to me.”
Eden laughed. “Orders from the big chief,” he replied. “I’m to go down there and meet Al Draycott—and the pearls.”
For a moment Chan’s free hand rested on his waist and the “undigestible” burden that still lay there.
“Madden changes fickle mind again?” he inquired.
“That’s just what he’s done.” Eden related the purport of the millionaire’s call on him the night before.
“What you know concerning that!” exclaimed Chan wonderingly.
“Well, I know this much,” Eden answered. “It gives us one more day for the good old hoo malimali. Outside of that it’s just another problem for us to puzzle over. By the way, I didn’t tell you why Doctor Whitcomb came to see us last night.”
“No necessity,” Chan replied. “I am loafing idle inside door close by and hear it all.”
“Oh, you were? Then you know it may have been Shaky Phil, and not Thorn, who killed Louie?”
“Shaky Phil—or maybe stranger in car who drive up and call him into the road. Must admit that stranger interests me very deep. Who was he? Was it maybe him who carried news of Louie’s approach out on to dreary desert?”
“Well, if you’re starting to ask me questions,” replied Eden, “then the big mystery is over and we may as well wash up and go home. For I haven’t got an answer in me.” Eldorado lay before them, its roofs gleaming under the morning sun. “By the way, let’s drop in and see Holley. The train isn’t due yet—I suppose I’d better take it, somebody might be watching. In the interval Holley may have news.”
The editor was busy at his desk. “Hello, you’re up and around pretty early this morning,” he said. He pushed aside his typewriter. “Just dashing off poor old Louie’s obit. What’s new out at Mystery Ranch?”
Bob Eden told him of Doctor Whitcomb’s call, also of Madden’s latest switch regarding the pearls, and his own imminent wild-goose chase to Barstow.
Holley smiled, “Cheer up—a little travel will broaden you,” he remarked. “What did you think of Miss Evelyn? But then I believe you had met her before.”
“Think of Miss Evelyn? What do you mean?” asked Eden, surprised.
“Why, she came last night, didn’t she?”
“Not so anybody could notice it. No sign of her at the ranch.”
Holley rose and walked up and down for a moment. “That’s odd. That’s very odd. She certainly arrived on the six-forty train.”
“You’re sure of that?” Eden asked.
“Of course I am. I saw her.” Holley sat down again. “I wasn’t very much occupied last night—it was one of my free nights—I have three hundred and sixty-five of them every year. So I strolled over to the station and met the six-forty. Thorn was there too. A tall, handsome girl got off the train, and I heard Thorn address her as Miss Evelyn. ‘How’s Dad?’ she asked. ‘Get in,’ said Thorn, ‘and I’ll tell you about him. He wasn’t able to come and meet you himself.’ The girl entered the car, and they drove away. Naturally, I thought she was brightening your life long before this.”
Eden shook his head. “Funny business,” he commented. “Thorn got back to the ranch a little after ten, and when he came he w
as alone. Charlie here discovered, with his usual acumen, that the car had travelled some thirty-nine miles.”
“Also clinging to accelerator, as though scraped off from shoe of Thorn, small fragment of red clay,” added Chan. “You are accustomed round here, Mr Holley. Maybe you can mention home of red clay.”
“Not offhand,” replied Holley. “There are several places—But say, this thing gets deeper and deeper. Oh— I was forgetting—there’s a letter here for you, Eden.”
He handed over a neat missive addressed in an old-fashioned hand. Eden inspected it with interest. It was from Madame Jordan, a rather touching appeal not to let the deal for the pearls fall through. He went back and began to read it aloud. Mrs Jordan could not understand. Madden was there, he had bought the pearls—why the delay? The loss of that money would be serious for her.
When he had finished Eden looked accusingly at Chan, then tore the letter to bits and threw them into a wastepaper-basket. “I’m about through,” he said. “That woman is one of the dearest old souls that ever lived, and it strikes me we’re treating her shamefully. After all, what’s happening out at Madden’s ranch is none of our business. Our duty to Madame Jordan—”
“Pardon me,” broke in Chan, “but coming to that, I have sense of duty most acute myself. Loyalty blooms in my heart for ever—”
“Well, and what do you think we ought to do?” demanded Eden.
“Watch and wait.”
“But, good Lord—we’ve done that. I was thinking about it this morning. One inexplicable event after another, and never anything definite, anything we can get our teeth into. Such a state of affairs may go on for ever. I tell you, I’m fed up.”
“Patience,” said Chan,” are a very lovely virtue. Through long centuries Chinese cultivate patience like kind gardener tending flowers. White men leap about similar to bug in bottle. Which are better method, I inquire?”
“But listen, Charlie. All this stuff we’ve discovered out at the ranch—that’s for the police.”
“For stupid Captain Bliss, maybe. He with the feet of large extensiveness.”
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