Eden smiled. “You’re the one who wanted to watch and wait,” he reminded the detective. “If you’re threatened with housemaid’s knee don’t blame me.”
“This Gamble,” mused Chan. “Seems harmless like May morning, I think.”
“Oh, very. A Bible student. And it strikes me there’s a fair opening for a good Bible student round here.”
“Undangerous and mild,” continued Chan. “Yet hidden in his scant luggage is one pretty new pistol completely loaded.”
“Going to shoot the tails off the rats most likely,” Eden smiled. “Now, don’t get suspicious of him, Charlie. He’s probably just a tenderfoot who believes the movies, and so came to this wild country armed to defend himself. By the way, Madden just got a telegram over the phone, and it was, judging by appearances, another bit of unwelcome news for our dear old friend. Holley’s looking it up for me. If the telephone rings go to the patio, and be ready to tip me off in case anyone is coming.”
Silently Ah Kim resumed his work at the table. In a few moments, loud and clear, came the ring of Holley on the wire. Running to the telephone, Eden put his hand over the bell, muffling it. Chan stepped into the patio.
“Hello, Holley,” said the boy softly. “Yes. Yes. OK. Shoot. Um. … Say, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Coming tonight, eh? Thanks, old man.”
He hung up, and Charlie returned. “A bit of news,” said Eden, rising. “That telegram was from Miss Evelyn Madden. Got tired of waiting in Denver, I guess. The message was sent from Barstow. The lady arrives tonight at Eldorado on the six-forty. Looks as though I may have to give up my room and check out.”
“Miss Evelyn Madden?” repeated Chan.
“That’s right—you don’t know, do you? She’s Madden’s only child. A proud beauty too—I met her in San Francisco. Well, it’s no wonder Madden was perplexed, is it?”
“Certainly not,” agreed Chan. “Murderous ranch like this no place for refined young woman.”
Eden sighed. “Just one more complication,” he said. “Things move, but we don’t seem to get anywhere.”
“Once more,” returned Chan, “I call to your attention that much unused virtue, patience. Aspect will be brighter here now. A woman’s touch—”
“This woman’s touch means frostbite,” smiled Eden. “Charlie, I’ll bet you a million—not even the desert will thaw out Evelyn Madden.”
Chan departed to his duties in the cookhouse. Madden and Thorn drifted in after a time; Gamble, it appeared, had retired to his room. The long, hot afternoon dragged by, baking hours of deathly calm, during which the desert lived up to its reputation. Madden disappeared, and presently his “noisome” snores filled the air. A good idea, Bob Eden decided.
In a recumbent position on his bed he found that time passed more swiftly. In fact, he didn’t know it was passing. Toward evening he awoke, hot and muddled of mind, but a cold shower made him feel human again.
At six o’clock he crossed the patio to the living-room. In the yard before the barn he saw Madden’s big car standing ready for action, and remembered. The millionaire was no doubt about to meet his daughter in town, and the haughty Evelyn was not to be affronted with the unpretentious runabout.
But when he reached the living-room Eden saw that it was evidently Thorn who had been selected for the trip to Eldorado. The secretary stood there in his gloomy clothes, a black slouch hat accentuating the paleness of his face. As Eden entered what was obviously a serious conversation between Thorn and the millionaire came to a sudden halt.
“Ah, good evening,” said Eden. “Not leaving us, Mr. Thorn?”
“Business in town,” returned Thorn. “Well, chief, I’ll go along.”
Again the telephone rang. Madden leaped to it. For a moment he listened, and history repeated itself on his face. “Bad news all the time,” Eden thought.
Madden put his great hand over the mouthpiece, and spoke to his secretary. “It’s that old bore down the road, Doctor Whitcomb,” he announced, and Eden felt a flash of hot resentment at this characterization. “She wants to see me this evening—says she has something very important to tell me.”
“Say you’re busy,” suggested Thorn.
“I’m sorry, doctor,” Madden began over the phone, “but I am very much occupied—”
He stopped, evidently interrupted by a flood of conversation. Again he put his hand over the transmitter. “She insists, confound it,” he complained.
“Well, you’ll have to see her, then,” said Thorn.
“All right, doctor,” Madden capitulated. “Come about eight.”
Thorn went out, and the big car roared off toward the road and Evelyn Madden’s train. Mr. Gamble entered, refreshed and ready with a few apt quotations. Eden amused himself with the wireless apparatus.
At the usual hour, much to Eden’s surprise, they dined. Thorn’s chair was empty, and there was, oddly enough, no place for Evelyn; nor did the millionaire make any arrangements regarding a room for his daughter. Strange, Eden thought.
After dinner Madden led them to the patio. Again he had arranged for a fire out there, and the blaze glowed red on the stone floor, on the adobe walls of the house, and on the nearby perch of Tony, now empty and forlorn.
“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 forever.”
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
