“You know this McGuire?” inquired Chan quickly.
“I met him long ago,” Holley replied. “The first night I brought Mr. Eden out here to the ranch he asked me if I’d ever seen P. J. Madden before. I said that twelve years ago I saw Madden in a gambling-house on East Forty-fourth Street, New York, dolled up like a prince and betting his head off. Madden himself remembered the occasion when I spoke to him about it.”
“But McGuire?” Chan wanted to know.
“I recall now that the name of the man who ran that gambling-house was Jack McGuire. Honest Jack, he had the nerve to call himself. It was a queer joint—that was later proved. But Jack McGuire was Delaney’s old friend—he gave Jerry a watch as a token of their friendship. Gentlemen, this is interesting. McGuire’s gambling-house on Forty-fourth Street comes back into the life of P. J. Madden.”
XV
Will Holley’s Theory
When the bag was completely repacked and again securely locked, Bob Eden climbed with it to the dusty attic. He reappeared, the trap-door was closed, and the stepladder removed. The three men faced one another, pleased with their morning’s work.
“It’s after twelve,” said Holley. “I must hurry back to town.”
“About to make heartfelt suggestion, you remain at lunch,” remarked Chan.
Holley shook his head. “That’s kind of you, Charlie, but I wouldn’t think of it. You must be about fed-up on this cooking proposition, and I won’t spoil your first chance for a little vacation. You take my advice, and make Eden rustle his own grub today.”
Chan nodded. “True enough that I was planning a modest repast,” he returned. “Cooking business begins to get tiresome like the company of a Japanese. However, fitting punishment for a postman who walks another man’s beat. If Mr. Eden will pardon I relax to the extent of sandwiches and tea this noon.”
“Sure,” said Eden. “We’ll dig up something together. Holley, you’d better change your mind.”
“No,” replied Holley. “I’m going to town to make a few inquiries. Just by way of substantiating what we found here today. If Jerry Delaney came out here last Wednesday he must have left some sort of trail through the town. Someone may have seen him. Was he alone? I’ll speak to the boys at the gas-station, the hotel proprietor—”
“Humbly suggest utmost discretion,” said Chan.
“Oh, I understand the need of that. But there’s really no danger. Madden has no connection whatever with the life of the town. He won’t hear of it. Just the same, I’ll be discretion itself. Trust me. I’ll come out here again later in the day.”
When he had gone Chan and Eden ate a cold lunch in the cookhouse, and resumed their search. Nothing of any moment rewarded their efforts, however. At four that afternoon Holley drove into the yard. With him was a lean, sad-looking youth whom Eden recognized as the real-estate salesman of Date City.
As they entered the room Chan withdrew, leaving Eden to greet them. Holley introduced the youth as Mr. De Lisle.
“I’ve met De Lisle,” smiled Bob Eden. “He tried to sell me a corner lot on the desert.”
“Yeah,” said Mr. De Lisle. “And some day, when the United Cigar Stores and Woolworth are fighting for that stuff, you’ll kick yourself up and down every hill in ’Frisco. However, that’s your funeral.”
“I brought Mr. De Lisle along,” explained Holley, “because I want you to hear the story he’s just told me. About last Wednesday night.”
“Mr. De Lisle understands that this is confidential—” began Eden.
“Oh, sure,” said the young man. “Will’s explained all that. You needn’t worry. Madden and I ain’t exactly pals—not after the way he talked to me.”
“You saw him last Wednesday night?” Eden suggested.
“No, not that night. It was somebody else I saw then. I was here at the development until after dark, waiting for a prospect—he never showed up, the lowlife. Anyhow, along about seven o’clock, just as I was closing up the office, a big sedan stopped out in front. I went out. There was a little guy driving and another man in the back seat. ‘Good evening,’ said the little fellow. ‘Can you tell me, please, if we’re on the road to Madden’s ranch?’ I said sure, to keep right on straight. The man in the back spoke up. ‘How far is it?’ he wants to know. ‘Shut up, Jerry,’ says the little guy. ‘I’ll attend to this.’ He shifted the gears, and then he got kind of literary. ‘ “And an highway shall be there, and a way,” ’ he says. ‘Not any too clearly defined, Isaiah.’ And he drove off. Now why do you suppose he called me Isaiah?”
Eden smiled. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Pretty good, considering the dark. A thin, pale man with sort of greyish lips—no colour in them at all. Talked kind of slow and precise—awful neat English, like he was a professor or something.”
“And the man in the back seat?”
“Couldn’t see him very well.”
“Ah, yes. And when did you meet Madden?”
“I’ll come to that. After I got home I began to think—Madden was out at the ranch, it seemed. And I got a big idea. Things ain’t been going so well here lately—Florida’s been nabbing all the easy—all the good prospects—and I said to myself, how about Madden? There’s big money. Why not try and interest Madden in Date City? Get him behind it. Worth a shot, anyhow. So bright and early Thursday morning I came out to the ranch.”
“About what time?”
“Oh, it must have been a little after eight. I’m full of pep at that hour of the day, and I knew I’d need it. I knocked at the front door, but nobody answered. I tried it—it was locked. I came around to the back and the place was deserted. Not a soul in sight.”
“Nobody here?” repeated Eden, wonderingly.
“Not a living thing but the chickens and the turkeys. And
