here long?" cut in Madden.
"Ah, that depends. I sincerely hope so. I want to see this country after the spring rains—the verbena and the primroses in bloom. The thought enchants me. What says the prophet Isaiah? 'And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water.' You know Isaiah, Mr. Madden?"
"No, I don't. I know too many people now," responded Madden grimly.
"I believe you said you were interested in the fauna round here, Professor?" Bob Eden remarked.
Gamble looked at him quickly. "You give me my title," he said. "You are an observant young man. Yes, there are certain researches I intend to pursue—the tail of the kangaroo-rat, which attains here a phenomenal length. The maxillary arch in the short-nosed pocket-mouse, I understand, has also reached in this neighborhood an eccentric development."
The telephone rang, and Madden himself answered it. Listening carefully, Bob Eden heard: "Telegram for Mr. Madden." At this point the millionaire pressed the receiver close to his ear, and the rest of the message was an indistinct blur.
Eden was sorry for that, for he perceived that as Madden listened an expression of keen distress came over his face. When finally he put the receiver slowly back on to its hook, he sat for a long time looking straight before him, obviously very much perplexed.
"What do you grow here in this sandy soil, Mr. Madden?" Professor Gamble inquired.
"Er—er—" Madden came gradually back to the scene. "What do I grow? A lot of things. You'd be surprised, and so would Isaiah." Gamble was smiling at him in a kindly way, and the millionaire warmed a bit. "Come out, since you're interested, and I'll show you round."
"Very good of you, sir," replied Gamble, and meekly followed into the patio. Thorn rose and joined them. Quickly Eden went to the telephone and got Will Holley on the wire.
"Look here," he said in a low voice, "Madden has just taken a telegram over the phone, and it seemed to worry him considerably. I couldn't make out what it was, but I'd like to know at once. Do you stand well enough with the operator to find out—without rousing suspicion, of course?"
"Sure," Holley replied. "That kid will tell me anything. Are you alone there? Can I call you back in a few minutes?"
"I'm alone just now," Eden responded. "If I shouldn't be when you call back, I'll pretend you want Madden and turn you over to him. You can fake something to say. But if you hurry, that may not be necessary. Speed, brother, speed!"
As he turned away, Ah Kim came in to gather up the luncheon things.
"Well, Charlie," Eden remarked. "Another guest at our little hotel, eh?"
Chan shrugged. "Such news comes plenty quick to cookhouse," he said.
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 into the patio and be ready to tip me off in case any one 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. O.K. 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 frost-bite," 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 flivver.
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.
