style="font-size:15px;"> "Fine," answered Eden. He nodded to the landlord, and the front door of the hotel banged shut in his face.
As he drove out across the lonely desert, he began to wonder what he was going to say to the restless P.J. Madden when he reached the ranch. The millionaire would be home from Pasadena now; he had expected to meet Draycott there. And Draycott was in San Francisco, little dreaming of the part his name was playing in the drama of the Phillimore pearls. P.J. would be furious, he would demand an explanation.
But nothing like that happened. The ranch house was in darkness and only Ah Kim was in evidence about the place.
"Madden and others in bed now," explained the Chinese. "Came home tired and very much dusted and at once retired to rooms."
"Well, I've got it on good authority that tomorrow is another day," replied Eden. "I'll turn in, too."
When he reached the breakfast table on Thursday morning, the three men were there before him. "Everything run off smoothly in Pasadena yesterday?" he inquired brightly.
Thorn and Gamble stared at him, and Madden frowned. "Yes, yes, of course," he said. He added a look which clearly meant: "Shut up."
After breakfast Madden joined the boy in the yard. "Keep that matter of Draycott to yourself," he ordered.
"You saw him, I suppose?" Eden inquired.
"I did not."
"What! Why, that's too bad. But not knowing each other I suppose—"
"No sign of anybody that looked like your man to me. You know, I'm beginning to wonder about you—"
"But Mr. Madden, I told him to be there."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I didn't care especially. Things didn't work out as I expected. I think now you'd better get hold of him and tell him to come to Eldorado. Did he call you up?"
"He may have. I was in town last night. At any rate, he's sure to call soon."
"Well, if he doesn't, you'd better go over to Pasadena and get hold of him—"
A truck filled with motion-picture camera men, props, and actors in weird costumes stopped before the ranch. Two other cars followed. Some one alighted to open the gate.
"What's this?" cried Madden.
"This is Thursday," answered Eden. "Have you forgotten—"
"Forgot it completely," said Madden. "Thorn! Where's Thorn?"
The secretary emerged from the house. "It's the movies, Chief. This was the day—"
"Damnation!" growled Madden. "Well, we'll have to go through with it. Martin, you look after things." He went inside.
The movies were all business this morning, in contrast to the careless gaiety of the night before. The cameras were set up in the open end of the patio. The actors, in Spanish costume, stood ready. Bob Eden went over to Paula Wendell.
"Good morning," she said. "I came along in case Madden tried to renig on his promise. You see, I know so much about him now—"
The director passed. "This will be O.K.," he remarked to the girl.
"Pleased him for once," she smiled to Eden. "That ought to get into the papers."
The script was a story of old California, and presently they were grinding away at a big scene in the patio.
"No, no, no," wailed the director. "What ails you this morning, Rannie? You're saying good-bye to the girl—you love her, love her, love her. You'll probably never see her again."
"The hell I won't," replied the actor. "Then the thing's a flop right now."
"You know what I mean—you think you'll never see her again. Her father has just kicked you out of the house forever. A bit of a critic, the father. But come on—this is the big farewell. Your heart is broken. Broken, my boy—what are you grinning about?"
"Come on, Diane," said the actor. "I'm never going to see you again, and I'm supposed to be sorry about it. Ye gods, the things these script-writers imagine. However, here goes. My art's equal to anything."
Eden strolled over to where the white-haired patriarch and Eddie Boston were sitting together on a pile of lumber beside the barn. Near at hand, Ah Kim hovered, all eyes for these queer antics of the white men.
Boston leaned back and lighted a pipe. "Speaking of Madden," he remarked, "makes me think of Jerry Delaney. Ever know Jerry, Pop?"
Startled, Eden moved nearer. The old man put his hand behind his ear.
"Who's that?" he inquired.
"Delaney," shouted Boston. Chan also edged closer. "Jerry Delaney. There was one smooth worker in his line, Pop. I hope I get a chance—I'm going to ask Madden if he remembers—"
A loud outcry for Mr. Boston arose in the patio, and he laid down his pipe and fled. Chan and Bob Eden looked at each other.
The company worked steadily until the lunch hour arrived. Then, scattered about the yard and the patio, they busied themselves with the generous sandwiches of the Oasis and with coffee served from thermos bottles. Suddenly Madden appeared in the doorway of the living-room. He was in a genial mood.
"Just a word of welcome," he said. "Make yourselves at home." He shook hands with the director and, moving about, spoke a few moments with each member of the company in turn. The girl named Diane held his attention for some time.
Presently he came to Eddie Boston. Casually Eden managed it so that he was near by during that interview.
"Boston's the name," said the actor. His hard face lighted. "I was hoping to meet you, Mr. Madden. I wanted to ask if you remember an old friend of mine—Jerry Delaney, of New York?"
Madden's eyes narrowed, but the poker face triumphed.
"Delaney?" he repeated, vacantly.
"Yes—Jerry Delaney, who used to hang out at Jack McGuire's place on Forty-fourth Street," Boston persisted. "You know, he—"
"I don't recall him," said Madden. He was moving away. "I meet so many people."
"Maybe you don't want to recall him," said Boston, and there was an odd note in his voice. "I can't say I blame you either, sir. No, I guess you wouldn't care much for Delaney. It was a crime what he did to you—"
Madden looked anxiously about. "What do you know about Delaney?" he asked in a low tone.
"I know a lot about him," Boston replied. He came close, and Bob Eden could barely distinguish the words. "I know all about Delaney, Mr. Madden."
For a moment they stood staring at each other.
"Come inside, Mr. Boston," Madden suggested, and Eden watched them disappear through the door into the living-room.
Ah Kim came into the patio with a tray on which were cigars and cigarettes, the offering of the host. As he paused before the director, that gentleman
