the boy had a few whispered words with Ah Kim, telling him the news about Evelyn Madden.
"Thorn and professor home now," the detective said. "I notice mileage—thirty-nine, as before. And bits of red clay on floor of cab."
Eden shook his head. "Time is passing," he remarked.
Chan shrugged. "If I could arrest it, I would do so," he replied.
At the dinner table, Professor Gamble was amiability personified.
"Well, well, Mr. Eden, we're glad to have you back with us. Sorry to have you miss any of this desert air. Your business—if I may presume—your business prospered?"
"Sure did," smiled Eden. "And how does yours go?"
The professor looked at him quickly. "I—er—I am happy to say I have had a most gratifying day. I found the very rat I was looking for."
"Fine for you, but hard on the rat," said Eden, and the dinner proceeded in silence.
When they rose from the table, Madden lighted a cigar and dropped into his favorite chair before the fire. Gamble sat down with a magazine beside a lamp. Eden took out a packet of cigarettes, lighted one, wandered about. Thorn also selected a magazine. The big clock struck the hour of seven, and then an air of almost intolerable quiet settled over the room.
Eden paused at the radio. "Never could see the sense of these things until I came down here," he explained to Madden. "I realize now there are times when even a lecture on the habits of the hookworm may seem enchanting. How about a bedtime story for the kiddies?"
He tuned in. Ah Kim entered and busied himself at the table. The sharp voice of an announcer in Los Angeles filled the room:
"—next number on our program—Miss Norma Fitzgerald, who is appearing in the musical show at the Mason, will sing a couple of selections—"
Madden leaned forward and tapped the ash from his cigar. Thorn and Gamble looked up with languid interest.
"Hello, folks," came the voice of the woman Bob Eden had talked with the day before. "Here I am again. And right at the start I want to thank all you good friends for the loads and loads of letters I've had since I went on the air out here. I found a lovely bunch at the studio tonight. I haven't had time to read them all, but I want to tell Sadie French, if she's listening in, that I was glad to know she's in Santa Monica, and I'll sure call her up. Another letter that brought me happiness was from my old pal, Jerry Delaney—"
Eden's heart stopped beating. Madden leaned forward, Thorn's mouth opened and stayed that way, and the eyes of the professor narrowed. Ah Kim, at the table, worked without a sound.
"I've been a little worried about Jerry," the woman went on, "and it was great to know that he's alive and well. I'm looking forward to seeing him soon. Now I must go on with my program, because I'm due at the theater in half an hour. I hope you good people will all come and see us, for we've certainly got a dandy little show, and—"
"Oh, shut the confounded thing off," said Madden. "Advertising, nine-tenths of these radio programs. Makes me sick."
Norma Fitzgerald had burst into song, and Bob Eden shut the confounded thing off. A long look passed between him and Ah Kim. A voice had come to the desert, come over the bare brown hills and the dreary miles of sagebrush and sand—a voice that said Jerry Delaney was alive and well. Alive and well—and all their fine theories came crashing down.
The man Madden killed was not Jerry Delaney! Then whose was the voice calling for help that tragic night at the ranch? Who uttered the cry that was heard and echoed by Tony, the Chinese parrot?
Chapter XX. Petticoat Mine
Ah Kim, carrying a heavy tray of dishes, left the room. Madden leaned back at ease in his chair, his eyes closed, and blew thick rings of smoke toward the ceiling. The professor and Thorn resumed their placid reading, one on each side of the lamp. A touching scene of domestic peace.
But Bob Eden did not share that peace. His heart was beating fast—his mind was dazed. He rose and slipped quietly outdoors. In the cookhouse Ah Kim was at the sink, busily washing dishes. To look at the impassive face of the Chinese no one would have guessed that this was not his regular employment.
"Charlie," said Eden softly.
Chan hastily dried his hands and came to the door. "Humbly begging pardon, do not come in here." He led the way to the shadows beside the barn. "What are trouble now?" he asked gently.
"Trouble!" said Eden. "You heard, didn't you? We've been on the wrong track entirely. Jerry Delaney is alive and well."
"Most interesting, to be sure," admitted Chan.
"Interesting! Say—what are you made of, anyhow?" Chan's calm was a bit disturbing. "Our theory blows up completely, and you—"
"Old habit of theories," said Chan. "Not the first to shatter in my countenance. Pardon me if I fail to experience thrill like you."
"But what shall we do now?"
"What should we do? We hand over pearls. You have made foolish promise, which I heartily rebuked. Nothing to do but carry out."
"And go away without learning what happened here! I don't see how I can—"
"What is to be, will be. The words of the infinitely wise Kong Fu Tse—"
"But listen, Charlie—have you thought of this? Perhaps nothing happened. Maybe we've been on a false trail from the start—"
A little car came tearing down the road, and they heard it stop with a wild shriek of the brakes before the ranch. They hurried round the house. The moon was low and the scene in semi-darkness. A familiar figure alighted and without pausing to open the gate, leaped over it. Eden ran forward.
"Hello, Holley," he said.
Holley turned suddenly.
"Good lord—you scared me. But you're the man I'm looking for." He was panting, obviously excited.
"What's wrong?" Eden asked.
"I don't know. But I'm worried. Paula Wendell—"
Eden's heart sank. "What about Paula Wendell?"
"You haven't heard from her—or seen her?"
"No, of course not."
"Well, she never came back from the Petticoat Mine. It's only a short run up there, and she left just after breakfast. She should have been back long ago. She promised to have dinner with me, and we were going to see the picture at the theater tonight. It's one she's particularly interested in."
Eden was moving toward the road. "Come along—in heaven's name—hurry—"
Chan stepped forward. Something gleamed in his hand. "My automatic," he explained. "I rescued it from suitcase this morning. Take it with you—"
"I
