"I was sure you'd see me. I have here a letter you wrote me from San Francisco. You recall it, of course."
Madden took the letter and glanced at it. "Yes, yes—of course. I'm very sorry, Miss Wendell, but since I wrote that certain matters have come up—I have a business deal on—" He glanced at Eden. "In short, it would be most inconvenient for me to have the ranch overrun with picture people at this time. I can't tell you how I regret it."
The girl's smile vanished. "Very well," she said, "but it means a black mark against me with the company. The people I work for don't accept excuses—only results. I have told them everything was arranged."
"Well, you were a little premature, weren't you?"
"I don't see why. I had the word of P.J. Madden. I believed—foolishly, perhaps—the old rumor that the word of Madden was never broken."
The millionaire looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Well—I—er—of course I never break my word. When did you want to bring your people here?"
"It's all arranged for Monday," said the girl.
"Out of the question," replied Madden. "But if you could postpone it a few days—say, until Thursday." Once more he looked at Eden. "Our business should be settled by Thursday," he added.
"Unquestionably," agreed Eden, glad to help.
"Very well," said Madden. He looked at the girl, and his eyes were kindly. He was no Thorn. "Make it Thursday, and the place is yours. I may not be here then myself, but I'll leave word to that effect."
"Mr. Madden, you're a dear," she told him. "I knew I could rely on you."
With a disgusted look at his employer's back, Thorn went out.
"You bet you can," said Madden, smiling pleasantly. He was melting fast. "And the record of P.J. Madden is intact. His word is as good as his bond—isn't that so?"
"If any one doubts it, let him ask me," replied the girl.
"It's nearly lunch time," Madden said. "You'll stay?"
"Well—I—really, Mr. Madden—"
"Of course she'll stay," Bob Eden broke in. "She's eating at a place in Eldorado called the Oasis, and if she doesn't stay, then she's just gone and lost her mind."
The girl laughed. "You're all so good to me," she said.
"Why not?" inquired Madden. "Then it's settled. We need some one like you around to brighten things up. Ah Kim," he added, as the Chinese entered, "another place for lunch. In about ten minutes, Miss Wendell."
He went out. The girl looked at Bob Eden. "Well, that's that. I knew it would be all right, if only he would see me."
"Naturally," said Eden. "Everything in this world would be all right, if every man in it could only see you."
"Sounds like a compliment," she smiled.
"Meant to be," replied the boy. "But what makes it sound so cumbersome? I must brush up on my social chatter."
"Oh—then it was only chatter?"
"Please—don't look too closely at what I say. I may tell you I've got a lot on my mind just now. I'm trying to be a business man, and it's some strain."
"Then you're not a real business man."
"Not a real anything. Just sort of drifting. You know, you made me think, last night."
"I'm proud of that."
"Now—don't spoof me. I got to thinking—here you are, earning your living—luxurious pot roasts at the Oasis and all that—while I'm just father's little boy. I shouldn't be surprised if you inspired me to turn over a new leaf."
"Then I shan't have lived in vain." She nodded toward the far side of the room. "What in the world is the meaning of that arsenal?"
"Oh—that's gentle old Madden's collection of firearms. A hobby of his. Come on over and I'll teach you to call each one by name."
Presently Madden and Thorn returned, and Ah Kim served a perfect lunch. At the table Thorn said nothing, but his employer, under the spell of the girl's bright eyes, talked volubly and well. As they finished coffee, Bob Eden suddenly awoke to the fact that the big clock near the patio windows marked the hour as five minutes of two. At two o'clock! There was that arrangement with Chan regarding two o'clock. What were they to do? The impassive face of the Oriental as he served lunch had told the boy nothing.
Madden was in the midst of a long story about his early struggle toward wealth, when the Chinese came suddenly into the room. He stood there, and though he did not speak, his manner halted the millionaire as effectively as a pistol shot.
"Well, well, what is it?" Madden demanded.
"Death," said Ah Kim solemnly in his high-pitched voice. "Death unevitable end. No wolly. No solly."
"What in Sam Hill are you talking about?" Madden inquired. Thorn's pale green eyes were popping.
"Poah litta Tony," went on Ah Kim.
"What about Tony?"
"Poah litta Tony enjoy happly noo yeah in Hadesland," finished Ah Kim.
Madden was instantly on his feet, and led the way to the patio. On the stone floor beneath his perch lay the lifeless body of the Chinese parrot.
The millionaire stooped and picked up the bird. "Why—poor old Tony," he said. "He's gone west. He's dead."
Eden's eyes were on Thorn. For the first time since he met that gentleman he thought he detected the ghost of a smile on the secretary's pale face.
"Well, Tony was old," continued Madden. "A very old boy. And as Ah Kim says, death is inevitable—" He stopped, and looked keenly at the expressionless face of the Chinese. "I've been expecting this," he added. "Tony hasn't seemed very well of late. Here, Ah Kim"—he handed over all that was mortal of Tony—"you take and bury him somewhere."
"I take sum," said Ah Kim, and did so.
In the big living-room the clock struck twice, loud and clear. Ah Kim, in the person of Charlie Chan, was moving slowly away, the bird in his arms. He was muttering glibly in Chinese. Suddenly he looked back over his shoulder.
"Hoo malimali," he said clearly.
Bob Eden remembered his Hawaiian.
Chapter VII. The Postman Sets Out
The three men and the girl returned to the living-room, but Madden's flow of small talk was stilled, and the sparkle was gone from his luncheon party.
"Poor Tony," the millionaire said when they had sat down. "It's like the passing of an old friend. Five years ago he came to me." He was silent for a long time, staring into space.
Presently
