he asked.
"Just for the office," Madden replied. "I figured that if he was out, we could leave a message."
Thorn came forward. "Chief, how about that interview for Holley?" he inquired.
"Oh, the devil!" Madden said. "Why did I let myself in for that?"
"I could bring the typewriter in here," began the secretary.
"No—we'll go to your room. Mr. Eden, if the telephone rings, please answer it."
The two went out. Ah Kim arrived on noiseless feet to clear away the breakfast. Eden lighted a cigarette, and dropped into a chair before the fire, which the blazing sun outside made rather superfluous.
Twenty minutes later, the telephone rang. Eden leaped to it, but before he reached the table where it stood, Madden was at his side. He had hoped to be alone for this ordeal, and sighed wearily. At the other end of the wire he was relieved to hear the cool, melodious voice of his father's well-chosen secretary.
"Hello," he said. "This is Bob Eden, at Madden's ranch down on the desert. And how are you this bright and shining morning?"
"What makes you think it's a bright and shining morning up here?" asked the girl.
Eden's heart sank. "Don't tell me it isn't. I'd be broken-hearted."
"Why?"
"Why! Because, while you're beautiful at any time, I like to think of you with the sunlight on your hair—"
Madden laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "What the blazes do you think you're doing—making a date with a chorus girl? Get down to business."
"Excuse it, please," said Eden. "Miss Chase, is my father there?"
"No. This is Saturday, you know. Golf."
"Oh yes—of course. Then it is a nice day. Well, tell him to call me here if he comes in. Eldorado 76."
"Where is he?" demanded Madden eagerly.
"Out playing golf," the boy answered.
"Where? What links?"
Bob sighed. "I suppose he's at Burlingame," he said over the wire.
Then—oh, excellent young woman, thought the boy—the secretary answered: "Not today. He went with some friends to another links. He didn't say which."
"Thank you so much," Eden said. "Just leave the message on his desk, please." He hung up.
"Too bad," he remarked cheerfully. "Gone off to play golf somewhere, and nobody knows where."
Madden swore. "The old simpleton. Why doesn't he attend to his business—"
"Look here, Mr. Madden," Eden began.
"Golf, golf, golf," stormed Madden. "It's ruined more good men than whisky. I tell you, if I'd fooled round on golf links, I wouldn't be where I am today. If your father had any sense—"
"I've heard about enough," said Eden, rising.
Madden's manner changed suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said. "But this is annoying, you must admit. I wanted that necklace to start today."
"The day's young," Eden reminded him. "It may get off yet."
"I hope so," Madden frowned. "I'm not accustomed to this sort of dilly-dallying, I can tell you that."
His great head was tossing angrily as he went out. Bob Eden looked after him, thoughtfully. Madden, master of many millions, was putting what seemed an undue emphasis on a little pearl necklace. The boy wondered. His father was getting on in years—he was far from the New York markets. Had he made some glaring mistake in setting a value on that necklace? Was it, perhaps, worth a great deal more than he had asked, and was Madden fuming to get hold of it before the jeweler learned his error and perhaps called off the deal? Of course, Alexander Eden had given his word, but even so, Madden might fear a slip-up.
The boy strolled idly out into the patio. The chill night wind had vanished and he saw the desert of song and story, baking under a relentless sun. In the sandy little yard of the ranch house, life was humming along. Plump chickens and haughty turkeys strutted back of wire enclosures. He paused for a moment to stare with interest at a bed of strawberries, red and tempting. Up above, on the bare branches of the cottonwoods, he saw unmistakable buds, mute promise of a grateful shade not far away.
Odd how things lived and grew, here in this desolate country. He took a turn about the grounds. In one corner was a great reservoir half filled with water—a pleasant sight that must be on an August afternoon. Coming back to the patio, he stopped to speak to Tony, who was sitting rather dejectedly on his perch.
"Hoo la ma," he said.
Tony perked up. "Sung kai yet bo," he remarked.
"Yes, and a great pity, too," replied Eden facetiously.
"Gee fung low hop," added Tony, somewhat feebly.
"Perhaps, but I heard different," said Eden, and moved on. He wondered what Chan was doing. Evidently the detective thought it best to obey Thorn's command that he keep away from the bird. This was not surprising, for the windows of the secretary's room looked out on Tony's perch.
Back in the living-room, Eden took up a book. At a few minutes before twelve he heard the asthmatic cough of Horace Greeley in the yard and rising, he admitted Will Holley. The editor was smiling and alert.
"Hello," Eden said. "Madden's in there with Thorn, getting out the interview. Sit down." He came close. "And please remember that I haven't brought those pearls. My business with Madden is still unfinished."
Holley looked at him with sudden interest. "I get you. But I thought last night that everything was lovely. Do you mean—"
"Tell you later," interrupted Eden. "I may be in town this afternoon." He spoke in a louder tone. "I'm glad you came along. I was finding the desert a bit flat when you flivvered in."
Holley smiled. "Cheer up. I've got something for you. A veritable storehouse of wit and wisdom." He handed over a paper. "This week's issue of the Eldorado Times, damp from the presses. Read about Louie Wong's big trip to San Francisco. All the news that's fit to print."
Eden took the proffered paper—eight small pages of mingled news and advertisements. He sank into a chair. "Well," he said, "it seems that the Ladies' Aid Supper last Tuesday night was notably successful. Not only that, but the ladies responsible for the affair labored assiduously and deserve much credit."
"Yes, but the real excitement's inside," remarked Holley. "On page three. There you'll learn that coyotes are getting pretty bad in the valley. A number of people are putting out traps."
"Under those circumstances," Eden said, "how fortunate that Henry Gratton is caring for Mr. Dickey's chickens during the latter's absence in Los Angeles."
Holley rose, and stared for a moment down at his tiny newspaper. "And once I worked with Mitchell on the New York Sun," he misquoted sadly. "Don't let Harry Fladgate see that, will you? When Harry knew me I was a newspaper man." He moved off across the room. "By the way, has Madden shown you his collection
