LITMIR.BIZ

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away to account for the mileage on the big car. But where was the red clay on station platforms hereabouts?

      "You're certain she reached Los Angeles safely?" he asked.

      "Of course. I saw her there on Wednesday. Now, I've answered all your questions. It's your turn. Why did you think something was wrong here?"

      "What has become of Shaky Phil Maydorf?" countered Eden.

      "Who?"

      "Shaky Phil—the lad who called himself McCallum, and who won forty-seven dollars from me at poker here the other night?"

      "You mean his name was really Maydorf?" inquired Madden with interest.

      "I certainly do. I had some experience with Maydorf in San Francisco."

      "In what way?"

      "He acted as though he was trying to annex the Phillimore pearls."

      Madden's face was purple again. "Is that so? Would you mind telling me about it?"

      "Not at all," replied Eden. He narrated Maydorf's activities at the pier, but failed to mention the connection with Louie Wong.

      "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" demanded Madden.

      "Because I thought you knew it. I still think so."

      "You're crazy."

      "Maybe. We won't go into that. But when I saw Maydorf down here, it was natural to suspect something was wrong. I'm not convinced yet that it isn't. Why not go back to the original plan and deliver the pearls in New York?"

      Madden shook his head. "No. I've set out to get them here, and I'll go through with it. Anybody will tell you I'm no quitter."

      "Then at least tell me what the trouble is."

      "There is no trouble," Madden replied. "At least, none that I can't handle myself. It's my own affair. I've bought the pearls and I want them. I give you my word that you'll be paid, which is all that need concern you."

      "Mr. Madden," said the boy, "I'm not blind. You're in a jam of some sort, and I'd like to help you."

      Madden turned, and his tired harassed face was ample proof of Eden's statement. "I'll get out of it," he said. "I've got out of worse holes. I thank you for your kind intentions, but don't you worry about me. At eight o'clock then—I'm relying on you. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll lie down. I anticipate a rather busy evening."

      He went from the room, and Bob Eden stared after him, perplexed and at sea. Had he gone too far with the millionaire—told him too much? And how about this news of Evelyn Madden? Could it be true? Was she really in Los Angeles? It sounded plausible enough, and her father's manner when he spoke of her seemed frankness itself.

      Oh, well—the heat on the desert was now a tangible thing, wave on wave of filmy haze. Eden was weary with his many problems. He followed Madden's example, and slept the afternoon away.

      When he rose, the sun was sinking and the cool night coming on. He heard Gamble in the bathroom. Gamble—who was Gamble? Why was he allowed to remain on Madden's ranch?

      In the patio, 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

       Table of Contents

      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

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