Whatever Mr. Gamble’s mission at the ranch, Bob Eden reflected during lunch, it was obviously a peaceful one. Seldom had he encountered a milder-mannered little chap. All through the meal the newcomer talked volubly and well, with the gentle, cultivated accent of a scholar. Madden was sour and unresponsive; evidently he still resented the intrusion of this stranger. Thorn as usual sat silent and aloof, a depressing figure in the black suit he had today donned to replace the one torn so mysteriously the night before. It fell to Bob Eden to come to Mr. Gamble’s aid and keep the conversation going.

The luncheon over, Gamble rose and went to the door. For a moment he stood staring out across the blazing sand in the direction of the cool, white tops of the mountains, far away.

“Magnificent,” he commented. “I wonder, Mr. Madden, if you realize the true grandeur of this setting for your ranch-house? The desert, the broad, lonely desert, that has from time immemorial cast its weird spell on the souls of men. Some find it bleak and disquieting, but as for myself⁠—”

“Be here long?” cut in Madden.

“Ah, that depends. I sincerely hope so. I want to see this country after the spring rains⁠—the verbena and the primroses in bloom. The thought enchants me. What says the prophet Isaiah? ‘And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water.’ You know Isaiah, Mr. Madden?”

“No, I don’t. I know too many people now,” responded Madden grimly.

“I believe you said you were interested in the fauna round here, professor?” Bob Eden remarked.

Gamble looked at him quickly. “You give me my title,” he said. “You are an observant young man. Yes, there are certain researches I intend to pursue⁠—the tail of the kangaroo-rat, which attains here a phenomenal length. The maxillary arch in the short-nosed pocket-mouse, I understand, has also reached in this neighbourhood an eccentric development.”

The telephone rang, and Madden himself answered it. Listening carefully, Bob Eden heard: “Telegram for Mr. Madden.” At this point the millionaire pressed the receiver close to his ear, and the rest of the message was an indistinct blur.

Eden was sorry for that, for he perceived that as Madden listened an expression of keen distress came over his face. When finally he put the receiver slowly back on to its hook he sat for a long time looking straight before him, obviously very much perplexed.

“What do you grow here in this sandy soil, Mr. Madden?” Professor Gamble inquired.

“Er⁠—er⁠—” Madden came gradually back to the scene. “What do I grow? A lot of things. You’d be surprised, and so would Isaiah.” Gamble was smiling at him in a kindly way, and the millionaire warmed up a little. “Come out, since you’re interested, and I’ll show you round.”

“Very good of you, sir,” replied Gamble, and meekly followed into the patio. Thorn rose and joined them. Quickly Eden went to the telephone and got Will Holley on the wire.

“Look here,” he said in a low voice, “Madden has just taken a telegram over the phone, and it seemed to worry him considerably. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I’d like to know at once. Do you stand well enough with the operator to find out⁠—without rousing suspicion, of course?”

“Sure,” Holley replied. “That kid will tell me anything. Are you alone there? Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

“I’m alone just now,” Eden responded. “If I shouldn’t be when you call back, I’ll pretend you want Madden and turn you over to him. You can fake something to say. But if you hurry that may not be necessary. Speed, brother, speed!”

As he turned away Ah Kim came in to gather up the luncheon things.

“Well, Charlie,” Eden remarked. “Another guest at our little hotel, eh?”

Chan shrugged. “Such news comes plenty quick to cookhouse,” he said.

Eden smiled. “You’re the one who wanted to watch and wait,” he reminded the detective. “If you’re threatened with housemaid’s knee don’t blame me.”

“This Gamble,” mused Chan. “Seems harmless like May morning, I think.”

“Oh, very. A Bible student. And it strikes me there’s a fair opening for a good Bible student round here.”

“Undangerous and mild,” continued Chan. “Yet hidden in his scant luggage is one pretty new pistol completely loaded.”

“Going to shoot the tails off the rats most likely,” Eden smiled. “Now, don’t get suspicious of him, Charlie. He’s probably just a tenderfoot who believes the movies, and so came to this wild country armed to defend himself. By the way, Madden just got a telegram over the phone, and it was, judging by appearances, another bit of unwelcome news for our dear old friend. Holley’s looking it up for me. If the telephone rings go to the patio, and be ready to tip me off in case anyone is coming.”

Silently Ah Kim resumed his work at the table. In a few moments, loud and clear, came the ring of Holley on the wire. Running to the telephone, Eden put his hand over the bell, muffling it. Chan stepped into the patio.

“Hello, Holley,” said the boy softly. “Yes. Yes. OK. Shoot. Um.⁠ ⁠… Say, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Coming tonight, eh? Thanks, old man.”

He hung up, and Charlie returned. “A bit of news,” said Eden, rising. “That telegram was from Miss Evelyn Madden. Got tired of waiting in Denver, I guess. The message was sent from Barstow. The lady arrives tonight at Eldorado on the six-forty. Looks as though I may have to give up my room and check out.”

“Miss Evelyn Madden?” repeated Chan.

“That’s right⁠—you don’t know, do you? She’s Madden’s only child. A proud beauty too⁠—I met her in San Francisco. Well, it’s no wonder Madden was perplexed, is it?”

“Certainly not,” agreed Chan. “Murderous ranch like this no place for refined young woman.”

Eden sighed. “Just one more complication,” he said. “Things move, but we don’t seem to get anywhere.”

“Once more,” returned Chan, “I call to your attention that much unused virtue, patience. Aspect will be brighter here now. A woman’s touch⁠—”

“This woman’s touch means frostbite,” smiled Eden. “Charlie, I’ll bet you a million⁠—not even the desert will thaw out Evelyn Madden.”

Chan departed to his duties in the cookhouse. Madden and Thorn drifted in after a time; Gamble, it appeared, had retired to his room. The long, hot afternoon dragged by, baking hours of deathly calm, during which the desert lived up to its reputation. Madden disappeared, and presently his “noisome” snores filled the air. A good idea, Bob Eden decided.

In a recumbent position on his bed he found that time passed more swiftly. In fact, he didn’t know it was passing. Toward evening he awoke, hot and muddled of mind, but a cold shower made him feel human again.

At six o’clock he crossed the patio to the living-room. In the yard before the barn he saw Madden’s big car standing ready for action, and remembered. The millionaire was no doubt about to meet his daughter in town, and the haughty Evelyn was not to be affronted with the unpretentious runabout.

But when he reached the living-room Eden saw that it was evidently Thorn who had been selected for the trip to Eldorado. The secretary stood there in his gloomy clothes, a black slouch hat accentuating the paleness of his face. As Eden entered what was obviously a serious conversation between Thorn and the millionaire came to a sudden halt.

“Ah, good evening,” said Eden. “Not leaving us, Mr. Thorn?”

“Business in town,” returned Thorn. “Well, chief, I’ll go along.”

Again the telephone rang. Madden leaped to it. For a moment he listened, and history repeated itself on his face. “Bad news all the time,” Eden thought.

Madden put his great hand over the mouthpiece, and spoke to his secretary. “It’s that old bore down the road, Doctor Whitcomb,” he announced, and Eden felt a flash of hot resentment at this characterization. “She wants to see me this evening⁠—says she has something very important to tell me.”

“Say you’re busy,” suggested Thorn.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” Madden began over the phone, “but I am very much occupied⁠—”

He stopped, evidently interrupted by a flood of conversation. Again he put his hand over the transmitter. “She insists, confound it,” he complained.

“Well, you’ll have to see her, then,” said Thorn.

“All right, doctor,” Madden capitulated. “Come about eight.”

Thorn went out, and the big car roared off toward the road and Evelyn Madden’s train. Mr. Gamble entered, refreshed and ready with a few apt quotations. Eden amused himself with the wireless apparatus.

At the usual hour, much to Eden’s surprise, they dined. Thorn’s chair was empty, and there was, oddly enough, no place for Evelyn; nor did the millionaire make any arrangements regarding a room for his daughter. Strange, Eden thought.

After dinner Madden led them to the patio. Again he had arranged for a fire out there, and the blaze glowed red on the stone floor, on the adobe walls of the house, and on the nearby perch of Tony, now empty and forlorn.

“This is living,” remarked Gamble, when they had sat down and he had lighted one of Madden’s cigars. “The poor fools cooped up in cities⁠—they don’t know what they’re missing. I could stay here forever.”

His final sentence made no hit with the host, and silence fell. At a little past eight they heard the sound of a car entering the yard. Thorn and the girl, perhaps⁠—but evidently Madden didn’t think so, for he said:

“That’s the doctor. Ah Kim!” The servant appeared. “Show the lady out here.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to see me,” Gamble said, getting up. “I’ll go in and find a book.”

Madden looked at Bob Eden, but the boy remained where he was. “The doctor’s a friend of mine,” he explained.

“Is that so?” growled Madden.

“Yes⁠—I met her yesterday morning. A wonderful woman.”

Doctor Whitcomb appeared. “Well, Mr. Madden?” She shook hands. “It’s a great pleasure to have you with us again.”

“Thanks,” said Madden coolly. “You know Mr. Eden, I believe?”

“Oh, hello!” smiled the woman. “Glad to see you. Not very pleased with you, however. You didn’t drop in today.”

“Rather busy,” Eden replied. “Won’t you sit down, please?”

He brought forward a chair; it seemed that Madden needed a hint or two on hospitality. The guest sank into it. Madden, his manner very haughty and aloof, sat down some distance away, and waited.

“Mr. Madden,” said Doctor Whitcomb, “I’m sorry if I seem to intrude⁠—I know that you are here to rest, and that you don’t welcome visitors. But this is not a social call. I came here about⁠—about this terrible thing that has happened on your place.”

For a moment Madden did not reply. “You⁠—mean⁠—” he said slowly.

“I mean the murder of poor Louie Wong,” the woman answered.

“Oh.” Was there relief in Madden’s voice? “Yes⁠—of course.”

“Louie was my friend⁠—he often came to see me. I was so sorry when I heard. And you⁠—he served you faithfully, Mr. Madden. Naturally you’re doing everything possible to run down his murderer?”

“Everything,” replied Madden carelessly.

“Whether what I have to tell has any connection with the killing of Louie⁠—that’s for policemen to decide,” went on the doctor. “You can hand my story on to them⁠—if you will.”

“Gladly,” replied the millionaire. “What is your story, doctor?”

“On Saturday evening a man arrived at my place who said his name was McCallum, Henry McCallum,” began Doctor Whitcomb, “and that he came from New York. He told me he suffered from bronchitis, though I must say I saw no symptoms of it. He took one of my cabins and settled down for a stay⁠—so I thought.”

“Yes,” nodded Madden. “Go on.”

“At dark Sunday night⁠—a short time before the hour when poor Louie was killed⁠—someone drove up in a big car before my place and blew the horn. One of my boys went out, and the stranger asked for McCallum. McCallum came, talked with the man in the car for a moment, then got in and rode off with him⁠—in this direction. That was the last I’ve seen of Mr. McCallum. He left a suitcase filled with clothes in his cabin, but he has not returned.”

“And you think he killed Louie?” asked Madden, with a note of polite incredulity in his voice.

“I don’t think anything about it. How should I know? I simply regard it as a matter that should be called to the attention of the police. As you are much closer to the investigation than I am, I’m asking you to tell them about it. They can come down and examine McCallum’s property if they wish.”

“All right,” said Madden, rising pointedly. “I’ll tell them. Though if you’re asking my opinion, I don’t think⁠—”

“Thank you,” smiled the doctor. “I wasn’t asking your opinion, Mr. Madden.” She too stood. “Our interview, I see, is ended. I’m sorry if I’ve intruded⁠—”

“Why, you didn’t intrude,” protested Madden. “That’s all right. Maybe your information is valuable. Who knows?”

“Very good of you to say so,” returned the doctor, with gentle sarcasm. She glanced toward the parrot’s perch “How’s Tony? He, at least, must miss Louie a lot.”

“Tony’s dead,” said Madden brusquely.

“What! Tony too!” The doctor was silent for a moment. “A rather memorable visit, this one of yours,” she said slowly. “Please give my regards to your daughter. She is not with you?”

“No,” returned Madden. “She is not with me.” That was all.

“A great pity,” Doctor Whitcomb replied. “I thought her a charming girl.”

“Thank you,” Madden said. “Just a moment. My boy will show you to your car.”

“Don’t trouble,” put in Bob Eden. “I’ll attend to that.” He led the way through the bright living-room, past Mr. Gamble deep in a huge book. In the yard the doctor turned to him.

“What a man!” she said. “As hard as granite. I don’t believe the death of Louie means a thing to him.”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Eden agreed.

“Well, I rely on you. If he doesn’t repeat my story to the sheriff, you must.”

The boy hesitated. “I’ll tell you something⁠—in confidence,” he said. “Everything possible is being done to find the murderer of Louie. Not by Madden⁠—but by⁠—others.”

The doctor sat silent for a moment in the dark car under the dark, star-spangled sky. “I think I understand,” she said softly. “With all my heart, I wish you luck, my boy.”

Eden took her hand. “If I shouldn’t see you again, doctor⁠—I want you to know. Just meeting you has been a privilege.”

“I’ll remember that,” she answered. “Good night.”

The boy watched her back the car through the open gate. When he returned to the living-room Madden and Gamble were together there. “Confounded old busybody,” Madden said.

“Wait a minute,” Eden said hotly. “That woman with just her two hands has done more good in the world than you with all your money. And don’t you forget it.”

“Does that give her a licence to butt into my affairs?” demanded Madden.

Further warm words were on the tip of the boy’s tongue, but he restrained himself. However, he reflected that he was about fed-up with this arrogant, callous millionaire.

He looked toward the clock. A quarter to nine, and still no sign of Thorn and Evelyn Madden. Was the girl’s train late? Hardly likely.

Though he did not feel particularly welcome in the room, he waited on. He would see this latest development through. At ten o’clock Mr. Gamble rose and, commenting favourably on the desert air, went to his room.

At five minutes past ten the roar of the big car in the yard broke the intense stillness. Bob Eden sat erect, his eager eyes straying from one door to another. Presently the glass doors leading to the patio opened. Martin Thorn came in alone.

Without a word to his chief, the secretary threw down his hat and dropped wearily into a chair. The silence became oppressive.

“Got your business attended to, eh?” suggested Eden cheerfully.

“Yes,” said Thorn⁠—no more. Eden rose.

“Well, I guess I’ll turn in,” he said, and went to his room. As he entered he heard the splash of Mr. Gamble in the bath that lay between his apartment and that occupied by the professor. His seclusion was ended. Have to be more careful in the future.

Shortly after his lights were on Ah Kim appeared at the door. Eden, finger on lips, indicated the bath. The Chinese nodded. They stepped to the far side of the bedroom and spoke in low tones.

“Well, where’s little Evelyn?” asked the boy.

Chan shrugged. “More mystery,” he whispered.

“Just what has our friend Thorn been doing for the past four hours?” Eden wondered.

“Enjoying moonlit ride on desert, I think,” Chan returned. “When big car go out, I note speedometer. Twelve thousand eight hundred and forty miles. Four miles necessary to travel to town, and four to return with. But when big car arrives home, speedometer announces quietly twelve thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine miles.”

“Charlie, you think of everything,” Eden said admiringly.

“Strange place this Thorn has been,” Charlie added. “Much red clay on ground.” He exhibited a fragment of earth. “Scraped off on accelerator,” he explained. “Maybe you have seen such place round here?”

“Nothing like it,” Eden replied. “You don’t suppose he’s harmed the gal⁠—but no, Madden seems to be in on it, and she’s his darling.”

“Just one more little problem rising up,” said Chan.

Eden nodded. “Lord, I haven’t met so many problems since I gave up algebra. And by the way, tomorrow’s Tuesday. The pearls are coming, hurrah, hurrah. At least, old P. J. thinks they are. He’s going to be hard to handle tomorrow.”

A faint knock sounded on the door to the patio, and Chan had just time to get to the fireplace and busy himself there when it was opened and Madden, oddly noiseless for him, entered.

“Why, hello⁠—” began Eden.

“Hush!” said Madden. He looked toward the bathroom. “Go easy, will you? Ah Kim, get out of here.”

“Allight, boss,” said Ah Kim, and went.

Madden stepped to the bathroom door and listened. He tried it gently; it opened at his touch. He went in, locked the door leading into the room occupied by Gamble, and returned, shutting the door behind him.

“Now,” he began, “I want to see you. Keep your voice down. I’ve finally got hold of your father on the telephone, and he tells me a man named Draycott will arrive with the pearls at Barstow tomorrow noon.”

Eden’s heart sank. “Ah⁠—er⁠—that ought to bring him here tomorrow night⁠—”

Madden leaned close, and spoke in a hoarse undertone. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I don’t want that fellow to come to the ranch.”

Eden stared at him in amazement. “Well, Mr. Madden, I’ll be⁠—”

“Hush! Leave my name out of it.”

“But after all our preparation⁠—”

“I tell you I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want the pearls brought to the ranch at all. I want you to go to Barstow tomorrow, meet this Draycott, and order him to go on to Pasadena. I’m going down there on Wednesday. Tell him to meet me at the door of the Garfield National Bank in Pasadena at noon, sharp, Wednesday. I’ll take the pearls then⁠—and I’ll put them where they’ll be safe.”

Bob Eden smiled. “All right,” he agreed. “You’re the boss.”

“Good,” said Madden. “I’ll have Ah Kim drive you into town in the morning, and you can catch the Barstow train. But remember⁠—this is between you and me. Not a word to anybody. Not to Gamble⁠—of course. Not even to Thorn.”

“I get you,” Eden answered.

“Fine! Then it’s set. Good night.”

Madden went softly out. For a long time Eden stared after him, more puzzled than ever.

“Well, anyhow,” he said at last, “it means another day grace. For this relief, much thanks.”