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 radio.
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 near-by 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 Madden. "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—some one 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 bruskly.
"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 license 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 favorably 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.