Holley nodded. “Yes—he’s supposed to be. However, I haven’t seen him. It’s rumored he came by motor the other day from Barstow. This young woman can tell you more about him than I can. By the way, have you two met each other, or are you just taking a stroll together in the moonlight?”
“Well, the fact is—” smiled Eden. “Miss—er—she just let a steak of mine get away from her in the Oasis. I had to credit her with an error in the infield, but she made a splendid try. However, as to names—and all that—”
“So I perceive,” said Holley. “Miss Paula Wendell, may I present Mr. Bob Eden. Let us not forget our book of etiquette, even here in the devil’s garden.”
“Thanks, old man,” remarked Eden. “No one has ever done me a greater kindness. Now that we’ve been introduced, Miss Wendell, and I can speak to you at last, tell me—do you know Mr. Madden?”
“Not exactly,” she replied. “It isn’t given such humble folk to know the great Madden. But several years ago my company took some pictures at his ranch—he has rather a handsome house there, with a darling patio. The other day we got hold of a script that fairly screamed for the Madden patio. I wrote him, asking permission to use his place, and he answered—from San Francisco—that he was coming down and would be glad to grant our request. His letter was really most kind.”
The girl sat down on the edge of Holley’s typewriter table. “I got to Eldorado two nights ago, and drove out to Madden’s at once. And—well, it was rather queer—what happened. Do you want to hear all this?”
“I certainly do,” Bob Eden assured her.
