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?”
