t very much occupied last night—it was one of my free nights—I have three hundred and sixty-five of them every year. So I strolled over to the station and met the six-forty. Thorn was there, too. A tall handsome girl got off the train, and I heard Thorn address her as Miss Evelyn.’How’s dad?’she asked.’Get in,’said Thorn,’and I’ll tell you about him. He wasn’t able to come to meet you himself.’The girl entered the car, and they drove away. Naturally, I thought she was brightening your life long before this.”
Eden shook his head. “Funny business,” he commented. “Thorn got back to the ranch a little after ten, and when he came he was alone. Charlie here discovered, with his usual acumen, that the car had traveled some thirty-nine miles.”
“Also clinging to accelerator, as though scraped off from shoe of Thorn, small fragment of red clay,” added Chan. “You are accustomed round here, Mr. Holley. Maybe you can mention home of red clay.”
“Not offhand,” replied Holley. “There are several places—But say, this thing gets deeper and deeper. Oh—I was forgetting—there’s a letter here for you, Eden.”
He handed over a neat missive addressed in an old-fashioned hand. Eden inspected it with interest. It was from Madame Jordan, a rather touching appeal not to let the deal for the pearls fall through. He went back and began to read it aloud. Mrs. Jordan could not understand. Madden was there, he had bought the pearls—why the delay? The loss of that money would be serious for her.
When he had finished, Eden looked accusingly at Chan, then tore the letter to bits and threw them into a wastepaper
