“Oh, sure,” said the young man. “Will’s explained all that. You needn’t worry. Madden and I ain’t exactly pals—not after the way he talked to me.”
“You saw him last Wednesday night?” Eden suggested.
“No, not that night. It was somebody else I saw then. I was out here at the development until after dark, waiting for a prospect—he never showed up, the lowlife. Anyhow, along about seven o’clock, just as I was closing up the office, a big sedan stopped out in front. I went out. There was a little guy driving and another man in the back seat.’Good evening,’said the little fellow.’Can you tell me, please, if we’re on the road to Madden’s ranch?’I said sure, to keep right on straight. The man in the back spoke up.’How far is it?’he wants to know.’Shut up, Jerry,’says the little guy.’I'll attend to this.’He shifted the gears, and then he got kind of literary.’And an highway shall be there and a way,’he says.’Not any too clearly defined, Isaiah.’And he drove off. Now why do you suppose he called me Isaiah?”
Eden smiled. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Pretty good, considering the dark. A thin pale man with sort of grayish lips—no color in them at all. Talked kind of slow and precise—awful neat English, like he was a professor or something.”
“And the man in the back seat?”
“Couldn’t see him very well.”
“Ah, yes. And when did you meet Madden?”
“I’ll come to that. After I got home I began to think—Madden was out at the ranch, it seemed. And I got a big idea. Things ain’t been going so well here lately—Florida’s been nabbing all the easy—all the good prospects—
