When they reached the Desert Edge Hotel, Eden was relieved to see Paula Wendell’s car parked in front. They waited by the little roadster, and while they did so, Will Holley came along. They told him of their plans.
“I can help you a bit,” said the editor. “Madden has a caretaker at his Pasadena house—a fine old chap named Peter Fogg. He’s been down here several times, and I know him rather well.” He wrote on a card. “Give him that, and tell him I sent you.”
“Thanks,” said Eden. “We’ll need it, or I’m much mistaken.”
Paula Wendell appeared.
“Great news for you,” Eden announced. “I’m riding with you as far as Pasadena.”
“Fine,” she replied. “Jump in.”
Eden climbed into the roadster. “See you boys later,” he called, and the car started.
“You ought to get a regular taxi, with a meter,” Eden suggested.
“Nonsense. I’m glad to have you.”
“Are you really?”
“Certainly am. Your weight will help to keep the car on the road.”
“Lady, you surely can flatter,” he told her. “I’ll drive, if you like.”
“No, thanks—I guess I’d better. I know the roads.”
“You’re always so efficient, you make me nervous,” he commented.
“I wasn’t so efficient when it came to Eddie Boston. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t you worry. Eddie’s a tough bird. Chan and I will try him presently.”
