She turned upon the boy a baby stare, wide-eyed and innocent. “Who’s P.J. Madden?” she inquired.
“Why, he’s one of the biggest financiers in the country. If you ever read the papers—”
“But I don’t. My work takes so much time. You’ve no idea the long hours I put in—”
“I can imagine it. But look here—the question is, where’s Jerry now? I may say I’m worried about him.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Oh—there’s risk in Jerry’s business, you know.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort. Why should there be?”
“We won’t go into that. The fact remains that Jerry Delaney arrived at Barstow a week ago last Wednesday morning, and shortly afterward he disappeared off the face of the earth.”
A startled look came into the woman’s eyes. “You don’t think he’s had an—an accident?”
“I’m very much afraid he has. You know the sort Jerry was. Reckless—”
The woman was silent for a moment. “I know,” she nodded. “Such a temper. These red-headed Irishmen—”
“Precisely,” said Eden, a little too soon.
The green eyes of Miss Norma Fitzgerald narrowed.
“Knew Jerry at McGuire’s, you say.”
She stood up. “And since when has he had red hair?” Her friendly manner was gone. “I was thinking only last night—I saw a cop at the corner of Sixth and Hill—such a handsome boy. You certainly got fine-looking fellows on your force out here.”
