not convinced yet that it isn’t. Why not go back to the original plan and deliver the pearls in New York?”
Madden shook his head. “No. I’ve set out to get them here, and I’ll go through with it. Anybody will tell you I’m no quitter.”
“Then at least tell me what the trouble is.”
“There is no trouble,” Madden replied. “At least, none that I can’t handle myself. It’s my own affair. I’ve bought the pearls and I want them. I give you my word that you’ll be paid, which is all that need concern you.”
“Mr. Madden,” said the boy, “I’m not blind. You’re in a jam of some sort, and I’d like to help you.”
Madden turned, and his tired harassed face was ample proof of Eden’s statement. “I’ll get out of it,” he said. “I’ve got out of worse holes. I thank you for your kind intentions, but don’t you worry about me. At eight o’clock then—I’m relying on you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll lie down. I anticipate a rather busy evening.”
He went from the room, and Bob Eden stared after him, perplexed and at sea. Had he gone too far with the millionaire—told him too much? And how about this news of Evelyn Madden? Could it be true? Was she really in Los Angeles? It sounded plausible enough, and her father’s manner when he spoke of her seemed frankness itself.
Oh, well—the heat on the desert was now a tangible thing, wave on wave of filmy haze. Eden was weary with his many problems. He followed Madden’s example, and slept the afternoon away.
When he rose, the sun was sinking and the cool night coming on. He heard Gamble in the bathroom. Gamble—who was Gamble? Why was
