XX. Petticoat Mine
Ah Kim, carrying a heavy tray of dishes, left the room. Madden leaned back at ease in his chair, his eyes closed, and blew thick rings of smoke toward the ceiling. The professor and Thorn resumed their placid reading, one on each side of the lamp. A touching scene of domestic peace.
But Bob Eden did not share that peace. His heart was beating fast—his mind was dazed. He rose and slipped quietly outdoors. In the cookhouse Ah Kim was at the sink, busily washing dishes. To look at the impassive face of the Chinese no one would have guessed that this was not his regular employment.
“Charlie,” said Eden softly.
Chan hastily dried his hands and came to the door. “Humbly begging pardon, do not come in here.” He led the way to the shadows beside the barn. “What are trouble now?” he asked gently.
“Trouble!” said Eden. “You heard, didn’t you? We’ve been on the wrong track entirely. Jerry Delaney is alive and well.”
“Most interesting, to be sure,” admitted Chan.
“Interesting! Say—what are you made of, anyhow?” Chan’s calm was
