XXI. End Of The Postman’s Journey
If Bob Eden had known the identity of the passenger in the taxi that he and Holley passed on their way to the mine, it is possible that, despite his concern for Paula Wendell, he would have turned back to Madden’s ranch. But he drove on unknowing; nor did the passenger, though he stared with interest at the passing flivver, recognize Eden. The car from the Eldorado station went on its appointed way, and finally drew up before the ranch house.
The driver alighted and was fumbling with the gate, when his fare leaped to the ground.
“Never mind that,” he said. “I’ll leave you here. How much do I owe you?” He was a plump little man, about thirty-five years old, attired in the height of fashion and with a pompous manner. The driver named a sum and, paying him off, the passenger entered the yard. Walking importantly up to the front door of the house, he knocked loudly.
Madden, talking with Thorn and Gamble by the fire, looked up in annoyance. “Now who the devil—” he began. Thorn went over and opened the door. The plump little man at once pushed his way inside.
“I’m looking for Mr. P.J. Madden,” he announced.
