"Oh, the devil!" Madden said. "Why did I let myself in for that?"
"I could bring the typewriter in here," began the secretary.
"No -- we'll go to your room. Mr. Eden, if the telephone rings, please answer it."
The two went out. Ah Kim arrived on noiseless feet to clear away the breakfast. Eden lighted a cigarette, and dropped into a chair before the fire, which the blazing sun outside made rather superfluous.
Twenty minutes later, the telephone rang. Eden leaped to it, but before he reached the table where it stood, Madden was at his side. He had hoped to be alone for this ordeal, and sighed wearily. At the other end of the wire he was relieved to hear the cool, melodious voice of his father's well-chosen secretary.
"Hello," he said. "This is Bob Eden, at Madden's ranch down on the desert. And how are you this bright and shining morning?"
"What makes you think it's a bright and shining morning up here?" asked the girl.
Eden's heart sank. "Don't tell me it isn't. I'd be broken-hearted."
"Why?"
"Why! Because, while you're beautiful at any time, I like to think of you with the sunlight on your hair --"
Madden laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "What the blazes do you think you're doing -- making a date with a chorus girl? Get down to business."
"Excuse it, please," said Eden. "Miss Chase, is my father there?"
"No. This is Saturday, you know. Golf."
"Oh yes -- of course. Then it is a nice day. Well, tell him to call me here if he comes in. Eldorado 76."
"Where is he?" demanded Madden eagerly.
"Out playing golf," the boy answered.
"Where? What links?"
Bob sighed. "I suppose he's at Burlingame," he said over the wire.
Then -- oh, excellent young woman, thought the boy -- the secretary answered: "Not today. He went with some friends to another links. He didn't say which."
"Thank you so much," Eden said. "Just leave the message on his desk, please." He hung up.
"Too bad," he remarked cheerfully. "Gone off to play golf somewhere, and nobody knows where."
Madden swore. "The old simpleton. Why doesn't he attend to his business --"
"Look here, Mr. Madden," Eden began.
"Golf, golf, golf," stormed Madden. "It's ruined more good men than whisky. I tell you, if I'd fooled round on golf links, I wouldn't be where I am today. If your father had any sense --"
"I've heard about enough," said Eden, rising.
Madden's manner changed suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said. "But this is annoying, you must admit. I wanted that necklace to start today."
"The day's young," Eden reminded him. "It may get off yet."
"I hope so," Madden frowned. "I'm not accustomed to this sort of dilly-dallying, I can tell you that."
His great head was tossing angrily as he went out. Bob Eden looked after him, thoughtfully. Madden, master of many millions, was putting what seemed an undue emphasis on a little pearl necklace. The boy wondered. His father was getting on in years -- he was far from the New York markets. Had he made some glaring mistake in setting a value on that necklace? Was it, perhaps, worth a great deal more than he had asked, and was Madden fuming to get hold of it before the jeweler learned his error and perhaps called off the deal? Of course, Alexander Eden had given his word, but even so, Madden might fear a slip-up.
The boy strolled idly out into the patio. The chill night wind had vanished and he saw the desert of song and story, baking under a relentless sun. In the sandy little yard of the ranch house, life was humming along. Plump chickens and haughty turkeys strutted back of wire enclosures. He paused for a moment to stare with interest at a bed of strawberries, red and tempting. Up above, on the bare branches of the cottonwoods, he saw unmistakable buds, mute promise of a grateful shade not far away.
Odd how things lived and grew, here in this desolate country. He took a turn about the grounds. In one corner was a great reservoir half filled with water -- a pleasant sight that must be on an August afternoon. Coming back to the patio, he stopped to speak to Tony, who was sitting rather dejectedly on his perch.
"Hoo la ma," he said.
Tony perked up. "Sung kai yet bo," he remarked.
"Yes, and a great pity, too," replied Eden facetiously.
"Gee fung low hop," added Tony, somewhat feebly.
"Perhaps, but I heard different," said Eden, and moved on. He wondered what Chan was doing. Evidently the detective thought it best to obey Thorn's command that he keep away from the bird. This was not surprising, for the windows of the secretary's room looked out on Tony's perch.
Back in the living-room, Eden took up a book. At a few minutes before twelve he heard the asthmatic cough of Horace Greeley in the yard and rising, he admitted Will Holley. The editor was smiling and alert.
"Hello," Eden said. "Madden's in there with Thorn, getting out the interview. Sit down." He came close. "And please remember that I haven't brought those pearls. My business with Madden is still unfinished."
Holley looked at him with sudden interest. "I get you. But I thought last night that everything was lovely. Do you mean --"
"Tell you later," interrupted Eden. "I may be in town this afternoon." He spoke in a louder tone. "I'm glad you came along. I was finding the desert a bit flat when you flivvered in."
Holley smiled. "Cheer up. I've got something for you. A veritable storehouse of wit and wisdom." He handed over a paper. "This week's issue of the Eldorado Times, damp from the presses. Read about Louie Wong's big trip to San Francisco. All the news to fit the print."
Eden took the proffered paper -- eight small pages of mingled news and advertisements. He sank into a chair. "Well," he said, "it seems that the Ladies' Aid Supper last Tuesday night was notably successful. Not only that, but the ladies responsible for the affair labored assiduously and deserve much credit."
"Yes, but the real excitement's inside," remarked Holley. "On page three. There you'll learn that coyotes are getting pretty bad in the valley. A number of people are putting out traps."
"Under those circumstances," Eden said, "how fortunate that Henry Gratton is caring for Mr. Dickey's chickens during the latter's absence in Los Angeles."
Holley rose, and stared for a moment down at his tiny newspaper. "And once I worked with Mitchell on the New York Sun," he misquoted sadly. "Don't let Harry Fladgate see that, will you? When Harry knew me I was a newspaper man." He moved off across the room. "By the way, has Madden shown you his collection of firearms?"
Bob Eden rose, and followed. "Why no -- he hasn't."
"It's rather interesting. But dusty -- say, I guess Louie was afraid to touch them. Nearly every one of these guns has a history. See -- there's a typewritten card above each one. 'Presented to P.J. Madden by Til Taylor' -- Taylor was one of the best sheriffs Oregon ever had. And here -- look at this one -- it's a beauty. Given to Madden by Bill Tilghman. That gun, my boy, saw action on Front Street in the old Dodge City days."
"What's the one with all the notches?" Eden asked.
"Used to belong to Billy the Kid," said Holley. "Ask them about Billy over in New Mexico. And here's one Bat Masterson used to tote. But the star of the collection" -- Holley's eyes ran over the wall -- "the beauty of the lot --" He turned to Eden. "It isn't there," he said.
"There's a gun missing?" inquired Eden slowly.
"Seems to be. One of the first Colts made -- a forty-five -- it was presented to Madden by Bill Hart, who's staged a lot of pictures round here." He pointed to an open space on the wall. "There's where it used to be," he added, and was moving away.
Eden caught his coat sleeve. "Wait a minute," he said in a low, tense voice. "Let me get this. A gun missing. And the card's gone, too. You can see where the tacks held it in place."
"Well, what's all the excitement --" began Holley surprised.
Eden ran his finger over the wall. "There's no dust where that card should be. What does that mean? That Bill Hart's gun has been removed with
in the last few days."
"My boy," said Holley. "What are you talking about --"
"Hush," warned Eden. The door opened and Madden, followed by Thorn, entered the room. For a moment the millionaire stood, regarding them intently.
"Good morning, Mr. Holley," he said. "I've got your interview here. You're wiring it to New York, you say?"
"Yes. I've queried my friend there about it this morning. I know he'll want it."
"Well, it's nothing startling. I hope you'll mention in the course of it where you got it. That will help to soothe the feelings of the boys I've turned down so often in New York. And you won't change what I've said?"
"Not a comma," smiled Holley. "I must hurry back to town now. Thank you again, Mr. Madden."
"That's all right," said Madden. "Glad to help you out."
Eden followed Holley to the yard. Out of earshot of the house, the editor stopped.
"You seemed a little het up about that gun. What's doing?"
"Oh, nothing, I suppose," said Eden. "On the other hand --"
"What?"
"Well, Holley, it strikes me that something queer may have happened lately on this ranch."
Holley stared. "It doesn't sound possible. However, don't keep me in suspense."
"I've got to. It's a long story, and Madden mustn't see us getting too chummy. I'll come in this afternoon, as I promised."
Holley climbed into his car. "All right," he said. "I can wait, I guess. See you later, then."
Eden was sorry to watch Horace Greeley stagger down the dusty road. Somehow the newspaper man brought a warm, human atmosphere to the ranch, an atmosphere that was needed there. But a moment later he was sorry no longer, for a little speck of brown in the distance became a smart roadster, and at its wheel he saw the girl of the Oasis, Paula Wendell.
He held open the gate, and with a cheery wave of her hand the girl drove past him into the yard.
"Hello," he said, as she alighted. "I was beginning to fear you weren't coming."
"I overslept," she explained. "Always do, in this desert country. Have you noticed the air? People who are in a position to know tell me it's like wine."
"Had a merry breakfast, I suppose?"
"I certainly did. At the Oasis."
"You poor child. That coffee."
"I didn't mind. Will Holley says that Madden's here."
"Madden? That's right -- you do want to see Madden, don't you? Well, come along inside."
Thorn was alone in the living-room. He regarded the girl with a fishy eye. Not many men could have managed that, but Thorn was different.
"Thorn," said Eden. "Here's a young woman who wants to see Mr. Madden."
"I have a letter from him," the girl explained, "offering me the use of the ranch to take some pictures. You may remember -- I was here Wednesday night."
"I remember," said Thorn sourly. "And I regret very much that Mr Madden can not see you. He also asks me to say that unfortunately he must withdraw the permission he gave you in his letter."
"I'll accept that word from no one but Mr. Madden himself," resumed the girl, and a steely light flamed suddenly in her eyes.
"I repeat -- he will not see you," persisted Thorn.
The girl sat down. "Tell Mr. Madden his ranch is charming," she said. "Tell him I am seated in a chair in his living-room and that I shall certainly continue to sit here until he comes and speaks to me himself."
Thorn hesitated a moment, glaring angrily. Then he went out.
"I say -- you're all right," Eden laughed.
"I aim to be," the girl answered, "and I've been on my own too long to take any nonsense from a mere secretary."
Madden blustered in. "What is all this --"
"Mr. Madden," the girl said, rising and smiling with amazing sweetness, "I was sure you'd see me. I have here a letter you wrote me from San Francisco. You recall it, of course."
Madden took the letter and glanced at it. "Yes, yes -- of course. I'm very sorry, Miss Wendell, but since I wrote that certain matters have come up -- I have a business deal on --" He glanced at Eden. "In short, it would be most inconvenient for me to have the ranch overrun with picture people at this time. I can't tell you how I regret it."
The girl's smile vanished. "Very well," she said, "but it means a black mark against me with the company. The people I work for don't accept excuses -- only results. I have told them everything was arranged."
"Well, you were a little premature, weren't you?"
"I don't see why. I had the word of P.J. Madden. I believed -- foolishly, perhaps -- the old rumor that the word of Madden was never broken."
The millionaire looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Well -- I -- er -- of course I never break my word. When did you want to bring your people here?"
"It's all arranged for Monday," said the girl.
"Out of the question," replied Madden. "But if you could postpone it a few days -- say, until Thursday." Once more he looked at Eden. "Our business should be settled by Thursday," he added.
"Unquestionably," agreed Eden, glad to help.
"Very well," said Madden. He looked at the girl, and his eyes were kindly. He was no Thorn. "Make it Thursday, and the place is yours. I may not be here then myself, but I'll leave word to that effect."
"Mr. Madden, you're a dear," she told him. "I knew I could rely on you."
With a disgusted look at his employer's back, Thorn went out.
"You bet you can," said Madden, smiling pleasantly. He was melting fast. "And the record of P.J. Madden is intact. His word is as good as his bond -- isn't that so?"
"If any one doubts it, let him ask me," replied the girl.
"It's nearly lunch time," Madden said. "You'll stay?"
"Well -- I -- really, Mr. Madden --"
"Of course she'll stay," Bob Eden broke in. "She's eating at a place in Eldorado called the Oasis, and if she doesn't stay, then she's just gone and lost her mind."
The girl laughed. "You're all so good to me," she said.
"Why not?" inquired Madden. "Then it's settled. We need some one like you around to brighten things up. Ah Kim," he added, as the Chinese entered, "another place for lunch. In about ten minutes, Miss Wendell."
He went out. The girl looked at Bob Eden. "Well, that's that. I knew it would be all right, if only he would see me."
"Naturally," said Eden. "Everything in this world would be all right, if every man in it could only see you."
"Sounds like a compliment," she smiled.
"Meant to be," replied the boy. "But what makes it sound so cumbersome? I must brush up on my social chatter."
"Oh -- then it was only chatter?"
"Please -- don't look too closely at what I say. I may tell you I've got a lot on my mind just now. I'm trying to be a business man, and it's some strain."
"Then you're not a real business man."
"Not a real anything. Just sort of drifting. You know, you made me think, last night."
"I'm proud of that."
"Now -- don't spoof me. I got to thinking -- here you are, earning your living -- luxurious pot roasts at the Oasis and all that -- while I'm just father's little boy. I shouldn't be surprised if you inspired me to turn over a new leaf."
"Then I shan't have lived in vain." She nodded toward the far side of the room. "What in the world is the meaning of that arsenal?"
"Oh -- that's gentle old Madden's collection of firearms. A hobby of his. Come on over and I'll teach you to call each one by name."
Presently Madden and Thorn returned, and Ah Kim served a perfect lunch. At the table Thorn said nothing, but his employer, under the spell of the girl's bright eyes, talked volubly and well. As they finished coffee, Bob Eden suddenly awoke to the fact that the big clock near the patio windows marked the hour as five minutes of two. At two o'clock! There was that arrangement with Chan regarding two o'clock. What were they to do? The impassive face of the Oriental as he served lunch had told the boy nothing.
Madden was in the midst of
a long story about his early struggle toward wealth, when the Chinese came suddenly into the room. He stood there, and though he did not speak, his manner halted the millionaire as effectively as a pistol shot.
"Well, well, what is it?" Madden demanded.
"Death," said Ah Kim solemnly in his high-pitched voice. "Death unevitable end. No wolly. No solly."
"What in Sam Hill are you talking about?" Madden inquired. Thorn's pale green eyes were popping.
The Chinese Parrot Page 8
