Chapter XX. Petticoat Mine

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      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 a bit disturbing. "Our theory blows up completely, and you—"

      "Old habit of theories," said Chan. "Not the first to shatter in my countenance. Pardon me if I fail to experience thrill like you."

      "But what shall we do now?"

      "What should we do? We hand over pearls. You have made foolish promise, which I heartily rebuked. Nothing to do but carry out."

      "And go away without learning what happened here! I don't see how I can—"

      "What is to be, will be. The words of the infinitely wise Kong Fu Tse—"

      "But listen, Charlie—have you thought of this? Perhaps nothing happened. Maybe we've been on a false trail from the start—"

      A little car came tearing down the road, and they heard it stop with a wild shriek of the brakes before the ranch. They hurried round the house. The moon was low and the scene in semi-darkness. A familiar figure alighted and without pausing to open the gate, leaped over it. Eden ran forward.

      "Hello, Holley," he said.

      Holley turned suddenly.

      "Good lord—you scared me. But you're the man I'm looking for." He was panting, obviously excited.

      "What's wrong?" Eden asked.

      "I don't know. But I'm worried. Paula Wendell—"

      Eden's heart sank. "What about Paula Wendell?"

      "You haven't heard from her—or seen her?"

      "No, of course not."

      "Well, she never came back from the Petticoat Mine. It's only a short run up there, and she left just after breakfast. She should have been back long ago. She promised to have dinner with me, and we were going to see the picture at the theater tonight. It's one she's particularly interested in."

      Eden was moving toward the road. "Come along—in heaven's name—hurry—"

      Chan stepped forward. Something gleamed in his hand. "My automatic," he explained. "I rescued it from suitcase this morning. Take it with you—"

      "I won't need that," said Eden. "Keep it. You may have use for it—"

      "I humbly beg of you—"

      "Thanks, Charlie. I don't want it. All right, Holley—"

      "The pearls," suggested Chan.

      "Oh, I'll be back by eight. This is more important—"

      As he climbed into the flivver by Holley's side, Eden saw the front door of the ranch house open, and the huge figure of Madden framed in the doorway.

      "Hey!" cried the millionaire.

      "Hey yourself," muttered Eden. The editor was backing his car, and with amazing speed he swung it round. They were off down the road, the throttle wide open.

      "What could have happened?" Eden asked.

      "I don't know. It's a dangerous place, that old mine. Shafts sunk all over—the mouths of some of them hidden by underbrush. Shafts several hundred feet deep—"

      "Faster," pleaded Eden.

      "Going the limit now," Holley replied. "Madden seemed interested in your departure, didn't he? I take it you haven't given him the pearls."

      "No. Something new broke tonight." Eden told of the voice over the radio. "Ever strike you that we may have been cuckoo from the start? No one even slightly damaged at the ranch, after all?"

      "Quite possible," the editor admitted.

      "Well, that can wait. It's Paula Wendell now."

      Another car was coming toward them with reckless speed. Holley swung out, and the two cars grazed in passing.

      "Who was that?" wondered Eden.

      "A taxi from the station," Holley returned. "I recognized the driver. There was some one in the back seat."

      "I know," said Eden. "Some one headed for Madden's ranch, perhaps."

      "Perhaps," agreed Holley. He turned off the main road into the perilous, half-obliterated highway that led to the long-abandoned mine. "Have to go slower, I'm afraid," he said.

      "Oh, hit it up," urged Eden. "You can't hurt old Horace Greeley." Holley again threw the throttle wide, and the front wheel on the left coming at that moment in violent contact with a rock, their heads nearly pierced the top of the car.

      "It's all wrong, Holley," remarked Eden with feeling.

      "What's all wrong?"

      "A pretty, charming girl like Paula Wendell running about alone in this desert country. Why in heaven's name doesn't somebody marry her and take her away."

      "Not a chance," replied Holley. "She hasn't any use for marriage. 'The last resort of feeble minds' is what she calls it."

      "Is that so?"

      "Never coop her up in a kitchenette, she told me, after the life of freedom she's enjoyed."

      "Then why did she go and get engaged to this guy?"

      "What guy?"

      "Wilbur—or whatever his name is. The lad who gave her the ring."

      Holley laughed—then was silent for a minute. "I don't suppose she'll like it," he said at last, "but I'm going to tell you anyhow. It would be a pity if you didn't find out. That emerald is an old one that belonged to her mother. She's had it put in a more modern setting, and she wears it as a sort of protection."

      "Protection?"

      "Yes. So every mush-head she meets won't pester her to marry him."

      "Oh," said Eden. A long silence. "Is that the way she characterizes me?" asked the boy finally.

      "How?"

      "As a mush-head."

      "Oh, no. She said you had the same ideas on marriage that she had. Refreshing to meet a sensible man like you, is the way she put it." Another long silence. "What's on your mind?" asked the editor.

      "Plenty," said Eden grimly. "I suppose, at my age, it's still