"Heh!" I flared at Worth. "Find that all out to-day in San Francisco?"
"No."
"Oh, it was the Brundage clew that took you south?"
"Yep. Left Louie on the job at the hotel while I was away. To-day, I went after Brundage's automobile. Found he'd kept one in a garage on Jackson Street."
"It's gone, of course—and no trace," Barbara murmured.
"Gone since the day of the bank theft," Worth nodded. "He and the money went in it."
"Say," I leaned over toward him, "wouldn't it have saved wear and tear if you'd told me at the first that you knew Skeels couldn't be Clayte?"
"Oh, but, Jerry, you were so sure! And Skeels wasn't possible for a minute—never in his little, piking, tin-horn life!"
I don't believe I had seen Worth so happy since he was a boy, playing detective. I glanced around and pulled myself up; we certainly weren't making ourselves very entertaining for the Vandemans. There they sat, at their own table, like handsome figureheads, smiling politely, pretending a decent interest.
"All this must be a bore to you people," I apologized.