Then Jack began to wonder where the other two men might be, for thus far he had failed to discover either in the room of the lighted window. Could it be possible both of them had sailed away aboard that Lockheed-Vega ship, bent on some important mission which the Master had entrusted to their care?
He could not bring himself to believe this possible–that he against whom so many hostile hands were raised would be willing to stay all by himself in such a lonesome place unless it seemed unavoidable. One or both of those aids must be somewhere around.
Just the same he could see no other room connected with the stone building–it was always possible, however, that there might be another shack–perhaps a crude palmetto-leaf hut, such as the poor whites in the backwoods lived in, somewhere not far away that served them for a shelter when it rained or a bustling Norther came howling down from the regions of snow and ice and zero temperatures.
Jack had about reached this conclusion when he discovered a figure, covered with a fancy Navajo blanket, on a cot in a corner of the place–yes, there was a head on a sofa pillow such as would be more in place over at the beautiful Miami estate than here in such a desolate region.
Somehow he quickly assumed this must be the shorter party–which would go to prove the other fellow might have accompanied the pilot of the departed airship.
When he had decided this to his entire satisfaction, Jack was able to figure on certain matters. It undoubtedly meant that he and Perk would have just two pitted against them in case things came to a showdown, making it an even fight with victory perching on the side that was quickest at the draw.
He seemed to remember every warning he had received in connection with not under-rating this remarkable man, so greedy for excitement that wealthy though he was, he would seek all manner of thrilling adventures just to have the laugh on the Government, especially the Secret Service men toward whom he was said to entertain a feeling of almost wolfish hatred.
So too, did Jack take note of every object spread before his searching gaze in the shack where Oswald Kearns seemed to be busying himself in the pleasing occupation of making up his secret accounts.
That book, as well as the sheaf of papers rather fascinated the watcher outside the window–somehow Jack conceived the idea that there before him was spread all the incriminating evidence needful to bring the erratic career of this amazing man to an abrupt end–to put a stop to the mammoth illegal operations he had so long conducted in secret and by which he had impudently flaunted all the powers in Washington, just as though he had sent them a message worded, “Well, what are you going to do about it? Break up this fine game if you can.”
If only they were able to get him fast in the net before he could make any attempt to destroy that book and those papers–Jack felt convinced a generous Fortune had not allowed him to see such a prize only to snatch it out of his reach through fire or some similar means of destruction.