"Thanks," said Billy in a low voice, turning away. It seemed that he was pursued by the worst of bad luck. How on earth were they to discover the owner of the coat, now? It might be that the Indian was not telling the truth. Billy was ready to imagine that he had observed a gleam of avarice in the fellow's eye. Of course he had not been deceived; he knew that there must be something unusual about the coat. And perhaps he had lied....
Billy groaned. "Rimvale's the only place," he said, and, mounting behind Egbert Patch, he sped off back along the path to the little fishing town.
Arrived there, they stowed their machine in the local garage, and set out on a feverish errand of investigation. But they knew that it was pretty hopeless.
"How on earth can we be successful?" Billy repeated to himself again and again, and as the morning wore away his hopes sank lower and lower.
All at once he gave a great cry, caught Patch by the arm, and pointed.
"Look there!" he said hoarsely. "That fellow's wearing the jacket!"
"The Dickens he is!" replied Patch, staring at a tall, rather bullying youngster who looked as if he might be a butcher's boy. In another moment the inventor's brother had started forward and called out to the wearer of the missing coat.
"Wait a moment! Hi!" he said.
The red-faced youngster turned and eyed them with obvious disfavour. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Who are you?"
"I'm the man who put the salt in the sea," said Patch gravely, "and my friend here's the man who's going to take it out. Twig? Look here, old man, that's a nice coat you're wearing."