“For one thing,” replied Burke, slowly, “I’m convinced, as far as I can be regarding something I don’t actually know, that the telautomaton model is out here at Westport—at least not far away.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked, quickly.
“That clue of the car waiting near the office interests me,” went on Burke, slowly. “I wasn’t able to get anything out of the rookie on the beat. But I went on the supposition that somewhere between here and New York I might find a clue. And I have found several clues from constables and special officers in towns between Westport and the city. A car answering the description was seen at several points, and the time matches up. So I think it is safe to conclude that we are on the right track. The model is out here—somewhere—I am sure.”
“Have you made any progress in running down your band of foreign criminals?” asked Kennedy.
“No trace so far,” returned Burke, still cheerfully, “except that it is entirely likely that Mito, or Paquita, or that fellow Sanchez may be the outside workers. Of course they would cover up their connection pretty closely. We can’t expect to beat the most clever minds of the Continent as easy as we would a gang of sneak-thieves. Riley tells me you have been in the city most of the day. Have you uncovered anything?”
Briefly Kennedy outlined what had happened, coming down to the events of the evening down on the beach.
Another knock on the door, and Riley entered.
“You didn’t come down, so I knew that Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Jameson were awake. You don’t mind my coming in?”
“Not a bit,” returned Kennedy. “We were just going over what I had gathered to-day. I was telling about that meeting between Frances and Irene Maddox.”
Riley’s face assumed the same look of perplexity as it had when we left him, nonplussed by the queer actions of the Maddox family.