“I’ll wager he’ll be along soon, now,” asserted Riley, with professional assurance. “I just saw Irene Maddox, after she came back from the funeral. She seems to be rather out of it, doesn’t she? Since her own folks arrived the Maddoxes and the Walcotts seem to feel that they have no further responsibility.”
Kennedy smiled at the garrulity of the detective. “What made you connect Sanchez and Irene Maddox?” he asked. “Don’t you think she is really through with him?”
“I guess she is,” returned Riley. “But I can’t say the same of him. If I could only get at the true relation of that fellow with Paquita I’d be a good deal happier. Mrs. Maddox may have hired him to shadow her, but, if you want to know what I think, it is that that Mex, or whatever he is, has actually fallen in love with the girl.”
“Another love affair?” I queried, sarcastically. “Then all I’ve got to say is that they’re well matched.”
“All right,” defended Riley, rather hotly. “But we know that he double-crossed Mrs. Maddox, don’t we? Well, then, if he’s working for anybody else now, what reason have you to suppose that he won’t double cross them too? Mr. Burke thinks there may be a gang of them. All right. What’s to prevent this Sanchez from being stuck on her in that case? There are all sorts in the underworld, and there’s no telling what a woman or a man may do.”
“But look at the way she acts toward Shelby Maddox,” I urged. “If ever there was a woman who threw herself at a man, that’s a case of it.”
“Part of the game, part of the game,” returned Riley.
“What game?” interrupted Kennedy, who had been listening to us in amused silence.
Riley was not ready with an answer on the spur of the moment, and, as it was not my contention, I did not attempt it.
“Well,” finished the Secret Service man as he left us, “I’m going to look about, just the same, and you can take it from me this thing will never be cleared up until we explain that fellow Sanchez.”