I felt the pressure of his hand on mine. It was worth it all to know that I had at least saved Kennedy something, even if I had accomplished nothing.
“But who could have known that we were going to the garage?” I asked.
Kennedy was silent a moment.
“Some one is spying on us—knows our movements, must know even what we talk about,” he said, slowly.
We looked at one another blankly. It was uncanny. What could we do? Were we in the hands of a power greater than any of us had imagined?
IX
THE TRAILING OF PAQUITA
Rapidly recovering now from the effects of the asphyxiating gun, thanks to the prompt aid of Kennedy, I was soon able to sit up in my improvised bed on the garage floor. As well can be imagined, however, I did not feel like engaging in very strenuous activity. Even the simple investigation of Burke, as he explored the garage, seemed like a wonderful exhibition of energy to me.
“Well, there certainly is no car here now,” he remarked as he surveyed the obvious emptiness of the place.
“Which is not to say that there has not been one here recently,” added Kennedy, who was now dividing his attention between me and the building. “Some one has been here with a car,” he added, pointing to some fresh oil spots on the floor, and bending down beside them. “Jameson’s inhospitable host has evidently taken the pains to remove all traces that might be of any value. See—he has obliterated even the tire tracks by which the car might have been identified.”