When I reached the inn, I found Mr. Lemuel Porter there waiting for me.
“How do you do, Mr. Burroughs?” he said pleasantly. “Have you time for a half-hour's chat?”
It was just what I wanted. A talk with this clear-thinking man would help me, indeed, and I determined to get his opinions, even as I was ready to give him mine.
“Well, what do you think about it all?” I inquired, after we were comfortably settled at a small table on the shaded veranda, which was a popular gathering-place at this hour. But in our corner we were in no danger from listening ears, and I awaited his reply with interest.
His eyes smiled a little, as he said,
“You know the old story of the man who said he wouldn't hire a dog and then do his own barking. Well, though I haven't 'hired' you, I would be quite ready to pay your honorarium if you can ferret out our West Sedgwick mystery. And so, as you are the detective in charge of the case, I ask you, what do you think about it all?”
But I was pretty thoroughly on my guard now.
“I think,” I began, “that much hinges on the ownership of that gold bag.”
“And you do not think it is Miss Lloyd's?”
“I do not.”