"You don't say?" he said.
His voice had not been convincing enough; there had been a note of mockery in it, and she knew he was guilty of the theft.
She looked at him fairly. "You took it," she accused.
"I didn't take it," he denied, returning her gaze. "But I've got it. What are you goin' to do about it?"
"Nothing," she replied. "But do you think that was a gentleman's action—to enter my room, to search it—even for something that belonged to you?"
"No gentleman took it," he grinned; "therefore it couldn't have been me. I told you I had it; I didn't take it."
"Who did, then?"
"Do you know Telza?"
"Telza?"
"Toltec," he said; "a Toltec from Yucatan. He got it yesterday—last night—while you was gassin' to your friend, Neal Taggart."