"Just now, when Sing Lee went to give him some coffee your aunt sent in to him," replied the ranchman. "He must have been waiting for just this opportunity. Maybe he was on his way to the ranch to do this very thing when the storm overtook him. Oh, why wasn't I more suspicious?"
"Do you think you can catch him?" asked Frank.
"I hope so. We're going to make a big try, anyhow. Do you boys want to come along?"
"Do we?" chorused the three, and that was answer enough.
"Now you will be careful; won't you?" pleaded Billy's aunt.
"Of course," he promised. "Let's have breakfast in a jiffy, and get on the trail. Have you any idea what time he left, Uncle?"
"It must have been after midnight, for I sat up until nearly twelve going over my papers."
They made some inquiries, but no one had seen or heard anything of the missing man after he went to his room. Nor had there been any suspicious sounds during the night. Shackmiller, if that really was his name, had slipped out quietly, secured the valuable paper, and made off with it. At least that was the way all signs pointed.
There was nothing in his room that would lead to any clue. His bed had been slept in—or at least the man had stretched out on it—for the clothes were tumbled. None of the locks on the outer doors were forced, showing that the man had either escaped by a window, or had used a false key, since the ones that locked the doors were always taken in charge by Mrs. Thornton each night.
"Then he's got at least six hours start of us," said Billy, as he and the Racer boys ate a hurried breakfast. "It's going to be hard to capture him."