“Seven o’clock,” he replied, “five minutes past, maybe.”
Quest nodded.
“That seems all right,” he declared. “I’ll explain later, Professor.”
He hurried out into French’s tent and found the Inspector just drawing on his shoes.
“French, what’s the time?” he demanded.
“Three minutes past seven, or thereabouts,” French replied, yawning. “I’m coming right along. We’ve lots of time. Three-quarters of an hour ought to do it, the boys say.”
Quest held out a strip of paper.
“This gave me a turn,” he said quietly. “I found it in a black box by the side of my bed.”
French gazed at it in a puzzled manner. They walked outside to the camp, where the cowboys were finishing their breakfast.
“Say, boss,” one of them called out, “you’re not making that eight-thirty train to New York?”