"Do you think there is any possibility of his having discovered the secrets of your tricks?" Gladys asked. "Could he have bribed any one to tell him?"
"I don't think so," John Martin said. "The only people who have any clue as to how they are done are my two attendants—both as you know natives of Cashmere, and men who, I feel pretty certain, could not be 'got at.'"
"In that case," Gladys remarked, "I fail to see what there is to worry about. Your course is perfectly clear—take no notice of it."
John Martin was silent—dazed. He did not know what to think or do! There was something painfully ominous to him in the discovery of the money and the water—something that accentuated the impression Hamar's sinister appearance had made on him. The man did not look ordinary—his manner, gestures, walk and expression were decidedly abnormal—in fact they put him in mind of the superphysical. The superphysical! Might not that account for his knowledge? Bah! There was no such thing as the superphysical. The man was extraordinary—but, after all, only a man—his knowledge only that of a man. And it must be as the shrewd Gladys conjectured—he had put the money in the tree himself and had learned of the presence of water through some subtle artifice—perhaps only guessed at it. He would defy him—let him do what he would!
This was John Martin's decision as he finished tea. An hour later he had changed his mind, and was speaking to Hamar on the telephone, expressing his willingness to grant him a brief interview if he came at once.
In rather less than an hour a motor drew up at the Martins' door and Hamar stepped out of it.
"Glad to find you in a more tractable mood, Mr. Martin," he exclaimed on being ushered into the latter's presence. "I reckoned you would sing to a different tune when you found that water. Would you like me to give you a few more samples of my skill, before we proceed to business?"
"Name your business at once," John Martin replied gruffly; "I haven't many minutes to spare."
"No!" Hamar said, "that's a pity; because part of what I have at the back of my brain may take more than a few minutes arranging. The situation in a nutshell is this. You have a pretty daughter, Mr. Martin?"
"How dare you, sir?" John Martin broke in, clenching his fist.