“I can’t find it, Juanita, the paper he telephoned me to come and get,” she exclaimed.
“Maybe it’s in there where he sleeps.” And the Mexican girl pointed at the inner door standing barely ajar.
“We’ll see.”
Janet led the way within. There was Martinez’ living- and sleeping-room. The furnishings comprised a bed, an old scratched bureau, a stand with wash-bowl, a red and black Navajo blanket on the floor, a trunk, a stool and a dilapidated stuffed chair––just such a chair as a paper could be hidden in. That into this room the lawyer’s assailants had burst their way was apparent from the splintered door hanging from one hinge at the rear.
Beckoning Juanita to bring the lamp, Janet ran to the arm-chair.
“Ah, here it is!” she cried, when she had turned the piece of furniture over and inserted her hand in the rent. “It wasn’t found, after all! Come away now.”
Relief and exultation replaced her depression of the moment before. She had succeeded; she had helped the lawyer outwit his enemies; she must now return home to await Steele Weir’s arrival, or if he failed in that then go to the dam.
In the outer room she bade the Mexican girl place the lamp on the table once more and blow it out. This was done. They groped forward to the door.
“Follow me out quietly, Juanita,” Janet said. “Only Mr. Martinez knows we’ve been here, and Mr. Weir, the engineer. See, I’m trusting you. This is a very important paper for Mr. Weir, and other men are trying to keep it out of his hands. So you must say nothing to any one about our being here.”
Juanita assented in a whisper. Janet thereupon 149 opened the door and the pair stepped forth. A faint hissing sound directly before them startled both. But the American girl immediately recognized it for what it was, the faint murmur of an automobile engine.