“You bet I’m right.”
“But how—”
“Yes, how? How does this rascal Ramirez happen to be driving it today? Didn’t Don Ferdinand say he was visiting friends and either tell us outright or else leave us to infer that the car belonged to those friends?”
“That’s what.”
“Well, then, how does Ramirez happen to be here in it? Say, young feller, this is certainly worth investigation. The plot thickens. I wonder—” The flyer suddenly ceased talking.
“Wonder what?” asked Bob, who did not take his eyes from the two Mexicans, and was interested to note that Ramirez had advanced threateningly toward Ramon who, in turn, had backed away.
“Why, I wonder if your friend, Don Ferdinand, really is playing a deep game, and is in cahoots with this Ramirez.”
Bob shook his head. “Oh, that’s a bit too thick, Captain, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Yes,” admitted the Captain, “you’re probably right. But what then? How account for that car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Don Ferdinand is in trouble, captured, killed.” Bob’s voice grew troubled. “He’s such a reckless old firebrand. And this fellow Ramirez looks like a bad hombre.”