“But, oh, the senor must believe me,” said the boy. “It was a terrible scream.”
Bob and the flyer looked at each other. “Couldn’t have been Don Ferdinand,” said Bob. “He didn’t disappear until this morning. At least, it was only a few hours ago that we got his telegram.”
“Mind reader,” accused the flyer. “That’s just what I was thinking of. But—then who was it?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Bob. And then a daring light came into his eyes. “What do you say to our making an investigation?”
“Huh. How?”
“Why—why—I don’t know. How would you go about it? Just mosey up to the door and say to whoever comes: ‘Who made that noise last night?’”
The flyer gave a short laugh. “We’d get far, wouldn’t we?”
“Well, we might go up to the front door and ask to see Don Ferdinand. Just say we noticed his car in the street and dropped in to see him.”
“Huh.” The flyer grunted disgustedly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Well, then, think of something yourself,” said Bob. “What’s the matter with that last idea, anyhow? We’ve got—no, by George, I haven’t any weapon. But you’ve got your service automatic. I know, because you pulled it out back there outside the bull ring. We’d certainly take ’em by surprise, and something might come of it.”