Chrystie, diverted from her private worries by this exciting subject, bounced round toward Mark with something of her old explosiveness.
"Why, you were up there at the time—the first time I mean. Don't you remember you told us that evening when you were here. And you said people thought the bandits had a cache in the chaparral. Why didn't any of you think of the tules?"
"Stupid, I guess," said Mark. "Not a soul thought of them. And it was an
A1 hiding-place. Besides the duck shooters, nobody ever goes there."
"But somebody did go there," came from Aunt Ellen with a knowing nod.
They laughed at that, even Mr. Mayer, who appeared only languidly interested, his eyes on the film of wine in the bottom of his glass.
"Who do you suppose it could have been?" asked Chrystie.
"A duck shooter, probably." This was Mr. Mayer's first contribution to the subject.
Mark was exceedingly pleased to be able to correct this silent and supercilious person.
"No, it couldn't have been. The duck season doesn't open till September fifteen, and Knapp said when they went back in six days the cache was empty." He turned to Chrystie. "I've often wondered if it could have been a man I saw that afternoon."
As on that earlier visit his knowledge of the holdup had made him an attractive center, so once again he saw the girls turn expectant eyes on him, Aunt Ellen forget her grapes, and even the strange man's glance shift from the wineglass and rest, attentive, on his face.