Meanwhile Agnes had been whispering eagerly to Neale and now they both approached Dot and her friend.
“Mr. Maynard,” said Neale, “have you see anything of Saleratus Joe again?”
“My goodness, Neale!” exclaimed the fisherman. “You could have seen both him and Jim Brady on this road this very morning. They passed me as I came along to the pond, in that big car of Brady’s.”
Mrs. Heard had been attracted by this topic of conversation. She said:
“I believe that horrid Brady brought about the stealing of my nephew’s car. And he’s shielding the men who actually did it.”
“I don’t know about that, Mrs. Heard,” said Mr. Maynard, who evidently knew the widow. “He surely didn’t have the car stolen for his own use,” and he smiled, “for that French machine of his cost him forty-five hundred dollars. He told me so the other day.”
“Are you very well acquainted with Brady, Mr. Maynard?” queried the woman, rather suspiciously.
“Why—no!” he replied, slowly. “I know most of the men who hang about the court house; and Jim thinks he can get me back in the surveyor’s office. Of course, I should be grateful if he could.”
“I don’t for a moment suppose that Brady wanted my nephew’s car,” said Mrs. Heard, sharply. “You know that?”
“Why—yes,” responded the fisherman again.