Then the buggy drew up alongside the back porch. Halstead had plenty of chance to study this farmer as he greeted the young driver:
“Hullo, Jed Prentiss. After them eggs?”
“Yes; and nearly forgot ’em.”
“I reckoned you’d be along about now. Well, I’ll get ’em.”
Farmer Sanderson appeared to be about fifty years of age. He would have been rather tall if so much of his lanky height had not been turned over in a decided stoop of the shoulders. He had a rough, weather-beaten skin that seemed to match his rough jean overalls and flannel shirt. The most noticeable thing about this man was the keenness of his eyes. As the farmer came out again to put the basket of eggs in the back of the buggy Tom Halstead asked suddenly:
“Do you know a man who looks like a Spaniard and wears brown striped trousers and a black coat?”
Farmer Sanderson, so the young captain thought, gave a slight start. Then he unconcernedly placed the basket in the buggy before he answered:
“Can’t say as I know such a party. But I’ve seen a fellow that answered that description.”
“When, if I may ask, and where?”
“Why, late this afternoon I saw such a party hanging around my pier. I s’posed he was fishing, but I didn’t go down to ask any questions.”