“Tom?” he said, then. “What else besides Tom?”
“Durand—Thomas Jefferson Durand! My parents gave me a long name because it didn’t cost them anything, and they had nothing else to give me. I’ll bet the first Thomas Jefferson wouldn’t look so dignified in his pictures after he had rode the rods from Chicago! Would he, now?”
Clay did not reply, for he was wondering if this Durand and the Durand he had been thinking about that night were brothers. It would be a strange coincidence if they were! This Durand seemed to know about the Rambler! Perhaps, in some mysterious manner Don had warned him to wait for the boat as it passed up the river and ascertain if the fifty thousand dollars had been safely taken out of the sand levee!
This was a disquieting thought, for the money was gone! Clay decided to learn the truth immediately, so he asked:
“Where is your brother Don? Have you seen him lately?”
Tom winked his eyes and pulled at his tangle of tow-colored hair.
“Do you know Don?” he asked. “When did you see him last?”
“So he is really your brother?” demanded Clay, feeling that the hour of settlement for poor Alex was indeed close at hand.
“Sure he is!” was the reply. “He’s out in the desert somewhere. He snatched a lot of money in Chicago and got away with it. So he isn’t in any of the society columns just now. He’s supposed to be in retreat!”
This looked a little better, but Clay kept on with his questions.