"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that."
Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their attitudes confirmed her apprehension.
"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry.
"Go ahead. There's no hurry."
Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda steps and sat down.
Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other.
"That's all right, Hardy."
The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later."
Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said.
Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her breath.