He chattered on, but Storm scarcely heard. What had George telephoned to him about? The Horton case had not even been mentioned between them on the previous night, but Storm knew well the tenacity of George’s grasp of an opinion or theory. Had he been sufficiently interested to try to probe Millard for further news? But what news could there be?
This time he voiced the thought aloud.
“How about our wager, Millard? Still think you are going to win?”
“I wish I were as sure of eternal salvation!” the other retorted stoutly. “Of course I’ll win, Storm; that man and the money will be found!”
“So it is ‘that’ man now, eh?” Storm watched him narrowly. “Your friends at Headquarters have given up the idea of a gang, then? They think it was a one-man job?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Millard wriggled uncomfortably in the chair in which he had seated himself, uninvited. “I haven’t learned anything further from that source, but Holworthy’s theory the other night sounded mighty feasible to me. It is a lot more likely that Horton met some close friend and went off quietly to make a night of it than that he trusted himself with that bag in his possession to a crowd; and he couldn’t very well have been kidnapped. Holworthy is getting to be as much of a bug on the case as I am. Said his one regret in leaving town was that he would not be able to keep in touch with it. He told me when he called me up to ask about the papers——”
“What papers?” Storm interrupted.
“Why, those that were found wadded around the pistol in the bag,” explained the other. “He wanted to know what the names of them were and I told him they were all ‘Daily Bulletins’ of May twenty-eighth, thirtieth——”
“Oh, for the Lord’s sake Millard, don’t go over all that again!” Storm cried in uncontrollable exasperation.
Millard snickered.