“You said something about going to Pardyville to search for the granddaughter,” I reminded in the course of our talk. “So how would it be for us to suggest that to the old lady? Then, whether we found the girl or not, we could come back here and report.”
“No chance of us finding the girl in Pardyville, Jerry.”
“You think she isn’t there?”
“If she is, she’s hiding. That’s my idea now.”
“Hiding?” says I, looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“Evidently something unexpected bobbed up to cause her to change her plans about coming here. And instead of being stranded in Pardyville, as we thought last night before we got hep to the old man, she probably stayed there of her own accord.”
“And sent him back home with orders to keep his mouth shut, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Then,” was the somewhat crazy theory that I now brought out, “it may have been from her that he got the spotted gander.”
“I thought of that. But from every side it’s a queer tangled mess. And least of all can I figure out why the girl should lug a gander to Pardyville with her.”