Mahon began to laugh happily. "I'll stake my life that every one Blue
Pete stole—every one that's alive, anyway—is among them."
"You're coming along, Boy . . . but just a bit too fast. Try and take this standing: Blue Pete never stole a horse after he left the Police!"
Mahon's brows met in surprise.
"No, I'm not crazy," grinned the Inspector. "I'm not even trying to delude myself. . . . And he never was such a friend of mine as you thought he was of yours."
Mahon controlled himself to formality. "I'll go out and find him, sir, if you say so, and let him tell his own story."
"You'll find him when it pleases him to be found."
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to get back to the Lodge right away. I feel as if I need ranchers and cowboys to remove the taste of that north country from my mouth."
A slow smile crept into the Inspector's face.
"I imagine it'll please him to be found—and by you," he said.
As the door was closing behind the Sergeant, the grey-haired man threw a parting word: "Take my advice, Boy, and don't do any adding till Blue Pete gives you the figures. If the addition's unpleasant then . . . wait till I add for you."