That silver quarter would serve as a magnet to draw him back to the spot.
Eric had not studied human nature thus long without being able to guess certain things, and in this instance his surmise proved correct.
Before the ten minutes had elapsed he saw the messenger boy come flying along in a way that must have amazed any person who had grown accustomed to the usual methods of these lads.
“Here you are, sir. Right side up with care. Found him in, and delivered the note.”
The grin on the boy’s face declared also that he had been paid for his work by the artist, but this was none of Eric’s business.
He took out a quarter.
“See here now, boy, I want you to prove what you say. What did you do?”
“Knocked on the door—a cove opened it—asked him if Paul Prescott was in—said as how he was the same—handed him the letter—he opened it, grinned, and gave me a shiner. Then I vamosed the ranch and came to you.”
“Did he ask you where you got it?”
“I told him the girl in black racket, which was really the worst I ever heard, but the fellow seemed to swallow it without question.”