There was one still around, nevertheless, still lying low amid the rank grass and shrubbery that had served to conceal him.
CHAPTER XVI.
VAIN INQUIRIES.
Patsy Garvan had been waiting and watching about fifteen minutes, the circumstances precluding any further action, when he saw the two men come out of the road house.
They hurried down the steps and entered the motor car. Toby Monk, the chauffeur, also saw them, and ran to resume his seat at the wheel. They were away within half a minute, departing with very significant haste and returning to Madison at a rate of speed precluding pursuit, but leaving Patsy gazing with an ominous frown after the rear red light till it vanished in the distance.
“That does settle it,” he muttered grimly. “I’ve lost track of them for a time, at least, in spite of anything I can do. But I’ve got the number of that car, all right, and I’ll identify them later as sure as there’s juice in a lemon. I can find out, perhaps, by inquiring of some one in the house. The third man may hang out there, however, and I might get in wrong. I think I can turn the trick at that, without incurring suspicion,” he added to himself after a moment’s thought. “I’ll take the chance, by gracious, let come what may.”
Leaving his concealment, he walked out to the driveway, where, having made sure there were no observers, he threw himself on one side in the sand and dirt and ground the palm of his right hand into the gravel, a performance that might cause one to wonder what advantage could be derived.
Patsy knew, however, and he immediately arose and entered the road house. Though the hall still was unoccupied, he could hear the voices of men in the rear rooms, also the clinking of glasses, and he rightly inferred that there was a public bar in one of the rooms. He hastened thither and entered, with a pretense of brushing his soiled garments and with an indignant frown on his face.
“Say!” he exclaimed, approaching a bar on one side of the room. “Who are the ginks that just left here in a buzz wagon?”
Three men were playing cards at a table in one corner, evidently quarry workmen from the near settlement, each with a mug of ale at his elbow. Back of the bar stood a burly man in his shirt sleeves, with a much-bloated and pimply face, the redeeming feature of which was an expression of habitual good nature. He gazed at Patsy and laughed, replying to his impetuous question, but the three card players merely glanced at him.