Nick Carter drove on, thinking, for ten minutes, before he spoke again.
“Sure you don’t recognize his face, Chick?” he asked suddenly.
“I couldn’t see his face at that distance. I could only make out his general appearance.”
“Yet you know his dress is gray?”
Chick looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then he blurted out, half defiantly, as he leaned over the back of the driving seat:
“If a man has on clothes that are not red, yellow, black, or white, what can they be but gray?”
Nick Carter smiled, and Patsy burst into a guffaw that made Chick very indignant.
“Say, Chick! You’re the cutest little guesser, when it comes to colors, that ever moseyed down the pike. What was the color of the lunch we had to-day?”
“That will do, Patsy!” gently rebuked Nick Carter. “It does not matter much whether the man’s clothes were gray or any other color, so long as we block his game, whatever it may be. Here’s the town of Paron that I told you about, and right before us is the hotel.”
Nick drove the car into a courtyard and got out, glad to stretch his limbs after his long drive. His three companions were by his side as he looked about for some place to take his car.