Conroy also shook his head.
“None went by at that time, sir, nor even later,” he said assuringly. “I was sitting out front till near midnight. I’d have been sure to have seen it. Here’s good luck, sir.”
And Mr. Conroy arose with his glass of ale and began to down it.
“Same to you,” returned Nick indifferently.
“Have you lost a car, sir?” questioned Dugan, gazing at him from over the bar.
“No. Some friends of mine are coming this way, and I wondered whether they had passed,” Nick exclaimed evasively. “They may stop here, perhaps, on their way. I’m tramping through these parts and they have my luggage in their car. It’s a big red one. You could not mistake it.”
“They have not been here yet,” said Dugan. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Oh, it don’t matter much,” Nick replied. “I’ll round them up in the next town. I used to know a man up this way named Beardly. Ever heard of him?”
“Not as I remember,” said Dugan, scratching his head.
“Beardly?” questioned Morley, still gazing at the detective. “I don’t know any Beardly in these diggings. What’s his front name?”