“That,” she concluded, “was the last seen of the three rubies in their Oriental setting. Where are they now? A reward was offered for their return. No answer. The police and highly paid private detectives have been on the trail. They have found nothing. Only last night I saw the man I suspect. I must make the most of a great opportunity. I must return the jewels. Then I will get that man!”
Those words sounded strange, coming as they did from a woman’s lips. Yet, as Florence looked into those flaming eyes she did not doubt that the lady cop would make good.
“But how?” she asked herself. “How?” She was destined to ask that question many times in the days that were to come.
Miss Weightman threw fresh fuel on the fire and hung a pot of water over it to boil. Soon they were sipping tea and munching strangely delicious biscuits.
As they sat listening to the steady beat of the rain on the skylight of that mysterious cabin, Florence allowed her eyes to wander from corner to corner of the place as she speculated upon the possible motives that might induce one to erect such a home.
“May belong to old Indian days,” she told herself. “Or, since we are near the border, it may have been a smuggler’s cabin.”
Neither of these solutions satisfied her. She was about to ask the lady cop what she knew concerning its history, when she heard the sound of a voice, rising above the storm.
“Rollin’ along. Just rollin’ along.” It was the voice of a girl. “Just rollin’ along. Just singin’ a song.”
“That,” said Florence, “is Sun-Tan Tillie.”
“And who is Sun-Tan Tillie?” asked her hostess with evident interest.