What that might mean to them all Hiram did not know. Why Borden had appeared on the scene in disguise he did not know, either. All Hiram considered at that moment was that the tramp artist had proven a good friend in the past. He had not come to them of late, and probably had a reason for it. He would scarcely venture in the vicinity of the Syndicate crowd unless he had another reason.
Borden might have been a tramp once, but he presented that appearance no longer. Artist he still was, for he had idly sketched many faces upon the bill of fare because it was natural for him to do it.
Hiram had been nearing the restaurant when he saw the man enter it. Something in the free, careless swing of the stranger had reminded him of their old friend of the Midlothian grounds. He had watched him through the window. Now he had verified his suspicions.
“What is it going to lead to?” he meditated impatiently and sat drumming his finger tips nervously on the table, waiting for his friend and messenger to show up.
Worthington, Valdec and three others of the Syndicate crowd strolled noisily into the restaurant. The coincidence of their arrival made the thoughtful Hiram wonder if Borden had been timing their movements.
In about twenty minutes he saw Bruce enter the doorway, so Hiram arose quickly and jostled him back into the street.
“Never mind supper for a bit,” he said, leading his companion to a distance from the restaurant. “The Worthington crowd are in there and they might be snooping around if we got to talking. The man you followed—what about him?”
“He slipped away from me,” reported Bruce with some perturbation, “in the most remarkable way.”
“Where did he go?” pressed Hiram.
“To the Syndicate hangar. Most of that crowd were getting ready for supper. The man you sent me to follow went in around the camp in a sly, slinking way as if he knew his bearings pretty well.”