"Well, yes, in a way," and Sercomb's eyes roamed to Matt. "We got track of you down in Texas, and the lawyer said he'd sent word, but we didn't know whether you'd come or not."
"Where have you been, Sercomb?" and Matt saw Ferral's keen eyes studying the other's face.
Sercomb met the look calmly.
"I've been spending the evening at a neighbor's," he replied, "my nearest neighbor's—a mile away through the hills."
"Got out of an up-stairs window, didn't you?" asked Ferral caustically.
"What do you mean?" demanded Sercomb, a slight flush running into his face.
"Why, when you started to make that call you left all the lower windows fastened and both outside doors bolted on the inside."
"There's some mistake," answered Sercomb blankly. "When I went away I left the front door open. We don't go to the trouble of locking doors in this country, Dick."
"Well, these were locked when I got here. What's more, there were four men in a room up-stairs playing cards. Come, come, you grampus! Don't try to play fast and loose with me. How did you and the other three lubbers get out of the house? And why wouldn't you let me in when I rapped?"
"Look here," blustered Sercomb, "what do you take me for? You never liked me, and you're up to your old trick of suspecting me of something crooked whenever anything goes wrong. I was hoping you'd got over that. Uncle Jack was all cut up over the way you treated me, and he never could understand it. Now that he's dead and gone, I should think we might at least be friends."