“Now, Larry,” Dick said, finally, “Mr. ‘Everdail’ said we could take you into our confidence, and he’s probably telling Jeff everything. Suspicious Sandy has a theory all worked out. I suppose Jeff is a double-dyed villain, and this Mr. ‘Everdail’ will turn out——”
“It’s no joking matter,” Sandy spoke sharply. “You listen to my idea and see what you think.”
Jeff, the so-called Mr. “Everdail,” and the pilot and passenger of the seaplane, as well as the presumably injured man whom they had not seen—all these were members of an international band of robbers, Sandy claimed.
“The man who jumped with the parachute and life preserver must be named Gaston—from what the pilot said to you, Larry,” he went on.
“Then he must be French, maybe,” Dick said.
“Most likely he is,” agreed Larry. “But if he was——”
“Wait till I get to that,” urged Sandy. “Well, they learned, somehow, that Mr. Everdail was in California and his wife was taking the emeralds to London. They didn’t have any conspirator on the yacht—then—or else they would have gotten the real emeralds long ago. So there was just those five in the band—Jeff, Mr. ‘Everdail,’ Gaston, the man we haven’t seen, and the injured pilot.”
“There might have been two gangs, one of three, one of two—or three bands—one of two, one of two, one of one——”
“Don’t poke fun at him, Dick. He argues reasonably so far.”
“Thanks, Larry,” Sandy was grateful. “All right, then, the band planned the work in London, at the hotel—that’s how Jeff knew the emeralds were imitations they poured acid on.”