“About seventy-five miles down the coast.”
“How did you find it out?”
“Mr. Reynolds told me.”
“Mr. Reynolds!” echoed the engineer, “When?”
“When we were there,” replied Jim laughing at the look of astonishment on his companion’s face. “You remember that he told us that the Senor had gone into the northern part of the State.”
“But you just said that San Matteo was ‘down’ the coast.”
“Of course,” responded Jim, a trifle impatiently. “Don’t you see that he wanted me to think that he went the other way from what he did?”
“I see. Then when he said he went north—”
“It was then,” broke in Jim, “that I happened to catch a glimpse of a paper on his desk with a name on it. I wouldn’t have noticed it only for his anxiety to cover it up when I was standing there, and I just caught this much—‘San Mat—’”
“Why do you think it meant San Matteo?”