"What do you make of it?" he asked.
"Treachery," said Tom, emphatically. "But who'da thought it of Mr.
Rollins?"
They looked at each other puzzled.
"I wish I knew whom he spoke to by radio and what he said," declared
Jack.
"Wish I'da listened," mourned Tom.
Both stood silent. Suddenly the still night was shattered by a series
of racketing explosions. Jack sprang for the door.
"Remedios's flivver," he cried to his companion. "There isn't another
car in the world can cough like that."
By the time he had emerged from the radio station the car could be
heard shooting away down the desert trail toward Ransome.
"Too late," said Jack, disgustedly. "He's gone. I should have
surprised them together."
He thought a moment, then turned to the other.
"Listen, Tom," said he. "Not a word about all this. I think I'll not
let Rollins know that I suspect him, but will talk this over first
with my friends. And if he comes here to radio again listen to him,
and report to me what he says."
"All right," said the big ex-cowboy. Then as a new idea occurred to
him, he asked: "But how about tellin' my side pard, Dave? He's on duty
days. He oughta know, too."
"I don't know Dave as well as I do you," said Jack.
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