Alec—what happened to him, I wonder!" he muttered. "And not a thing to go on. Deed to the property lost. No way of finding its location. Never recorded the deed. How was that deed lost? The letter was mailed here. It must have been in the letter. Therefore—but I've no proof. Hell! Once let me get a grip on something definite!"
He seized his glasses impatiently, donned them, and left the room. Outside he almost ran into Miss Gilman. She greeted him brightly.
"Good morning, sir! I hope your digestion is better today?"
"No, it's worse." Tompkins smiled. "Please remember to say nothing of my remarks."
"I'll have no chance," she returned. "We're leaving after breakfast tomorrow. Mr. Foster—otherwise Hassayamp—is taking me over toward those hills in the east. He knows of a splendid location for my chicken-ranch. Pinecate Mesa—isn't that a romantic name?"
"Very," said Tompkins gravely. "Very romantic. It means tumblebug. I may be going in that direction myself, so I'll hope to see you again."
And before she could say yea or nay to this, he went on his way.
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