Little Birdsall sighed; then in a propitiatory tone: “Well, of course, we both think there are other people in the job; I don’t know exactly what you mean by bigger game, but I can make a stagger at it. Now, say, did you get any answer when you wrote to Keatcham himself?”

“Yes,” said the colonel grimly, “I heard. You know the sort of letter I wrote; telling him of our dreadful anxiety and about the lad’s being an orphan; don’t you think it was the sort of letter a decent man would answer, no matter how busy he might be?”

“Sure. Didn’t you get an answer?”

“I did.” The colonel extricated himself from his wrappings enough to find a pale blue envelope, which he handed to Birdsall, at the same time taking the motor handle. “You see; type-written, very polite, chilly sort of letter, kind to make a man hot under the collar and swear at Keatcham’s heartlessness. Mr. Keatcham unable to answer, having been ill since he left San Francisco. Did not see anything of any boy. Probably boy ran away. Has no information of any kind to afford. And the writer is very sincerely mine. The minute[129] I read it I was sure Mercer wrote it; and he wrote it to make me so disgusted with Keatcham I wouldn’t pursue the subject with him. Just the same way he snubbed my aunt; and, for that matter, just the way he tried to snub me on the train. But he missed his mark; I wired every hotel in Santa Barbara and every one in Los Angeles; and Keatcham isn’t there and hasn’t been there. He has a big bunch of mail at Santa Barbara waiting for him, forwarded from Los Angeles, but he hasn’t shown himself.”

[129]

Birdsall shot a glance of cordial admiration at the colonel. “You’re all there, General,” he cried with unquenchable familiarity. “I’ve been trying to call up the Keatcham outfit, and I couldn’t get a line, either. They haven’t used the tickets they bought—their reservations went empty to Los Angeles. Now, what do you make out of that?”

“I make out that Archie is only part of their game,” replied the soldier. “Now see, Birdsall, you are not going to get a couple of rich young college fellows to do just plain kidnapping and scaring women out of their money—”

“Lord, General,” interrupted Birdsall, “those college guys don’t turn a hair at kidnapping;[130] they regularly steal the president of the freshman class, and the things they do at their hazing bees and initiations would make an Apache Indian sit up and take notice. I tell you, General, they’re the 

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