your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel Alcorta
must be a true man."

Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist
had vanished.

"He's a funny 'un," commented one of the farmers.

"A bit touched, I reckon," said another. "Wot's 'e doin' now to the
other one?"

They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of
the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so
fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both
detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on
the question of Winter's identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Do as I tell you," he hissed. "Of course, I know now that the big fellow
is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of 'em, I tell you. We'll
make a night of it."

"I'll try," said Peters faintly, "but if you stir up that wine so
vigorously I won't answer for the consequences."

Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so
numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men,
and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped
upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra
bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a
sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and
rear of the hotel.

"Well, how did she take it!" inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and
his colleague were safe behind a closed door.

"Sensible girl," said Furneaux. "By the way, Siddle's mother is dead.
Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now."

"I don't quite see why."

"No. You're still muddled after floundering in the mud of South America.
What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in
the cart?"

"How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind
blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the
El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St.
Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side
than I was turned on to the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters,
too, helped as assistant torturer. Wait till he asks me for a 'pointer'
in this or any other case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I'll l