Part 20 (1/2)

Over at the livery we didn't get much satisfaction.

”He hain't never drove in with the same horse twict,” says the barn-man.

”Sometimes it's a gray, and sometimes it's a bay, and last time it was a black.”

”Didn't recognize any of 'em?” says Mark.

”Nary,” says the man.

And there we were, no better off than we'd been before. If those horses had come from anywheres within ten or fifteen miles of Wicksville that barn-man would have known them, so all we learned was that the Man With the Black Gloves must have come farther than that.

”If we could only trace those horses,” says Mark.

”Which way did he come from?” says I.

”Good for you, Binney,” says Mark. ”That'll help some, if we can f-f-find out.”

We asked around and found out the man drove in from the west. But there was quite a lot of country west of us, as Mark pointed out, reaching right out to the Pacific Ocean, which was a little matter of a couple of thousand miles.

”'Tain't likely he drove from the Pacific,” says I, ”and 'tain't likely he drove more 'n twenty-five or thirty mile.”

”No,” says he, ”'tain't.... We might as well give _that_ up for to-night. I expect Jethro and the Man With the Black Gloves are havin' a m-m-meetin' somewheres.”

”How about that puzzle?” says I. ”The one about where the cat looks and what color is a brick, and all that stuff.”

”I hain't l-looked at it,” says he. ”Let's see what we can make of it.”

He took it out of his pocket and we went to his house and sat down by a lamp.

”'Where p.u.s.s.y looks she walks,' it goes,” says Mark. ”'Thirty and twenty and ten and forty-six. Stop. Ninety degrees in the shade. In. Down.

Across. What color is a brick? Investigate. Believe what tells the truth.' There she is,” says he. ”If you can see any sense to it, Binney, you've got me beat.”

”Let's take it by chunks,” says I. ”That first sentence, now. 'Where p.u.s.s.y looks she walks.' What's there to that? Anything?”

”Huh!” says he. ”Huh!” And then he went to tugging at his ear and scowling. ”If we knew what p.u.s.s.y he was talkin' about we might have some idee.”

”But we don't,” says I.

”Binney,” says he, sober as a judge, but with a twinkle in his little eyes, ”I calc'late you're right for once, though how you come to manage it _I_ don't know. We sure don't know what cat's bein' d-d-discussed.”

”Where she looks she walks,” I says. ”Oh, rats! it's crazy!”

”If,” says Mark, ”it means anythin' at all, it's givin' a direction.

See? If Mr. Wigglesworth left a message and this is it, why, maybe, just for instance, he'd hid somethin'. Eh? And if he hid somethin', why, he wanted somebody to f-f-find it, but he wanted that s-somebody to be the right p-person.”

”Yes,” says I, ”but who's the right person?”

”Rock,” says he.

”How d'you know?” says I.