This devilish
conspiracy has been plotted for a long while. There must be a dozen
involved in it, one way or another, but, as near as I can learn, the
chief devil, the brains of the gang, is the fellow named Hobart. Have you
known him--long?"
She hesitated, and West glanced aside wonderingly. Would she venture to
deny her knowledge of the man?
"No," she said at last doubtfully, "not unless his other name was Jim.
There was a fellow they called Jim. He was my jailer after that woman
locked me into a room."
"A woman? The same one who was with you on the yacht?"
"Yes."
"Where was this?"
"Why surely you must know. In that cottage where we stopped with Percival
Coolidge."
He drew a deep breath, more thoroughly puzzled than ever. What could be
her purpose to make so bold an effort to deceive? Did she imagine for a
moment that he could be made to believe she had been continuously held
prisoner since that Sunday morning? It was preposterous. Why, he had seen
her again and again with his own eyes; had talked with her, and so had
Sexton. His heart sank, but he determined to go on, and learn how far she
would carry this strange tale. Perhaps out of the welter he could discern
some truth.
"The fellow's name is Jim, all right, Jim Hobart. I've looked him up in
the police records. He is a confidence man, with one charge of assault
with attempt to kill against him. Nothing lately, however; it seems he
disappeared about ten years ago, and has just drifted back.
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