“Thanks,” Reynolds replied, as he lifted one from the box, and proceeded at once to light it.  This reception was so different from what he had expected that he hardly knew what to think.  Anyway, the first move was favorable, and that was a good token.

“You left me very abruptly last night,” Weston charged, looking keenly at the young man.

“I certainly did,” and Reynolds smiled.  “But sometimes there is a virtue in abruptness, especially——­”

“Especially what?” Weston queried, as Reynolds hesitated.  “Go on.”

“When a situation becomes tense and awkward.”

“And you think it was so last night?”

“I am sure of it.”

“What is your reason?”

“My own common sense.”

Weston was silent for a few seconds, and puffed steadily at his cigar.  Reynolds watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondered what was passing through his mind.

“Have the Indians been telling you anything?” Weston presently asked.

“About what?”

“Curly, and what happened to him?”

“Nothing.  Didn’t I tell you so last night?”

“I know you did, but I can hardly believe it.  Are you sure?”

“I am positive.  They were as silent and mysterious as the Sphinx.  You deserve great credit, sir, for the way you have them trained.”

This seemed to relieve Weston, and he even smiled.

“I was afraid they had been telling you something, but I am thankful to know that they can be trusted.  But, see here, someone must have told you.  Was it Glen or Nannie?”

“Oh, no; they are not to blame.”

“Well, then, how in the world did you find out?”

“And so I was right?” Reynolds asked.

Weston removed the cigar from his mouth, and looked curiously at his visitor.

“Were you not sure?” he queried.

“Not at all,” and Reynolds laughed.  “I was not sure last night, though I am now.”

A sudden cloud overspread Weston’s face, which, passed away, however, almost instantly.

“I wish I had known this sooner, young man.  You would not have got off so easily, let me tell you that.  I was positive that you understood everything.  But tell me, what led you to suspect the truth about Curly?”

“That you had not burned him alive?”

“Yes.”

Reynolds deliberately removed the band from his cigar, and laid it carefully in the ash-tray.  He was enjoying Weston’s perplexity, which he believed was a new experience for this autocrat of Glen West.  What a story he would have to tell his old friend Harmon.  The editor would surely forgive him for going on what he called “a wild-goose chase,” instead of searching for the missing Henry Redmond.  What a write-up all this would make for his paper.

“Did you hear what I said?” Weston’s voice was somewhat impatient.

“I beg your pardon,” Reynolds apologized.  “My mind was wool-gathering.  You asked what led me to suspect the truth about Curly, did you not?”