ABOUT THE THIRD SUSPECT.
Nestor laughed at the puzzled boy's exclamation and sat for some time
looking down on the dim camp-fire near the tents he had visited a short
time before. The night was cloudless, with a slight wind blowing from
the west. Now and then the sound of hoarse voices came from the peaks
above.
"The Mexican knocked off his heel there," he finally said, "and Scoby
left his coat-button. They might just as well have left their cards in
the papers they examined."
"What papers were they?"
"The Tolford estate papers."
"Yes, of course. The Mexican wanted to know something about the buried
mine," Frank said. "We're getting at the motive now."
"Now, this third visitor," Nestor went on, "as I have said, went there
on business--on business connected with a contract for the purchase of
firearms and ammunition. Mr. Cameron undoubtedly opened the door to
admit him after he had locked himself in. The door might not have been
locked again that night, but that is immaterial at present. This third
man, whom we may as well call Don Miguel, the diplomat, was not in the
building when I got there. The others were."
"Then why didn't you have them both pinched?" demanded Frank.
"Partly because they were in the building," was the reply. "If they
had been possessed of guilty consciences, they would have run away. At
least, it looks that way to me. You see, this Don Miguel might have
struck the blow and left the offices open and at the mercy of the
others. Now you see how useless it is to draw hasty conclusions."
"That's so. He might," Frank admitted.
"No trouble to get Scoby, anyway," said Nestor. "He is asleep in that
tent, and here are more exhibits in the case--another Grand Army button
and another raveling. I cut them from Scoby's coat as he lay asleep
over there."
"You never had the nerve to go into the tent?" asked Frank.
"They are all asleep," was the reply, "so I ran no risk in going in,
and it was easy to crawl under the canvas. The Mexican we had been
talking about--Felix, Jimmie calls him--is also there, with six or
seven rough-looking fellows, probably miners. It is easy to imagine
what they are here for."
"They got the description out of the safe, and are going to the mine,"
exclaimed Frank. "I believe they attacked Mr. Cameron in order to get
the description. The man you call Don Miguel would have no motive in
attacking him, would he?"
"We'll see about that later on," was the reply. "So far as I can see
through it, the case stands as it did before, with three men in the
suspect row."
"Gather them in, then," advised Frank. "Send for the soldiers and have
these two pinched. Then go to New York, or wherever this third man
is, and have him pinched, too. That will clear the atmosphere a
little."
"I have an idea," Nestor said, "that this Felix went to New York on
purpose to get the mine paper, or a copy of it. He probably had a
description of his own, which would not take him to the mine, and went
to the Cameron building hoping that he could get the one in the estate
papers, and that the two of them, his own and the other, would enable
him to reach his goal." "I reckon you have that right," Frank said,
"and he got Scoby to work with him."
"I'm going to let him go ahead with his search," the patrol leader
said. "He may show the way to the mine. Anyway, it is a chance worth
taking. Otherwise, I might, as you advise, arrest him and the watchman
with him. But here, again, this third suspect intervenes."
"You appear to think a lot of this third man," grinned Frank.
"Naturally," Nestor replied, "since he is the man who brought me to
Mexico."
"You're getting to be a puzzle," exclaimed Frank. "I thought the
safety of Fremont was the main thing, with the mine a close second."
"I might have hidden Fremont in New York, and the mine matter could
have waited."
"Is this Don Miguel here?"
"He is expected here. I came down to meet him."
"Hope you'll know him when he comes."
"There will be no trouble about that," was the reply. "I know about
how the fellow looks. And I rather think he will recognize me."
"He may see you first," suggested Frank.
"If he does, I probably won't see him at all. Well, I must take
chances on that. I thought this might be his camp when I came down
here."
"What is he coming here for?"
"To kick up a row."
"And is he going to succeed in doing it?"
"That is more than I can say at present."
"I wish you wouldn't be so mysterious," cried the boy. "You've told me
all about the other two, why not tell me about this one?"
"There are international reasons," was the grave reply.
"Oh!" exclaimed Frank. "That's why you're hand-in-glove with the army,
and why you're in the code row. Say, but you've told me all about how
the others were identified as having been in the Cameron suite, now
tell me something about this Don Miguel, if you can. Has he got a
short leg, or a withered hand, or a long shoe heel? Go on and tell me
how he looks and acts, if you can."
"Well, he's a dusky, slender fellow," Nestor laughed, "and shows
culture and education. He dined at a lobster palace that night and
wore evening clothes. He went directly to the Cameron building from
the restaurant, using a taxicab and speaking both French and Spanish,
as well as English, to the driver. He is a good dresser, and
ordinarily a discreet man, yet he left a schedule of firearms in the
Cameron suite when he left. He should have taken that with him."
Frank eyed his companion curiously, his face eager in the moonlight,
his right hand rubbing his forehead, as if trying to scour away the
cobwebs.
"Quit your kidding," he said.
"It is only a question of observation and inquiry," laughed Nestor.
"There is no Sherlock Holmes business about it."
"And you think this man in evening dress will come down here and mix
with these ragged bums?"
"I think he will come down here," was the reply.
Frank watched the small camp-fire below, just touching with red light
the tents Nestor had so successfully entered a short time before. The
logic of the case seemed to be sound enough. Any one of the three men
might have committed the crime with which Fremont was charged.
Two of the three were sleeping in that tent, while the third one was
expected. What connection could there be between the man in evening
dress and the sullen Scoby and the villainous Felix? What significance
could there be in the schedule of firearms he had left in the suite?
How were the attack on Cameron, the matter of the hidden mine, and the
matter of international importance associated together? These questions
and many others presented themselves to the boy as he watched the fire
die out and waited for Nestor to go on.
"This third man is a diplomat, is he?" he finally asked. "Does that
mean that he is in the diplomatic service of some government, and that
he is acting here in that capacity?"
"Something like that," was the reply, "though it might be difficult to
get any government to father the mission he is really on. He claims, I
understand, to be acting for a junta. At least, he has not brought any
government into the affair so far, that I know of."
"Well, what does he want?"
"His benevolent purpose is to bring on a war between Mexico and the
United States," was the astonishing reply.
"I don't think he's next to his job as a statesman, then," observed
Frank, "unless he wants to see Mexico cleaned out."
"However that may be, he believes that a raid on Texas soil from this
side of the river would provoke our government to an invasion, as it
probably would."
"I should hope so."
"And he believes, too, that in such an emergency the Mexican federals
and insurrectos would join hands in fighting the common enemy."
"That is quite likely. He's got that figured out in good form,"
laughed Frank. "I guess he isn't such a dub, after all."
"He is probably right in the supposition that such a war would stop the
fighting over here--that is, the fighting as it is now going on. He
seeks peace in his own land at the risk of a war with our country."
"Then he ought to be shot," declared the boy.
"He was negotiating with Mr. Cameron for the purchase of firearms and
ammunition," Nestor went on. "His people haven't got the guns, and Mr.
Cameron dealt in them."
"I see. Go on--faster," cried the excited boy.
"He went to the office that night hoping to convince Mr. Cameron that
he ought to sell him the arms he wanted. He doubtless expected to
leave the office with a signed contract for what he wanted--arms and
ammunition enough to make the proposed raid at least formidable. He
failed. Mr. Cameron would not sell the arms, knowing that they were to
be used against his own country."
"Good boy! Hope he gets well."
"Then this diplomat probably asked for the correspondence which had
been carried on between the two men. He doubtless feared that Mr.
Cameron would reveal the plot to the government, as he would have done."
"Say," cried Frank, "this is getting pretty swift."
"It has been swift from the start," replied the other.
"Did this diplomat get the arms of some one else?" asked the boy,
presently.
"I don't know, but it is believed that he did."
"And is coming here with them?"
"Unless they are stopped at the border."
"Then," Frank said, soberly, "I know what all these men are gathering
here for. I know what they are waiting for--guns."
"I'm afraid you are right."
"Does the War department know?"
"Certainly."
"You found out about it and told Washington by wire?"
Frank reached forward and seized Nestor's hand and shook it as if he
expected to keep it in his grasp forever.
"I know you did," he said. "You needn't say a word."
"The War department has the letters," said Nestor, "the letters the
diplomat did not secure from Mr. Cameron. I don't know why he did not
get them, I'm sure. They were in a drawer of the big desk. It is quite
probable, however, that he was frightened away, as the others were.
That must have been quite early in the evening, and who it was that
scared him away is what is puzzling me."