He squinted a long time at the row of numbers and letters written across the otherwise blank page. He turned back a leaf or two, and appeared to study the addresses written thereon. "Yes," he muttered. "Writ down in pencil. All the rest in ink. He most always _does_ carry a fountain pen." "No doubt about that knife being his, too, is there?" insisted the detective eagerly. "I couldn’t say. I give it as my opinion that I shall have to think it over purt’ serious afore I can say one way or another." "You don’t claim," the detective said in some heat, "that there are so many fellows around here wearing platinum watch chains that you can’t guess?" "Oh, sugar! I wouldn’t take so much for granted, if I was you, Mister. I don’t ’low ary one o’ them burglars belonged around here." "How do you explain that address book?" snapped the other. "Left right on that ledge beside the vault door. And the combination written in it." "Say, Mister," Tobias rejoined gravely, "seems to me I ain’t got to explain it. You are the detective, not me. I’ve come across lots of things in this world o’ toil and trouble that I couldn’t begin to explain." "You’re stalling," said the detective harshly. "That is what you are doing. And it won’t help this fellow any. Where is he? Have you seen him around here this morning?" "I cal’late I ain’t," said Tobias, shaking his head. "Is it true what they say, that he’s run away?" A slow red climbed the lightkeeper’s wind-tanned cheek. Even his hairy ear became inflamed. Lorna, who was watching him breathlessly, knew that this dark flush signaled wrath—and Tobias was not prone to lose his temper easily. "Lemme tell you something, Mister Man," he finally rasped. "I give it as my opinion that you air one o’ them ’dead-sure’ fellows. You know more than the Creator that made ye—or you think you do." "I’m here to investigate this burglary," interposed the detective. "Investigate all you dern please!" exclaimed Tobias. "But don’t you come here and try to trip me up, fur I’m purt’ sure-footed. I’ve gone as far as I’m going to. That is, until I know more than I do now. That there book probably belongs to Mr. Ralph Endicott. That leetle gold knife may belong to him, too. Further than that I can’t and won’t say." "They tell me down at the village that he’s skipped out." "I don’t know nothing about that." "Is that the house his folks live in—that second one up there on the bluff?" "Yes." "Well, I’ll go up there and see what they know about him. I guess I’ll learn something." "I cal’late you will," rejoined Tobias, with scorn. "I cal’late that if you see Professor Henry Endicott and tell him his nephew is a bank burglar you—an’ Arad Thompson, too—will l’arn more than you expect. I shouldn’t wonder." The detective tramped away across the sandflat. Tobias secured his bandana and mopped his heated brow.