Wherefore, Bud finally concluded that Foster was not above helping
himself to family property. On the whole, Bud did not greatly disapprove
of that; he was too actively resentful of his own mother-in-law. He was
not sure but he might have done something of the sort himself, if his
mother-in-law had possessed a six-thousand-dollar car. Still, such a
car generally means a good deal to the owner, and he did not wonder that
Foster was nervous about it.
But in the back of his mind there lurked a faint dissatisfaction with
this easy explanation. It occurred to him that if there was going to
be any trouble about the car, he might be involved beyond the point of
comfort. After all, he did not know Foster, and he had no more reason
for believing Foster's story than he had for doubting. For all he knew,
it might not be a wife that Foster was so afraid of.
Bud was not stupid. He was merely concerned chiefly with his own
affairs--a common enough failing, surely. But now that he had thought
himself into a mental eddy where his own affairs offered no new impulse
toward emotion, he turned over and over in his mind the mysterious trip
he was taking. It had come to seem just a little too mysterious to suit
him, and when Bud Moore was not suited he was apt to do something about
it.
What he did in this case was to stop in Bakersfield at a garage that had
a combination drugstore and news-stand next door. He explained shortly
to his companions that he had to stop and buy a road map and that he
wouldn't be long, and crawled out into the rain. At the open doorway
of the garage he turned and looked at the car. No, it certainly did not
look in the least like the machine he had driven down to the Oakland
mole--except, of course, that it was big and of the same make. It might
have been empty, too, for all the sign it gave of being occupied. Foster
and Mert evidently had no intention whatever of showing themselves.
Bud went into the drugstore, remained there for five minutes perhaps,
and emerged with a morning paper which he rolled up and put into his
pocket. He had glanced through its feature news, and had read hastily
one front-page article that had nothing whatever to do with the war, but
told about the daring robbery of a jewelry store in San Francisco the
night before.
The safe, it seemed, had been opened almost in plain sight of the street
crowds, with the lights full on in the store. A clever arrangement of
two movable mirrors had served to shield the thief--or thieves. For no
longer than two or three minutes, it seemed, the lights had been off,
and it was thought that the raiders had used the interval of darkness to
move the mirrors into position. Which went far toward proving that the
crime had been carefully planned in advance. Furthermore, the article
stated with some assurance that trusted employees were involved.