“I always prefer to finish my work in my own way,” said the investigator.  “Osborne, as soon as he heard of Locke, through Sagon, wanted to take up the trail.  But I convinced him that he’d better leave it to me.”

Pendleton clapped on his hat.

“I’m with you,” said he, “but where do you expect to find him?”

Ashton-Kirk rang for Stumph and ordered the car; then he replied: 

“We’ll more than likely find him at home.  Burgess followed him back to Cordova, last night.”

They went down and climbed into the car, and were soon on the road.

A little distance from the Mercer Institute they came upon a compact looking man seated upon the top rail of a fence, chewing at a straw.  He wore heavy, much-splashed boots and a sun-scorched suit of clothes.

“Ah,” said Ashton-Kirk, “I see Burgess is still on the job.”

“Burgess,” echoed Pendleton.  He looked at the man upon the fence in surprise; except for the very broad shoulders there was no resemblance.

However, Burgess grinned amiably through a rather neglected growth of beard.

“I expected you along about this time,” said he, to the investigator.

“Is everything all right?” asked Ashton-Kirk.

“He’s still there,” answered Burgess, and he nodded toward a house with a peaked and slated roof which stood some little distance up an intersecting road.  It was the same house through the window of which Pendleton had seen Edyth Vale some nights previously, but, somehow, it seemed strange and unfamiliar in daylight.

“I can see three sides of it from here,” went on Burgess.  “And if he dropped out of one of the windows on the fourth side I could sight him before he’d gone fifty yards.  You may be sure he’s there, all right.”

“You’ve heard of what took place last night, I suppose?”

Burgess tapped a folded newspaper at his breast pocket.

“So has Locke,” said he.  “Apparently his orders are to furnish him with the papers as soon as they arrive.  A man from the Institute building brought one to him more than an hour ago.”

Just then Ashton-Kirk noted far up the road upon which Locke’s house stood, a very small buggy, drawn by an equally small horse.  In the buggy sat a man whose huge bulk seemed to bulge out beyond its sides.  Arriving before Locke’s house, the small horse stopped, as though from habit.  Then with a mighty effort, the fat man rolled out and waddled to the gate.  He pressed and re-pressed the button; but no one answered.

Ashton-Kirk looked at his assistant.

“Are you quite sure that our man is there,” asked he.

Burgess chewed his straw calmly.

“I’m positive of it,” said he.

The fat man now entered at the gate and going to the front door, tried it.  But it was evidently fast, and he turned away.  Hesitating for a moment, he laboriously approached the work shop, the roof of which could be seen through the trees.  Apparently the result was the same here, for in a very few minutes he was seen to waddle back to his buggy and climb in with much effort.  Then the small horse ambled forward while the fat man leaned back in great distress.