While our hero stalked ahead, stroking his luxuriant
whiskers ever and anon, we pursued him at an interval so great that not
the most alert citizen of Little Arcady could have suspected this
sinister undercurrent to his simple life.
It is a long walk to the cemetery, but we reached it to find Billy
seated on the steps that lead over the fence, still shielded by his
hairy envelope.
"A tough case!" he whispered as we sat by him. "Our man has his spies
out, and my every step is dogged both night and day."
"Indeed?" we asked.
"You know that slim little duck that got in last night, purtendin' he's
a shoe-drummer? Well, he's a detective hired by Potts to shadow me. You
know that big fat one, lettin' on he's agent for the Nonesuch Duplex
Washin' Machine? He's another. You know that slick-lookin' cuss--like a
minister--been here all week, makin' out he was canvassin' for 'The
Scenic Wonders of Our Land' at a dollar a part, thirty-six parts and a
portfoly to pack 'em away in? Well, he's an--"
"Hold on, Billy, let's get down to business," reminded Solon.
"But I've throwed 'em all off for the nonce," continued Billy, looking
closely, I thought, to see if we were rightly affected by "nonce.
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