"I just
got into town. It's blame cold out." He set his hand-bag on the bar,
saying to the bartender, "Keep my gripsack back there awhile, Mick, will
yuh? I got to git somethin' into me 'fore I go up-stairs. Gimme a plate
o' soup on that table, an' the whisky bottle. Will you join me, sir? Two
plates o' soup, an' two glasses with the whisky bottle. Set down, set
down, sir. Make yourself at home."
Larcher obeyed, and as soon as the old man's overcoat was off, and the
old man ready for conversation, plunged into his subject.
"Do you know what's become of my friend Davenport?" he asked, in a low
tone.
"No. Hope he's well and all right. What makes you ask like that?"
"Haven't you read of his disappearance?"
"Disappearance? The devil! Not a word! I been too busy to read the
papers. When was it?"
"Several weeks ago." Larcher recited the main facts, and finished thus:
"So if there isn't a mistake, he was last seen going into your hallway.
Did he have a key to your room?"
"Yes, so's he could draw pictures while I was away. My hallway? Let's
go and see."
In some excitement, without waiting for partiallars, the farmer rose
and led the way out. It was already quite dark.
"Oh, I don't expect to find him in your room," said Larcher, at his
heels. "But he may have left some trace there."
Mr. Bud turned into the hallway, of which the door was never locked till
late at night. The hallway was not lighted, save as far as the rays of a
street-lamp went across the threshold.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125