"It
breaks my heart to have nothing to report, when I see her. She's really
an angel of a girl."
They emerged to the street, and Mr. Bud's mind recurred to the stranger
he had run against in the hallway. When they had reseated themselves in
the saloon, and the soup had been brought, the old man said to the
bartender:
"I see there's a new roomer, Mick?"
"Where?" asked Mick.
"In the house here. Somewheres up-stairs."
"If there is, he's a new one on me," said Mick, decidedly.
"What? _Ain't_ there a new roomer come in since I was here last?"
"No, sir, there ain't there."
"Well, that's funny," said Mr. Bud, looking to Larcher for comment. But
Larcher had no thought just then for any subject but Davenport, and to
that he kept the farmer's attention during the rest of their talk. When
the talk was finished, simultaneously with the soup, it had been agreed
that Mr. Bud should "nose around" thereabouts for any confirmation of
Lafferty's theory, or any trace of Davenport, and should send for Larcher
if any such turned up.
"I'll be in town a week ur two," said the old man, at parting. "I
been kep' so long up-country this time, 'count o' the turkey
trade--Thanksgivin' and Chris'mas, y'know. I do considerable in poultry."
But some days passed, and Larcher heard nothing from Mr. Bud. A few of
the newspapers published Detective Lafferty's unearthings, before Larcher
had time to prepare Miss Kenby for them. She hailed them with gladness as
pointing to a likelihood that Davenport was alive; but she ignored all
implications of probable guilt on his part.
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