"Aha," said Barnes chidingly: "politely escorted from the grounds, I
see. If you had asked me I could have told you that trespassers are
not welcome."
"He is a nice old man. I chatted with him for nearly an hour. His
business is to shoo gipsy moths away from the trees, or something like
that, and not to shoo nice, tender young ladies off the place."
"Does he speak English?"
"Not a word. He speaks nothing but the most awful American I've ever
heard. He has lived up there on the mountain for sixty-nine years, and
he has eleven grown children, nineteen grandchildren and one wife. I'm
hungry."
The coroner's inquest over the bodies of Roon and Paul was held that
afternoon at St. Elizabeth. Witnesses from Hart's Tavern were among
those to testify. The verdict was "Murder at the hands of parties
unknown."
Sprouse did not appear at the Tavern until long after nightfall. His
protracted absence was the source of grave uneasiness to Barnes, who,
having been summoned to St. Elizabeth, returned at six o'clock primed
and eager for the night's adventure.
The secret agent listened somewhat indifferently to the latter's
account of his telephonic experiences. At nine o'clock he yawned
prodigiously and announced that he was going to bed, much to the
disgust of Mr.
Pages:
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231