“Great Scott!” said Ellery.
“Great Barry, say I. Now it may be my historic sense, or it may be mere curiosity, but I mean to hunt up the personal history of those hundred-odd strangers who died forlorn and lonely within our gates.”
“Work quietly, Dick, and get your facts well in hand.”
“I intend to. But when I have it all, don’t you suppose your chief, Lewis, will be willing to publish the record?”
“I hope so.”
“I dare say the day will come when Barry and I shall cease to be friends,” said Dick cheerfully. “One must submit to the inevitable. But let’s keep the papers dribbling out information to the public. By the time the coroner story is finished, I expect to have another ready.”
“Tell me.”
“Not yet. What used old Eddy to preach to us in rhetoric? ‘Before you attempt composition, be sure that you have a rounded thought.’ This isn’t round, it’s elliptical. Big Olaf is a friend useful. He’s a shrewd fellow, who’s been looking stupid for some time. The ‘bunch’ hasn’t been treating him square. You can guess what that means. Anyway, he is sore as well as shrewd, and now I fancy he belongs to me.”
Norris turned with a start and stared Dick in the face.
“How did you get possession of him?” he asked sharply.