"Gee Joseph! One of your men!"
"Fellow named Latimer."
"What is he doing around here?"
"Covering the tannery end of this affair. Latimer's an artist in more ways than one. When I told him what I wanted, he got two books on modern methods in tanning from the New York Public Library, studied them on the train coming up, and landed a job as easy as you please when Graham and Bolt started to replace the old hands who had left. Snappy work!"
"Gosh. And I thought you were investigating this case single-handed! You're a foxy guy at times, Creighton. Has Latimer learned anything useful?"
"Not to me, I'm sorry to say. The few facts he has turned up seem merely to darken the outlook for Charlie Maxon, that unfortunate prisoner-pent. He appears to be quite as bad an egg as Mr. Norvallis believes."
"Do you suppose Norvallis is making any progress with his case?" inquired Krech.
"He's sitting pretty with the voters!" said Creighton shortly. "By the way, neither Bolt nor Graham knows who Latimer is. Don't tell 'em."
"I won't," promised the big man.
He did, however, after the fashion of husbands, tell his wife that evening after dinner. They were standing together on the front steps of their host's house, having been persuaded with no great difficulty to lengthen their stay by at least another week, and Krech had just lighted a cigar to keep him company while he strolled over to the Varr home.