“Not a thing,” confessed Riddle, as he lay back lazily and puffed at his cigar.
“But you—you are working him! I know it!”
“Tried to,” coolly admitted Riddle. “No go. He’s a clam. Won’t talk at all. Couldn’t get him to answer questions, but he turned round and started in asking me questions. Seemed suspicious. Wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t smoke, wouldn’t do anything. What sort of a bird has Haley found, anyhow?”
There was a mild disgust in the baffled fellow’s manner and voice.
A look of satisfaction came to Lawrence’s face.
“So you didn’t get anything out of him?” he said, beginning to smile.
“Not a blamed thing,” acknowledged Riddle.
“I compliment you, Merriwell!” exclaimed Lawrence, heartily. “You have started in well on your new duties. You’ll have to do considerable talking sometimes; but there will be other times when you’ll need to keep your mouth closed. If you talk as well as you have started in to keep still, you are a winner. The laugh is on you, Riddle.”
“That’s right. What’ll you have?”
“A little brandy will do me. I’ve been off my feet, you know.”