Frank gave a start. Then he asked:
“What does this Joe Tweed look like, Mr. Bowers? Will you describe him, please.”
“He’s a large man, dresses pretty well, smooth-faced, looks like an actor. He is a very smooth talker. Has a small, blue scar under his left ear.”
Bart was disappointed.
“Bunker’s not the man,” he said, regretfully.
“We have seen no such man as you describe,” declared Merriwell. “He has not been here.”
“It’s strange,” declared the sheriff. “Proctor said he saw him around here yesterday afternoon. Proctor was coming over from Turner’s about the middle of the afternoon, and, as he was running past this point, he said he saw Tweed come out of the woods. When Tweed saw Proctor’s boat, he turned round and made into the bushes in a hurry. That looks as if he had some sort of hiding place round here.”
“With the exception of Hans, we were all over to Camp Benson yesterday afternoon. Hans was here alone. Did you see anybody prowling around here yesterday, Hans?”
“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans, turning pale. “You pet I didn’d seen nopodys! Uf I knew nopodys vos browling around here, I vould been so scat dot you vould had heart vailure! Und id vos a roppers? Py Chorch! you don’d got me to stayed here some more all alone myseluf by!”
The Dutch lad’s fear and excitement was genuine, and it impressed the men more than anything Merriwell had said.