“See if you can resuscitate him, Merriwell. The sooner we could—ah—relieve Randall of the unfortunate difficulties surrounding him, the better.”
Merry knelt over Bully and raised his head, shaking his shoulders in no very gentle fashion. Bully grunted and opened his eyes in a dazed manner. At the same instant a small, very much flustered man pushed through the group.
“Hello, here’s Hostetter now,” announced the constable. “Colonel Gunn, this is him.”
“I heard that Carson had been found,” exclaimed Hostetter. “Nothing has happened to him, I trust?”
Bully answered for himself. Sitting up suddenly and pushing Merry away, he glanced around with dull and yet frightened eyes.
“Who’s that?” he muttered thickly. “Where’s Hostetter?”
“Right here, old man,” cried the little laundryman fervently. “Have you managed to locate my pocketbook? You know you said this morning that you might be able to get a clew.”
“Nothin’ doin’,” said Bully thickly. “I must ’a’ been asleep—it was that there glass o’ water, I’ll bet a dollar!”
He tried to get to his feet, Chip assisting him, but stumbled and fell back. As he did so, a long black object fell from his pocket. Hostetter pounced on it with a shrill yell.
“My wallet! How——”