The Mercer boys approached the window, which was open, and looked through the screen. As their shadows fell across the desk the agent looked up. He was a thin old man in a faded blue uniform.
“Hello,” he nodded. “Ticket for where?”
“We’re not in the market right now,” smiled Don. “We’d just like a little information. I suppose you know all of the people and houses around here, don’t you?”
“Hope so,” said the agent. “Been stationmaster here for ten years.”
“Then of course you know them all,” agreed Don. “You were working during the early part of October weren’t you?”
“No,” was the unexpected reply. “I wasn’t. I was sick then, and Tommy Grady was taking my trick. I came down sick about October fourth and I just got around to my work again on the first of November.”
“Then you were here on the third of October?” questioned Jim, eagerly.
“Sure I was. Why?”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother you,” said Don. “No doubt you have been questioned by the detectives.”
The old man stood up, suspicion showing plainly on his face. He looked closely at their uniforms.