“I ain’t going to tell no lie,” said Tripp doggedly. “I found this here bottle in the bureau-drawer of number fourteen a few days ago.”
“Fourteen? That’s the room Mr. Willard had,” said Mr. Taylor, reflectively.
“Yessir, but he didn’t leave them there. They were there before. I seen ’em, and I knew that hatchet-faced hardware man left ’em; then Mr. Willard, he come, but he didn’t swipe ’em, so I did. That ain’t no harm, is it?”
“Not a bit,” said Fleming Stone, “since you’ve told the truth about it, and here’s a dollar for your honesty. And I’m going to ask you not to say anything more about the matter, for a few days at least. Also I’m going to ask to be allowed to take a look at room number fourteen.”
“Certainly, sir. Tripp, show the gentleman up,” and Mr. Taylor fairly rubbed his hands with satisfaction to think that he and his premises were being made use of by the great detective.
“Yessir. It’s at the back of the house, sir. This way, sir.”
Mr. Stone’s survey of the room was exceedingly brief. He gave one glance around, looked out of the only window it contained, tried the key in the lock, and then expressed himself satisfied.
Tripp, disappointed at the quickly-finished performance, elaborately pointed out the exact spot where he had found the cachou bottle, but Mr. Stone did not seem greatly interested.
However, the interview was financially successful to Tripp, and after Mr. Stone’s departure he turned several hand-springs by way of expressing his satisfaction with the detective gentleman.