He scrutinized everything all over again. He left no minutest portion of the mantel, the table, the desk or the window draperies uninspected. A few taps at walls and partitions brought the comment, "No secret entrance, and had there been, you people must have found it 'ere this. It is a satisfaction to find so much of the investigating done already—and thoroughly done."
Hughes bridled with satisfaction, and eagerly watched Stone's further procedure.
Fibsy took his way to the garage, and began a desultory conversation with Campbell, the chauffeur.
"Who's the college perfessor?" he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at a long, lank figure, hovering toward them.
"Him? He's Sam."
"Sam?"
"Yep."
"Don't babble on so! I don't want all his family history. Quit talking, can't you?"
As Campbell had said only a few monosyllables, and as he had the Scotchman's national sense of humor, he merely stared at his interlocutor.
"Oh, well, since you're in a chattering mood, spill a little more. Who's he, in America?"