“Mr. Fitler, the detective, don’t think so.”
“He be blowed! He’s good for straight work, but not good for a crooked job like this. I’m goin’ to be detective, and to spend to-morrow night in your cellar. There’s rats there that want to be smelt out. Set down,” he continued, as the merchant looked incredulous. “It won’t be my first night there. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Mr. Leonard’s incredulity changed to intense interest as Will proceeded to describe his former night in the cellar, and what he had seen there.
“Can it be possible?” he cried. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“I was waiting for it to get ripe,” said Will, quietly. “Set still; I ain’t done yet.”
He proceeded with a description of his last evening’s adventure, and of his recognition of the parties concerned, though declining just then to tell who they were.
“But this is most important,” said the merchant, breathlessly. “I must send for Mr. Fitler at once.”
“If you do, I wash my hands clean of it,” said Will. “I ain’t taking no pards in bizness.”
“But we need his advice.”
“We don’t want none of it. I tell you what we do want. We want to keep still tongues. If this thing is talked of, our dog’s dead. I’ll tell you this much—there’s a traitor in the store. If there’s a whisper gets out all our fun goes for nothing. I want to find out how them things are got out of the cellar.”