“Still it is only circumstantial evidence against him,” reasoned Bob. “And we had better have more before we accuse him.”
“Of course,” agreed Ned. “I think—”
“Which of you boys happens to be Ned Slade?” interrupted a voice, and the boys turned to see a short, stout fussy man gravely regarding them.
“Ah, I thought so,” he remarked as Ned gave an involuntary start. “Then you are the one I want to see.”
“What for?” asked the owner of the name.
“Well—er—I don’t like to speak of it in public.”
“I haven’t anything to conceal,” spoke Ned.
“Then if you haven’t I haven’t,” said the little man. “I’m Sheriff Blackwell of Peterstown, and I want to talk to you about a robbery.”
“What! Not the robbery of Mr. Judson’s mill?” asked Ned, greatly excited. “Why I—”