“They’ll say Old Stony was ungrateful,” Mr. Walz completed. “And he was!”
From the shifty look of the motel operator’s eyes, the Scouts judged that he had checked himself on the verge of saying something entirely different. Though they had no evidence, it struck them that in all probability over the years Jarrett Walz had profited quite handsomely from the old prospector’s unpaid labor.
“Any information on Stony’s attacker?” Mr. Livingston inquired.
“No. I talked briefly with a police officer at the hospital. Stony died from a heart attack, not the results of the blow.”
“So there will be no investigation?”
“Oh, a routine one,” Jarrett Walz answered with a shrug, “but whoever slugged Stony probably hopped a train and blew out of town.”
The Scouts were convinced that the motel owner had succeeded in discouraging any police investigation. Publicity no doubt would harm his business. Though they did not like the way he had handled the affair, they told themselves it really was none of their concern.
“Well, boys, we may as well get back to our own camp,” Mr. Livingston suggested, edging toward the door.
Jarrett Walz did not move aside.
“Just a minute,” he said. “I’ll appreciate an explanation before you go.”