“Wanted? You heard what he said, didn’t you?” said Bill Warner. “He wanted Bill Smith.”
“Bah!” exploded Jack. “The first name on the tip of his tongue—Bill Smith! He wanted to see what was going on in here, most likely.”
“I’m an ass not to have followed that fellow,” announced John. “Of course, he might have wanted Bill Smith; but there was something about the look of him that made me doubt it, even while he was standing there.”
“What did he look like?”
“Oh, a stage villain. Big nose and moustache—and a funny grin. But I couldn’t see much through the screen door.”
“A tramp?” suggested one.
John shook his head.
“Too well dressed—or ‘dressed up,’ if you know what I mean. More like a rough-neck.”
“Then what the deuce could he want here, if not to find Bill Smith?” persisted Bill Warner.
John only shrugged his shoulders, and thrusting his hands into his trousers’ pockets, commenced pacing up and down the room. The rest sat quite still, turning the occurrence over in their minds.