At these suggestive words from the senator’s son Nat turned pale.
“What do you mean? Have you heard anything, Roger?”
“I hate to hurt your feelings any further, Nat, but I must be honest with you. Dave and I have an idea that he was the one who blew up the dining-room of Sparr’s hotel.”
“Oh, impossible!”
“What Roger says is true,” said Dave, gravely. “I am sorry for you, Nat, but that is the way it looks to us. He was seen around the old stone bridge when it was blown up, and around the shanty where the dynamite was kept, and he has been in Oakdale several times, so we have heard.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do such a thing! He 206 couldn’t!” cried the money-lender’s son, in genuine distress.
“An insane man is liable to do anything, Nat,” said Roger. “Why, he might have set off that dynamite without realizing the consequences. The best thing we can do is to organize a regular search for him, and round him up as quickly as possible.”
“I suppose that is so,” groaned Nat. “But, oh, how I do hate the exposure!”
“You mustn’t take it too hard, Nat,” said Dave. “Remember, neither you nor your family are responsible for his condition of mind.”
It did not take the three students long to reach the little cabin. While Nat was packing up the things he had brought along, Dave and Roger looked over the place. The wild man had had but few things, none of them worth mentioning. There was a newspaper and an old magazine, showing that Wilbur Poole occasionally indulged in reading.