"Will I? Well, I guess, yes, and only too glad to accommodate such a fine fellow as you are. Listen now. He's short and dark-skinned; looks more like an Italian than a German. Has broad shoulders, and an eye that seems to pierce you through and through. Hair black as tar, nose a trifle hooked. Has a scar like a new moon on his right cheek. Weighs one hundred and seventy pounds. Dressed——"
"That's quite enough, Chief. Thank you for your kindness. If I meet up with Bill I think I'll be apt to know it."
Frank deliberately hung up the receiver. Then he turned and looked into the face of Lanky, who was standing there, a foolish grin marking his features.
"Get that, Lanky?" asked Frank, raising his eyebrows with the question.
"Every word. I could have heard the chief talk if I'd been in the next room."
"Well, what do you think now?" continued Frank.
"Several things. First that I'm next door to a jackass for pounding over here without making sure," replied the other, shrugging his shoulders in disgust.
"Well, we won't try to dispute the assertion of a gentleman who ought to be the best judge about his own standing. What else?" asked Frank, smiling broadly, and winking toward Ralph as he spoke.
"Second, that I'm in for another spell of thinking, for if Bill ain't Brockholt, then he must be somebody else."
"Bright idea. It would seem reasonable, anyway. And you mean that it's still up to you to lie awake nights trying to remember where you could ever have met a fellow who looks like our tramp of Rattail Island; is that it?" continued Frank.