And the Sergeant closed his notebook and saluted with the utmost gravity.
"Well, it's the microbe, all right," said the doctor.
"Yes, and it's No-nose Joe!" said Hector.
Of himself he asked, "Now, how did he get through the pass? And what is he doing here?"
II
The secret service agents of the Police in Black Elk Territory were known only to one man—the Superintendent in command; and the reports they handed in he kept to himself. They came to him for orders, in the middle of the night, unseen by any other living soul. Of their chief's plans, they knew nothing. Each worked independently, without coming into contact with the rest.
One of the most trusted of Hector's agents was Perkins, the gambler of Regina and Qu'appelle, yet a different Perkins, reformed when Hector, returning from Arcady, had told him of his mother's death and shown him whither he was drifting. Perkins now devoted his knowledge of crime to the cause of Justice and was hardier, stronger, cleaner, altogether a better man.
A hint of wintry frost was in the air when Perkins came in one night from Prospect to report.
"Well, Perkins——" this from Hector—"have you watched Greasy Jones?"
"Sure have, sir. First thing, I got a job at the Joyland, a Prospect dance-hall. Greasy visits that place pretty frequent. An' I've got thick with him, sir. I always waits on him. He thinks I'm scart o' him, so he sen's for me—enjoys seein' me sweat fear, I guess."