"The reason I beats it just now," he went on, "is 'cause I thought 'twas Long Jawr, the butler, as was after me. I gotta keep incog with the servants, see. If I'd 'a' knowed it was you as was chasin' me—that's different, see."
Kendrick's questions came in a fusillade. He was more than surprised; he was vaguely alarmed. Wade had said nothing about having placed one of the C.L.S. detectives at Sparrow Lake and the knowledge that such a course had been deemed advisable was disturbing. Why was it necessary to watch the Waring cottage at this peaceful summer resort? The thing was ridiculous.
The detective was ready enough to answer to the best of his ability, but it was soon evident that his own information was limited. Cranston had called him in off another job to tell him that the "Old Man" wanted him for some personal work, and therefore he was excused from officially reporting for an indefinite period. Mr. Wade merely had told him to go and take a holiday at Sparrow Lake—camp out and fish; incidentally, to keep an eye on the cottage which the Warings occupied. He was to report instantly to the president personally if he noted any suspicious characters hanging around and to trail the stranger or strangers without fail. He knew nothing of the reasons for these instructions. He wished all his assignments were "as big a cinch" as this one.
Phil knew that McCorquodale was not concocting a yarn and his face showed his anxiety. He questioned the detective so closely that that worthy was moved to protest.
"Hot tamalies! Y'r auntie aint goin' to get croaked n'r nothin' like that, kid! Not with me here, lookin' after her. What's eatin' y'anyways? Everythin's ridin' along Jake, see. An' speakin' of eatin', s'pose we has a bite. I can give you toast, tea an' a Welsh rabbit or hot dogs, dill pickles——"
Phil smiled at his host's efforts to reassure him. Certainly there was something so quizzically human about the whimsical McCorquodale that in his presence it was difficult to entertain thought of impending trouble. But as Phil toasted the bread on the end of a stick his mind was busy beneath the surface of his camaraderie. He was trying to recall everything Ben Wade had told him that morning they had ridden on the back platform of the president's private car and the exact way he had said it; but there was little which could have any possible bearing upon the need of posting a man at Sparrow Lake.
"Wade's got you workin' on that Nickleby dope, aint he?" enquired McCorquodale after the fire was going beneath the kettle to his satisfaction. "He had me moochin' around on it fer a while, but they're a pretty smooth bunch, them fellers, an' I had to quit final."
"How was that?" asked Kendrick with interest. "Did they catch you at it?"
"Catch me?" repeated McCorquodale with an injured air. "Not me, kid! Y'see, I hires out to that Brady Detective Agency that Nickleby does business with, thinkin' to get right into the middle o' things—walk right in through the front door an' pick up whatever I wanted. But the very first job they puts me on gets me in bad with Brady. They ast me to trail a kid with a tan satchel from the Alderson Construction Company's office over to a lawyer's office an' I did; then they turns around an' says somebody's gone an' swiped what was in the satchel an' blames me for not lookin' after it. But there wasn't nothin' taken out o' that there satchel for I was right behind it all the way. Somethin' damn funny 'bout that."
"What was in it?—in the satchel?"