Undoubtedly the reticence of both of them was merciful; to heap this crowning burden upon Chief Mern’s bewilderment in regard to the actions of a trusted employee would have disqualified him mentally for other cases which were coming along.
Crowley loafed diligently at the Vose-Mern offices when he was not out on duty; there was no knowing when he might be able to turn a trick for the good of the concern by being on hand, he told himself, and for one of his bovine nature all waiting around was easy and all stalls were alike.
Therefore, one day he was on hand to rush a quick tip to the chief. Crowley turned his back on a caller who entered the main office; the bulletin bearer hurried into Mern’s presence.
“It’s the big boy from the bush—Latisan!”
“Ugly?”
“I didn’t wait to see.”
“You have told me straight, have you, about his being a bad actor when he’s riled?”
“That’s the real dope on him, Chief. Don’t let him in to see you—that’s my advice.”
Mern took a little time for thought, inspecting his operative narrowly.
“I ain’t intending to butt in, you understand,” apologized Crowley, reddening.