Meanwhile at Camp Sterling, Saturday and Sunday passed uneventfully for Jimmy’s bunkies. Following Retreat on Monday afternoon Bob was called to the company post-office to sign for and receive a special delivery letter. He rushed back to barracks in a state of jubilant excitement. Calling Iggy and Roger to him, he read it to them just above a whisper. It was from his newspaper friend in Chicago. He had gone out to look up Eldridge on the same day he had received the letter. It had been no trouble to gather information concerning the man. He had gone straight to the given address, and inquired for Eldridge, pretending to be an old acquaintance who had lost track of him. He had been received by the man’s sister and by adroit questioning he had learned much. Eldridge, it seemed, had been a prescription clerk in a drug store until shortly before his enlistment.
Obtaining the name of the druggist from the sister, he had later that day visited the store and learned that Eldridge had been discharged by his employer for reasons which the druggist declined to state. He characterized Eldridge as a sneak and unreliable. The writer of the letter ended by saying that he hoped the data would be of use to Bob in helping to clear Schnitzel.
“I’ve found out now the thing I wanted to know most. It’s a safe bet that Eldridge furnished the poison list. A prescription clerk would of course understand a lot about poisons and their effects. He’d be pretty sure to know typing, too. Most medicine labels are typed.”
“What shall you do about it?” asked Roger. “Put it up to Eldridge he’ll just deny it.”
“I shan’t stop at him. I’m going to the K. O. after mess to-night. What I’ve discovered isn’t much but it may help some. He’ll send for Eldridge and maybe get out of him what I couldn’t. I’m going out now to get a paper before every last one of ’em is gobbled up.”
So saying, Bob tucked his letter into his pocket, grabbed his hat and hurried off to the canteen. Stopping to glance at the newspaper he had just purchased, he vented a wild whoop, waved it over his head and raced for barracks.
“Oh, Glory! Blazes has done it!” he caroled, regardless of the noise he was making. “Just listen to this: ‘Corporal Blaise Leaps Off a Moving Train after Deserter.’ What do you think of that? Oh, you Blazes!” Bob pranced about, flapping the paper.
“What’s the latest?” called a man from across the squad room. “Has Bill committed suicide?”
“Not yet. Come over and bring your friends. This is too good to keep.”