“Thank you a thousand times, Dr. Hume,” said Billie gratefully. “I would just like to shake hands with you if I could, but you see I have to guide the ‘Comet.’ It will be a wonderful thing to give a man back his senses after eighteen years.”
“Maybe so; maybe not,” answered the doctor as the car turned into the village street.
They stopped in front of the only hostelry in the place, a cheap two-story wooden house with a horse trough in front of it. Here usually could be found several guides for camping trips and driving parties, and here Dr. Hume looked for help in rescuing Phoebe’s father.
The owner of the house, a thin sallow-faced man with pale shifting eyes came out to speak to them.
“You ain’t meanin’ it’s old crazy Frenchy you’re after?” he asked. “I don’t wonder he’s lost if it’s him.”
“That’s the man,” answered Dr. Hume, “but I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I guess he’s got wind he’s suspected of settin’ Razor Back Mountain on fire and he’s vamoosed. He ought to be shut up anyhow. He’s a dangerous character runnin’ around the country.”
Billie was shocked and angry.
“He is not,” she burst out. “I know Mr.—Mr. French quite well——”
The man broke into a loud rasping laugh.