It was not much when all told, but Mr. Holtz consumed a full hour in telling it.
Jim Long had been so frequently at the hotel since the advent of Blake and Dimber Joe, that mine host had remarked upon the circumstance, and, only two days ago, had rallied Jim upon his growing social propensities.
Whereupon, Jim had taken him aside, "quite privately and mysteriously," and confided to him the fact that he, Jim, had very good reason for believing Blake and Dimber, or, as my informer put it, "The gent in gray and the other stranger," to be detectives, who were secretly working in the interest of 'Squire Brookhouse.
What these very good reasons were, Jim had declined to state. But he had conjured Mr. Holtz to keep silent about the matter, as to bring the "detectives" into notice would be to impair their chances of ultimate success.
Mr. Holtz had promised to keep the secret, and he had kept it—two days. He should never think of mentioning the matter to any of his neighbors, he assured me fervently, as they, for the most part, being already much excited over the recent thefts, could hardly be expected to keep a discreet silence; but I, "being a stranger, and a different person altogether," might, in Mr. Holtz's opinion, be safely trusted.
I assured Mr. Holtz that he might rely upon me as he would upon himself, and he seemed quite satisfied with this rather equivocal statement.
Having heard all that mine host could tell, I remained in further conversation with him long enough to avoid any appearance of abruptness, and then, offering the stereotyped excuse, "letters to write," I took a second cigar, pressed another upon my companion, and nodding to him with friendly familiarity, sauntered away to meditate in solitude upon what I had just learned.
And so, if Mr. Holtz had not exaggerated, and Jim Long was not mistaken, Blake Simpson and Dimber Joe, two notorious prison birds, were vegetating in Trafton in the character of detectives!