“I told you that young Gennor was tricky,” cried Tom, as we stood beside the hole in the cellar’s dirt floor. “Oh, why didn’t we suspect that he had the spy in here digging up the frog!” and the speaker’s arms went up in despair.
Scoop looked dizzy. But his thinker wasn’t wholly stalled. And to tune it up he circled the cellar, tugging at his hair.
“We’ve got to act quick,” he said to Tom, “if we hope to save your pa’s invention.” He turned to me. “Jerry, make a bee-line for the hotel and [[151]]keep an eye on Gennor. If he leaves the hotel, get onto his trail.”
“And what about you fellows?” I inquired.
“As I said a moment ago Gennor may not know that the spy has the talking frog. But he soon will know it unless we cut in. For the spy, knowing that the other is due to arrive in town, will go to the hotel to report. So keep your eyes peeled, Jerry, for the soap man. If he comes into the hotel with a package under his arm, grab it and run. We’ll wait here to receive mister smarty in case he decides to pay us a visit. Under the circumstances I guess we won’t be put into jail if we make him comfortable in one of the upper rooms and keep him there for a day or two.”
My eyes were popping.
“You mean,” I cried, excited, “that you’re going to make him a prisoner?”
Scoop gave a queer, tight-lipped grin.
“Something on that order,” he said, slowly wagging his head. “Only we won’t call him a prisoner. He’ll be our guest. See? And we’ll be very attentive to him and feed him on the best there is in the house and read him to sleep if necessary.”
I thought of the old man in the mill.