“Are you going to prison-up the spy, too?” [[152]]
“Whatever is necessary,” said Scoop, “to recover the talking frog.”
“Maybe he’s found the hidden fortune,” I cried, “and is now making his get-away.”
“You look after Gennor,” Scoop told me, “and we’ll look after the spy. Eh, Peg?”
“I’ll keep an eye on mister spy,” waggled Peg, his jaw squared.
“Hot dog!” I cried, jumping for the stairs. And I ran lickety-cut into town.
Coming within sight of the Commercial House, which is a rather small building and not big and showy like the towering city hotels, I slowed up. For I was puffing like a loose-jointed merry-go-round engine. Getting my wind, I walked naturally to the hotel door and squinted inside.
But contrary to what I had thought would be the case, Gennor wasn’t in the hotel lobby. Nor was his car parked in front. I was scared for a moment in the thought that he had already met the spy and had left town with the stolen invention.
The hotel manager got his eyes on me and grinned.
“Howdy, Jerry,” he said, good-natured-like.