“I was hungry, but I’m famished now after hearing all that,” Sandy declared. “You are very generous, Mr. Frischette.”
“Et ees nothing.” The Frenchman waved his arms deprecatingly. “I like et you come here once in a while during thees lonesome summer to make ze company. I am glad to learn that you are friends of thees ver’ good boy, Fontaine.”
Their welcome had been so whole-hearted and spontaneous that Dick did not, even for a moment, believe that Frischette’s manner was assumed. In spite of himself, he was drawn toward the vivacious, hospitable Frenchman. A capital host! It was difficult to see how Corporal Rand could harbor suspicion against such a person. The genial road-house keeper had none of the characteristics nor any of the appearances of a criminal.
That was Dick’s first impression of the man. Nor did he stand alone in this respect. Sandy, too, had been impressed favorably. Just before retiring for the night, the young Scotchman whispered in his chum’s ear:
“Look here, Dick, if you want my honest opinion, I think we’ve come on a wild goose chase. I believe Corporal Rand is wrong. After seeing and talking with this man Frischette, I’m absolutely certain that he’s innocent. Someone else is the guilty person.”
“I can’t help thinking that too,” Dick replied. “If looks and actions are not deceiving, Frischette is innocent. I doubt if he knows any more about the case than he’s already told Rand. Just the same, we’ll remain here and follow the corporal’s instructions.”
“Just wasting time,” grumbled Sandy.
Suddenly, they were aware of a presence near them. Both looked up quickly and a little guiltily, expecting to see Frischette himself. Instead it was Toma—Toma, a curious expression on his face, the light of excitement in his eyes.
“Sandy, Dick,” he announced breathlessly, “you come with me. I find out something important to tell you!”