Meade smiled, puffing stoutly on his pipe.
“I’ll send my son, Frederick, over there,” he resumed. “In the meantime, you can rest here. He won’t be long.”
The kind offer was accepted. In truth, the corporal’s limbs were so badly swollen from the effects of the thongs and the hard trek immediately after being released by Toma, that he doubted very much whether he could walk more than a few miles more, anyway.
“I won’t forget your kindness,” the policeman thanked him. “It’s very good of you.”
“Not at all! Not at all!” Meade hastened to assure him. “I’d do that much for the Royal Mounted any time. I’ve heard about the case you’re working on, corporal, and I’m anxious to have you succeed. Dewberry was a friend of mine.”
Rand looked up quickly.
“That’s interesting. So few men really knew Dewberry. Queer character, from what I’ve heard.”
“A splendid man,” Meade declared reverently. “A generous and fine man!”
“While your son, Frederick, is away after the horses, I wonder if you’ll tell me what you know of him. It has been very difficult to gather any information concerning him. It might help a lot in this case if you’d give me a clear insight into his character. There are a number of things I can’t explain.”
Frederick was called and sent after the ponies. Then Meade sat down and began telling about his friend, the mysterious Dewberry. It was a story very similar to the one he had told Dick and Sandy. Rand listened without once interrupting, and Toma also paid close attention until, growing drowsy, he fell asleep in his chair. When he awoke again, Meade was still talking, but now occasionally the policeman plied him with a question.