Davis eyed the other reflectively.
“I can go myself if you wish, inspector.”
“You’re in no condition,” Cameron replied promptly. “What you need is a rest. But don’t worry about this thing, Davis. We’ll be able to check it before many weeks.”
“Weeks!” Davis’ voice was sepulchral.
“Yes, weeks,” Cameron reiterated. “And we can be glad that it isn’t months.”
He turned to the papers lying on his desk with a gesture of dismissal.
“Drop in at the barracks and they’ll fix you up. I’d like to thank you for bringing me this information, Mr. Davis.”
Soon after Davis had gone, the orderly entered the room, accompanied by a tall, sinewy young man, the Indian runner. The police official greeted the native with a curt nod, rose and pressed an envelope in his hand.
“Take this to Dick Kent at Fort Good Faith. He’s a young man about your own age. Hurry through as quickly as you can. It is very important. I will pay you well.”
The Indian smiled as he tucked the letter away in an inner pocket, grinned again for no apparent reason and stalked silently out of the room. The orderly still stood, waiting for his own dismissal. Cameron regarded his subordinate for a moment, then turned quickly and hurried over to his desk.