She had sent him a message of warning about Akers, and from it he had reconstructed much of the events of the night she had taken sick.
“Tell him to watch Louis Akers,” she had said. “I don't know how near Willy was to trouble the other night, Ellen, but they're going to try to get him.”
Ellen had repeated the message, watching him narrowly, but he had only laughed.
“Who are they?” she had persisted.
“I'll tell you all about it some day,” he had said. But he had told Dan the whole story, and, although he did not know it, Dan had from that time on been his self-constituted bodyguard. During his campaign speeches Dan was always near, his right hand on a revolver in his coat pocket, and for hours at a time he stood outside the pharmacy, favoring every seeker for drugs or soap or perfume with a scowling inspection. When he could not do it, he enlisted Joe Wilkinson in the evenings, and sometimes the two of them, armed, policed the meeting halls.
As a matter of fact, Joe Wilkinson was following him that night. On his way to the Cardews Willy Cameron, suddenly remembering the uncanny ability of Jinx to escape and trail him, remaining meanwhile at a safe distance in the rear, turned suddenly and saw Joe, walking sturdily along in rubber-soled shoes, and obsessed with his high calling of personal detective.
Joe, discovered, grinned sheepishly.
“Thought that looked like your back,” he said. “Nice evening for a walk, isn't it?”
“Let me look at you, Joe,” said Willy Cameron. “You look strange to me. Ah, now I have it. You look like a comet without a tail. Where's the family?”
“Making taffy. How—is Edith?”