“Yep, I will,” said Stickney, rejoicing with a feeling of high importance over the fact that he was one of those who had obtained admission to the bank. “Whether the robbers got anything or not, it will be just as well to proceed with our investigation in private.”
Hurrying to the window, he drew the shade, greatly to the disappointment of the gathered watchers, some of whom expressed their feelings with considerable emphasis.
There was one person, however, who was not thus deprived of further knowledge of what was taking place within the bank. In the shadows of the patrons’ side of the cashier window, Sleuth Piper congratulated himself again.
CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT SLEUTH LEARNED.
The excited chattering of the crowd in front of the bank was broken in upon by the harsh voice of Captain Quinn.
“Ahoy, you blatherskites!” cried the old sailor, appearing upon the edge of the gathering. “Stow that jabber a minute and tell me if you’ve put your peepers on my monkey. The little whelp has run away, and he’ll freeze to death unless I find him. It would break my heart if anything should happen to my monkey.”
This statement aroused some laughter and provoked a few jeers.
“Go crawl into your bunk, you old pirate,” advised one of the younger men. “It would be a good thing if your monkey did freeze. The town wouldn’t miss it—or you, either.”
“Take twenty years off my shoulders,” snarled the old tar, “and I’d lay you by the heels for that, you swab! You talk bold and sassy to a man three times your age and crippled with the rheumatics, but I’ve scrubbed the deck of my vessel with dozens of your kind in my day.”
“Everybody knows that, you old man-handler,” was the retort. “You’ve cracked the skull of more than one better man, but the law protected you because you were the master and they were nothing but common sailors. Oh, we know you here in Oakdale.”