“A Mr. John Rupert, from way off somewhere,” she replied incautiously, having an uncontrollable propensity for gossip.
“From Ohio?” cried the doctor, his thoughts reverting to his bête noire, Doctor Rupert.
“I dunno,” she answered curtly, suddenly becoming tongue-tied.
But the doctor’s languid interest, suddenly stimulated to malignant activity by that name, prompted him to further inquiry.
Could there be any coincidence? he wondered. Had he stumbled on a clue to a disgraceful mystery in the life of the man he hated?
He determined to board with the couple a day or two, and ferret out every particular about “John Rupert, from way off somewhere,” as the woman said.
His evil genius favored him, for, when the ferryman returned he was somewhat excited, and exclaimed to his wife:
“You’d never think who ’twas I put across the river!”
She made some futile guesses, and then he said jestingly:
“I knowed you was too stupid to ever guess, so I’ll tell. ’Twere that runaway, Dan Ellis!”