“You needn’t take me through the streets with these things on; I’ve no intention of running away. Let me go to my room a minute.”
“Yes, and put a bullet through your head. I’ve no intention of running any risks now we have you,” said the detective.
“Now you have who? You have no idea whom you have. Take off these shackles until I pay my bill. You have no objection to that, have you?”
They turned into the hotel, and the handcuffs were removed while the young man took out his pocketbook and paid his reckoning. Then he turned to them.
“I must ask you to accompany me to my room while I gather my toilet necessities together.” This they did, G. B. Stiles and the sheriff walking one on either side, while the Swede followed at their heels. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, turning suddenly upon the stable man.
“Oh, I yust lookin’ a leetle out.”
“Mr. Stiles, what does this mean, that you have that man dogging me?”
“It’s his affair, not mine. He thinks he has a certain interest in you.”
Then he turned in exasperation to the sheriff. “Can you give me a little information, Mr. Kellar? What has that Swede to do with me? Why am I arrested for the murder of my own self––preposterous! I, a man as alive as you 372 are? You can see for yourself that I am Elder Craigmile’s son. You know me?”
“I know the Elder fairly well––every one in Leauvite knows him, but I can’t say as I’ve ever taken particular notice of his boy, and, anyway, the boy was murdered three years ago––a little over––for it was in the fall of the year––well, that’s most four years––and I must say it’s a mighty clever dodge, as Mr. Stiles says, for you to play off this on us. It’s a matter that will bear looking into. Now you sit down here and hold on to yourself, while I go through your things. You’ll get them all, never fear.”