“What do you boys know about this chap?”
No one answered this question. The boys felt nervous, uncertain what to say. The one person present who was quite oblivious to all this official nonsense at such a time was the one whom it most concerned, Blythe. He lay stark upon his balsam couch with the blessing of unconsciousness upon him. The surgeon, with a few words and much quiet show of efficiency, knelt by him, heedless of these official busybodies. What hint he had of possible crime none could say. But they were like vultures.
“Where’s the fire department?” Warde Hollister ventured to ask a brother scout.
At this point the surgeon with gentle deftness removed the victim’s faded, threadbare coat, and threw it upon the ground. With the promptness of sudden discovery county detective Ferrett picked it up. He held it distastefully, as one holds a thing infected. To the boys his act seemed like an insult to the poor worn rag with its tear, caused by the falling beam, and its brown bloodstain. But none of them spoke. Roy, in particular, watched the official with keen interest.
“Dominion–Dominion Clothing Company,” they heard him say; “Quebec, Canada.”
There followed an awful pause. That would have been the time for the scouts to speak. But none spoke.
“Hold on a minute,” they heard Mr. Ferrett say, just as two men were about to lift the canvas stretcher which they had slipped under Blythe’s body; “just a moment.”
He took from his pocket a sort of huge wallet, and fumbling among its multifarious contents pulled out an old faded paper, which he opened. Roy and Westy, who stood nearest to him could read it plainly enough and see two pictures, profile and front face, which it displayed:
WANTED FOR MURDER FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS
REWARD WILL BE PAID BY THE POLICE OF QUEBEC, CANADA, FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST AND CONVICTION OF CLAUDE DARRELL, ALIAS DARROW, ALIAS HICKY JOE, ETC., ETC. WANTED FOR