The Gold Cross.
Mr. Denny looked at Tom. The young assistant, in his usual negligée, was very offhand and thoroughly at ease. He seemed to know what he was talking about. All eyes were upon him.
"If you want the detailed statements of the three witnesses written out, that can be done. But the National Court will take the recommendation without that if it's endorsed by the Local Council. That was done in the case of Albert Nesbit, who won the Gold Cross here three years ago. I'd rather do it that way."
"What is the name, Mr. Slade?"
"Willetts—Hervey Willetts. You spell it with two T's."
"This can be done without witnesses, on examination, Mr. Slade."
"The winner isn't a good subject for examination," said Tom; "I think the witnesses would be better."
"Just so."
"I might say," said Tom, "that this is the first chance I've had to tell about this thing. On the night of the storm I sent Willetts from the cove and told him to catch the bus and stop it before it reached the bridge. I didn't think he could do it but I didn't say so. He had two miles to go through the storm, running all the way. The wind was in his face. Of course we all know what the storm was. His scoutmaster had told him not to leave camp. If this was an emergency then it comes under By-law Twenty-seven. You'll have to decide that. It was on account of the flood I took him, not on account of the bus. The lake was running out."
"Did he reach the bus?" Mr. Fuller asked.