The Sergeant paused a moment and eyed his listener grimly. The latter, with an equally grim comprehensive gesture, nodded silently.
“Well,” he went on, “here they camped, watchin’ each other’s every little movement. Shapiro never got much of a show to do anything, though, for Wilks took darned good care to keep inside the hotel most of the time. He admits he was scared to death, especially after reading about Harry shootin’ the watchman. Just dawdled around—couldn’t make up his mind what to do, knowing that he couldn’t shake Harry a second time. He was feeling pretty sick, too.... I guess this thing’s been comin’ on him some time, hasn’t it, Charley?”
The doctor, nodding again, replied: “Yes, about a month, most probably.”
“An’ that’s how the case stands,” concluded Ellis wearily. “If you hadn’t gone into his room that time when you did, Harry’d most likely put the kibosh on him right there. Choked him, p’r’aps. I got the money off him, O. K. About a hundred short—what he’d paid for his ticket through to Hamilton, a bribe to that chauffeur, Kelly, his hotel bill here, an’ odds an’ ends. The New Axminster men’ll get their hooks on that chauffeur quick, I’ll bet, when the O.C. forwards them my crime report. Don’t know whether they’ll be able to make a charge stick or not—may do. I turned the money into the bank for safe keeping. Inspector Purvis’ll take it down with him when we go back to the Post.”
There was a long pause. “Well, what’ll happen to this fellow now?” inquired Musgrave.
“Guess Churchill’ll have to keep an eye on him,” said Ellis indifferently. “Take him in to the Post soon as he’s able to travel. He’ll be held there till a New Axminster man comes for him. Feel sorry, in a way, for the poor sick devil, but that’s all that can be done with him, now. Well, I must be getting—lots o’ work to do. See you later, Charley.”
The elder man laid a detaining hand on the Sergeant’s shoulder, and his voice shook ever so little as he said slowly:
“Wait a bit. There’s something I want to tell you before you go.” He swallowed and hesitated slightly in his agitation. “It’s about that—that—that poor girl,” he continued, in strained, unnatural tones. “Ellis, old man, you don’t know how sorry I am that I sneered at you last night.... About being a moral reformer, and all that.... I hardly meant it at the time. And I’ve been feeling pretty bad since—since—”
His voice broke, and he left the sentence unfinished. This was a great concession from Musgrave, and his hearer thought so, as he grasped the other’s arm with a sympathetic pressure.
“Charley,” he said gently, “Charley.... Don’t think of that again.... See here; look! I don’t take you in earnest, every time. You’re the best friend I’ve got ... an’ the very first man I’d think of comin’ to, if I was in trouble. Maybe you don’t know it, but I tell you that same sarcastic tongue o’ yours has cured me of lots o’ dam’-fool notions—time an’ again.”