The door opened wider to admit the owner of the voice, then closed. A moment later a lantern was lighted and held up before the grinning, excited face of the farmer's son.
“Come on, Alex. What do you want?”
The boy slowly approached until he stood before them; then he set the lantern on the floor, where it cast long shadows.
“What is it, my boy?”
Axel looked knowingly at them. “Say,” he whispered, “I know what you's are. You're detectives.”
“Oh, we are, are we? What makes you think that?”
“You're detectives. I know.”
“Sit down, and talk it over. Do you smoke?”
“Can I smoke? Well, I should say I can. You just watch me.” He accepted a cigar, his first, and lighted it. “Don't let on to Pa, will you? He'd give me—” Unable to call up a strong enough word, the boy concluded with a grin.
“That's all right. We know how it is ourselves. Your father has enough to worry him just about now, anyhow. Didn't he have but the one suit of clothes?”