"Get him something hot from the kitchen, sergeant," ordered Cameron. Then, when O'Hara had left, the lieutenant turned to Matt. "Bring him into my bedroom, Matt you and McGlory. I've some clothes he can put on. They'll be a mile too big for him, but they'll be dry."
"Don't try to talk now, Prebbles," admonished Matt, as he and the cowboy supported him into the next room. "You'll feel better in a little while and then you can talk all you please."
O'Hara came with a pitcher of hot milk, in which the post doctor had mixed a stimulant of some kind, and he was left in the bedroom to help Prebbles out of his wet clothes and into the dry ones.
"Who is he?" inquired Cameron, when he and the boys were once more back in the sitting room.
"Murgatroyd's clerk," replied Matt. "I saw him once, when I first reached Jamestown and called on the broker to make inquiries about Traquair's aëroplane."
"Then, if he works for a scoundrel like Murgatroyd, he must be of the same calibre. Like master, like man, you know."
"That old saw don't apply to this case, Cameron," said Matt earnestly. "Prebbles is a good deal of a man. He belongs to the Salvation Army and tries to be square with everybody. Why, the very first time I called on Murgatroyd, Prebbles warned me to beware of the broker."
"The old boy is the clear quill," said McGlory, "you take it from me. But what's he doing here? Sufferin' horned toads! Say, do you think he's come to tell us something about Murg?"
"By Jove," muttered Cameron, with suppressed excitement, "I'll bet that's what brought him!"
"Perhaps," said Matt. "We'll know all about it, in a little while."