"Run along now," said he briefly; "I want to talk."
They climbed the stairs to Bobby's room, and sat down glumly on the floor. Reaction was strong, and they had both fallen into aimless doldrums of spirit. Suddenly Bobby sat up straight at attention.
The Orde house was provided with old-fashioned hot-air registers. When the registers happened all to be open, they constituted most excellent speaking-tubes. Thus, without intention of deliberate eavesdropping, Bobby and his friend became aware of the following conversation.
"What's the matter, Jack? Anything wrong at the office or on the River?"
Mr. Orde sighed deeply.
"Oh, no. Everything's snug as a bug in a rug, sweetheart," said he. "But I'm bothered a lot. A dreadful thing happened to-day. You know that popple thicket out at Pritchard's place?"
Both boys froze into horrified attention.
"Yes."
"Well, just before dusk Pritchard was found dead near the east end of it."
"Why, how did that happen?" cried Mrs. Ode.