“That seems to be a fact, sir. Unless Ben Todd imparted the knowledge verbally to someone—the secret died with him. That man with the shotgun was premature.”
“It would seem so,” agreed Greer.
Henry was crossing the street to his office, when he saw two men just entering the place. Henry groaned quietly. One of the men was Thomas Akers, merchant of Scorpion Bend, and a member of the Board of Commissioners, while the other was James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly, editor of the Scorpion Bend Clarion, and the pet obsession of the sheriff’s office. Judge and Oscar were both in the office.
Henry came up to the doorway as quietly as possible, and heard Judge say:
“We are not allowed to announce the name of the murderer of Ben Todd, until Sheriff Conroy gives his permission, sir.”
“You mean—you—er—know?” asked Pelly in a whisper.
“Ay know von t’ing—” rumbled Oscar’s voice, and the creak of a chair indicated that the giant Swede was getting up.
Henry had started to enter the office, when a flying Pelly hit him squarely in the middle. Pelly was more or less of a lightweight, but with a distinct muzzle-velocity. He caromed off the bosom of Henry Harrison Conroy, landed on the seat of his pants, from where he turned over twice and sprawled flat on his back in the dusty street.
