Waving his hands, arguing, Clement reached the end of the platform. He turned and shot a glance along it. He still waved his arms angrily, but in an even tone he said,:
“Think I’m acting like a looney, Gatineau? There’s a reason. Tell me anything more you’ve found out, quick.”
“I’ve found out that Neuburg and Gunning pulled out from here to the west. That means the meeting place won’t be in Orillia, but somewhere west, in Sicamous, likely.”
“Of course,” said the astonishing Clement.
“But you said....”
“More than that, I howled it,” said Clement still making wild gestures. “I wanted somebody to hear it. That thick-set man over there. He’s been shadowing me ever since we left the motor-trolley. Now play up, my lad....” He made a gesture of resignation, and said aloud, “All right, then, I suppose there is nothing more for it but to wait. But it’s awful—ghastly.... What shall we do?”
“There is a hotel here, we might get a sleep.”
“Ah! And a bath. I want one. We’d better get reservations to Orillia first, though,—save the rush at the end. Come along.”
As they went to their hotel, Gatineau made a point of crossing the road in front of a great shop window. He chuckled.
“Yes, he’s following us, that attentive friend of yours. It’s probably that Joe Wandersun. He’s the only one unaccounted for.”