“Yes, seems that Tume Mellick has been missing a lot of his fowls lately, and he asked us to investigate. So I sent Caleb over.”
“Hope he finds the thief,” said Bob.
“Yes. Well, he’ll get a chicken supper out of it, anyhow. Tume always serves chicken to his company. But now about this case, Bob. Do you think you would know this fellow Rod Marbury if you were to see him?”
“It’s hard to say. I’ve never laid eyes on him, as far as I know. All I have to go by is the description Hiram gives.”
“Yes, that’s all I have. I wrote it down but I remember it. A short, stout fellow, with dark hair and a long scar on one cheek that he got in a fight.”
“That’s the description I remember,” stated Bob. “But of course if this fellow didn’t want to be discovered he could disguise himself.”
“Oh, sure,” agreed the Cliffside chief. “But they can’t hide all the marks. And when you take into consideration the fact that this suspect is a sailor, and bound to act like one, that may give him away.”
“There’s something in that,” admitted the lad. “How did you hear about him?”
“Oh, Hank Miller just got back from Cardiff—went over to sell a load of apples to the cider mill, and I’ve got my suspicions of that cider mill; by the way, I think they make a whole lot stronger cider than the law allows. But that’s for the Cardiff police to look after—’tisn’t in my territory. Anyhow, Hank was telling me about a fellow he saw in town, spending money pretty freely, and boasting that he could get a lot more when that was gone. He acted like a sailor, so Hank said, and right away it occurred to me it might be this Rod.”
“Yes, it might be,” assented Bob. “But it doesn’t seem likely, that if this is Rod Marbury, he’d stay around here and spend the money so close to the place where he robbed Hiram Beegle.”