“Look here!” spluttered Chief Drayton. “You’re not supposed to come in here, you know.”
“But I am in, you see!” chuckled the wooden-legged man. “I am in and I’m going to stay with my old messmate Hiram. You can’t keep Jolly Bill Hickey out when he wants to come in.”
That was very evident.
“Are you a friend of his?” asked Chief Duncan.
“Am I? I should say I was! Ask him—ask Hiram I But no, what’s the use. He’s been rammed—the enemy has broadsided him and he’s out of action. But I’ll tell you I’m a friend of his, and he’ll tell you so, too, when he gets going again. But what happened here? Tell me—tell Jolly Bill Hickey!” demanded he of the wooden leg.
“Hiram Beegle has been nearly killed and completely robbed,” said Chief Duncan.
“No! You don’t mean it! Almost killed—and robbed! Who did it? Where are the scoundrels?” Jolly Bill Hickey did not seem very jolly now. He looked around with a vindictive air and fanned his bald head with his cap.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” spoke Chief Drayton. “Do you know anything about this crime?”
“Do I know anything about it? Say, I just got here!” exclaimed Jolly Bill. “I came in on the morning train to see my old messmate Hiram Beegle, and I find this crowd around his bunk and him knocked out like a broadside had been delivered right in his teeth! How should I know anything about it?”
“Well, I just asked,” said Chief Drayton rather mildly for a police official. Truth to tell the manner of Jolly Bill Hickey was a bit overpowering.