“Pretty nigh right, wa’n’t I?”
“Nearer than that.”
“Wal, you see, I knew one Sam Parker like a book. And when something happened one mornin’, and he dodged talkin’ about where he was jest then or what he was doin’—wal, I had a mighty good start on Shylock Holmesin’.”
“Sherlock Holmesing,” Sam corrected mechanically.
“Same family, anyhow.”
There was a pause. Then said Sam:
“Lon, I didn’t wish to keep the truth from you especially. If I’d talked about the affair, there’s nobody who’d have heard more about it than you would. But I was advised not to confide in anybody.”
Lon nodded. “Right enough! And I wouldn’t have yipped if, somehow, things hadn’t worked around as they have. And I jest had to let the cat out o’ the bag if I was goin’ to point out the dog I believe has been snappin’ at us. You want to find out who ’tis I suspect, don’t you?”
“Most certainly!”
“Peter Groche!” said Lon emphatically.