“It isn’t a case of ‘but’ or ‘if.’ Step there knows all about it. He saw them bringing him in.”
Sam’s brain was reeling. “Bring-bringing him in?” he quavered. “Then—then he was badly hurt, after all! And who—who was he?”
Poke was staring in bewildered fashion at Sam. “What’s upsetting you? Why, you’re white as a sheet!”
“Never mind me! Who—who was it?”
“Peter Groche.”
“Pe-Peter Groche? And—and he—he’s wounded—maybe dying?”
Poke laughed explosively. “Not he! Old rascal was never born to be shot.”
“But you said they—they were bringing him in?”
“Yes—to the lock-up!”
Sam dropped into the nearest chair. “I don’t—don’t under-understand,” he said weakly.