“Sure! ’Nother case of what you might call eloquent silence. When he turned Peter Groche loose, what more did he do? Nothin’! What more did he say? Nothin’! And the Major ain’t the party to let somebody put a few buckshot into him and grin and bear it uncomplainin’. He’d ’a’ railroaded Peter Groche to jail with all the pleasure in life, and he’d ’a’ done the same thing to any other man that played he was an old buck. But the Major’s a good sport, after all; he hates to fuss with anybody that ain’t his size. See where the argyment’s leadin’, don’t you? So, when you ’fessed up----” “When I ’fessed up!” Sam seemed to be capable of nothing but repetitions. Lon chuckled a bit complacently. “Wal, Sam, that’s where I’m on dead reckonin’. But when I’d chewed it all over a few times, it struck me that you was jest the kind of a feller to own up when you saw somebody else was in trouble for what you’d done; and that the Major was jest the old hardshell to be tickled by your givin’ a square deal to that miserable critter, Groche. Course, I’ve kept my eyes and ears open, and I’ve been down town nights, and I’ve talked with folks, and I’ve picked up little things here and there that fitted together. And so I got four, not by puttin’ two with two, but by addin’ an eighth, and three-sixteenths, and a half, and three-quarters, and so on and so on. And--wal, that’s about all of that chapter.” “Lon, you’re a wonder!” “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. “Peter--Peter Groche?” Astonishment again possessed Sam. “Why--why should he have a grudge against me? Didn’t I save him? Didn’t I keep him out of jail? Didn’t they have what seemed to be a complete case against him?” “Like enough.” “Then, too,” urged Sam, “he could have had no notion that I was mixed up in the case. The Major didn’t tell him; nobody else told him. But if he had known, he ought to have been grateful. Either way the thing isn’t reasonable.” “Huh! Peter ain’t, neither!” grunted Lon. “But what’s that got to do with----” [Illustration: “HOLD HARD, THERE!”]