“Stow the joshing, fellows! We’ve reached an understanding, anyway. It’s settled that if anybody gets news of Orkney the club is to share it. I admit I don’t know where it can come from, but I’ll hope for it, all the same.” Sam spoke guardedly enough, and with no suspicion that at that very moment Lon Gates lay in wait for him. And Lon had news, interesting certainly, and perhaps important. CHAPTER XXI LON PLAYS DETECTIVE “See that, sonny?” Lon, having captured Sam at the gate and led him to the privacy of the barn, had taken a wrench from a shelf and was displaying the implement with much complacency. “’Member it? Ought to! It’s the wrench I told you the other day was lost, strayed or stolen.” “Oh!” said Sam. “And so you found it?” Lon chuckled. “Wal, I did sort o’ stumble on it, as you might say. Only there was more’n plain stumblin’ involved, seein’ as how I had to take it away from Peter Groche. And Peter don’t willingly give up what ain’t his--not so long as he has his health.” “Then Peter’s turned up again!” “He’s turned up--this afternoon. Guess he’s turned down again, though, before this. I’ll tell you how ’twas.” “Wait a minute! If he had the wrench, he’d stolen it from us. If he stole it, there’s no doubt left that he played all the other tricks!” Lon thrust a hand into the bosom of his coat, and struck an attitude. “Now what do you think o’ me as a sleuth? Ain’t I a reg’lar Shylock Holmes?” “Sherlock Holmes,” corrected Sam. “Oh, wal, Shylock’s the name that sort o’ sticks in my head. Guess he must ’a’ been Sherlock’s brother. But then there was Hannibal, too.” Sam threw up his hands in mock despair. “Go on! Give me the yarn!” “Wal, me ’n’ Hannibal was goin’ down-town to do an errand for your ma, and we cut across by Lane’s blacksmith shop. The door was open. I was for paradin’ by, unnoticin’, but Hannibal began to growl and scooted for that door. Somethin’ made me whistle him back, and I was tickled I did; for when I peeked in, there was Peter Groche, big as life and uglier’n ever, tryin’ to sell this wrench to old man Lane for a dime. I knew it was ours the minute I clapped eyes on’t, but I jest thought I’d wait a little and listen to what Mr. Groche was purrin’. And he was explainin’ to Mr. Lane that he’d been away for a day or two, and that he was back in town jest to settle his affairs, ’cause he’d picked up a reg’lar job, choppin’ in the woods up Payne’s Stream, and he was goin’ there soon’s he’d cashed in on a little portable property he had no further use for. And then, seein’ as how Hannibal was gettin’ uneasy, I walked in and took Mr. Groche by the collar, and walked him out o’ the shop, and took away the wrench, and told him I guessed there was one bargain sale he’d have to call off.” Sam’s eyes were opened widely. “Gee! but it took nerve to tackle him! They say he’s an awful scrapper.”