Part 30 (1/2)
Clay regarded the sheriff suspiciously.
”Has there anything happened to us on this trip that you don't know about?” he asked, then.
”Why,” replied the other, ”we've been hearing about you all down the river. Don't forget that we have telegraph wires in this country, as well as up north. Yes, we've heard a lot about you, and, to tell the truth, I've been waiting rather anxiously for you to make your appearance. What about the old mansion, where the negro boy and the dog got your friends out of a bad mess?”
”Say,” Alex., who had been listening, cut in, ”what do you know about that old mansion? What kind of a gang is it that holds forth there?”
”You ought to know!” smiled the sheriff. ”You called on them.”
”Yes, and they insisted on our making a longer visit!” grinned Alex.
”Now, what is it about the boy?” the sheriff said, changing the subject.
”You know all that I know about him,” replied Clay. ”He ran away from us following the visit to the boat of the bank cas.h.i.+er and two friends.”
”Yes, I heard about that,” said the officer. ”Now, will you be good enough to tell me if you have seen him since that night?”
”We have not, except that he returned to the _Rambler_ during the dark hours and restored something he had taken away from her.”
”Are you sure it was the boy who came back with the leather bag?”
asked the sheriff, with a most exasperating laugh. ”Are you sure it was the boy?”
”I am not,” Clay answered, wonderingly. ”I spoke too hastily. Come, Mr. Sheriff, tell me how you know anything about that leather bag.”
”I don't know much about it, that's the trouble,” was the reply. ”I wish I knew more. Now, tell me this: Have you an appointment with this boy farther down the river? Do you expect to meet him again during your trip?”
Clay replied that he hoped to, and the sheriff said little more on the subject. He expected the sheriff to ask for the key to the deposit box, but he did not.
CHAPTER XXIII
A NIGHT IN NEW ORLEANS
”I believe,” Clay declared, after a long pause, during which the voices of negroes along the levee came softly through the night, ”that you know something about the three persons we are just now interested in.”
”Name the three,” laughed the sheriff. ”Who are they?”
”First, the man we have always called Red, the Robber.”
”You have referred to him before, my boy.”
”But you gave me no satisfaction,” urged Clay, eagerly. ”Do you know him?”
”I have heard of a man who sometimes answers to the name of Red. What next?”
”The boy, Chester Vinton, accused of having had a hand in the Rock Island robbery.”
”Why do you think I know anything of him? If I knew where he was I'd be sure and keep him long enough to find out what he knows about that robbery!”