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Updated: September 23, 2025
Besides, it gave shrewd fathers and mothers a fine moral lesson to hold up before their own erring youngsters, and hence for a long time to come the narrow escape which Hen Condit had had from going wholly to the bad was used as a means of correction. In this way it doubtless did much good, if that could be of any satisfaction to Hen.
Condit told me that when Webster exclaimed: "The world knows the history of Massachusetts by heart. There is Lexington, and there is Bunker Hill and there they will remain forever," the group of Bostonians seated in the gallery before him, broke down, and wept like little children.
If he could gain a hint of the possible intentions of the fugitive he might be able to meet them. There was a vague chance that either Ivan Abramovitch or Condit might be induced to volunteer a statement, although the possibility was remote. In America or France there would have been ways of forcing them to speak. In England it was impossible.
"And Chief, you promised to let my uncle know the whole story, remember," called out the contrite Hen Condit. "I'll be ashamed to face him, but perhaps he won't be so very angry when he hears how I was deceived so terribly, and made to believe I had actually killed that tramp when I threw the stone. And my aunt loves me, that I know.
"That proves one thing," asserted Toby; "Hen Condit is up here, all right." "It proves a whole lot of things, according to my opinion," added Lil Artha as he nodded his head in a way he had of emphasizing his remarks; "it tells us Hen is in bad company, for the second fellow must be the man he was seen with the other day in Hickory Ridge town."
"In fact, you pretended to have little acquaintance with English?" interrupted Foyle. Ivan nodded. "That was so. On the nights when I was free, I wandered about London and picked up a few old acquaintances, among them being Charlie Condit. I shan't tell what I knew about him, but it was enough to keep him civil, and later on he did what I told him.
Every fellow duplicated his move, so that the entire seven were now standing there, forming a line slightly inclined to resemble the new crescent moon. And there was Hen Condit turning his head around to stare at them, his face as white as the chalk they were accustomed to use upon the blackboard in school.
The superintendent dropped his papers wearily into a drawer and turned the key. His speculations were unprofitable. He turned over in his brain his plans for running down Grell. Of the people who had been assisting him to evade capture three were out of the way for the time being. Ivan Abramovitch and Condit were safely under lock and key.
For awhile he was busy carefully looking through the collection. "Here it is," he said at last and read: "Charles J. Condit. American. No. 9781 Habitual Convicts' Registry." "Put 'em back," said Foyle. "We'll find his record in the Registry." The two detectives, uncertain as to where the regular staff kept the files of the number they wanted, were some little time in searching.
"I say the same, Elmer," urged Chatz, indignantly; "let's all get busy and see if we can run Hen Condit down like a fox we've got on the trail of. Let's fetch him back to face his uncle, and prove to all Hickory Ridge that the boys of the Wolf Patrol can never stand for wrong doing in their ranks. Yes suh, it's surely up to us to show our colors." Elmer rubbed his forehead.
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