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Bascomb and Prenter had returned to Mobile, so that the young engineers and their superintendent were the only men at table. "My guess is about the same," drawled Mr. Renshaw. "Yes?" queried Reade. "Guess again!" "Oh, I believe they've quit," argued Mr. Renshaw. "For one thing, the scoundrels probably have discovered that detectives from Mobile are down here trying to run 'em to earth.
Prenter, who stood beside him, had knocked up the barrel so that the bullet sped over the heads of the crowd. In a twinkling Tom had hold of the Italian's arm. He wrenched the pistol away, spraining the Italian's arm. Instantly Tom "broke" the weapon, dropping the cartridges out into his pocket. Then he hurled the weapon as far as he could throw it into the shadows of the night.
"If I get in more trouble than I can handle I'll just yell 'Mr. Prenter, for I shall know that he'll be within easy hearing distance." The treasurer laughed, as he, too, rose. "My being so near you before, Reade, was just accident. I was prowling about on my own account, when you and your army friend passed me in the deep woods.
Prenter interjected. "We have never had a man in the camp as large as this negro," Harry rejoined. "Such a very large black man ought not to be hard for the detectives to locate," Prenter continued. "Very good, sir. Then you can let the sleuths have a try at the matter," Tom suggested. "Have you any telegraph blanks here?" Tom went inside, coming out with a pad of blanks. Mr.
Prenter had hold of another. "Two more of Evarts's bootleggers, eh?" muttered Reade. "Let me see." On one of the men he found a bottle of liquor. On the other no liquor was discovered. "Did Evarts pay you fellows a salary, or commission?" Tom demanded. "Commiss " began one of the bootleggers, then stopped himself with a vocal jerk. "Evarts? I don't even know who he is."
"I've told you all there is to it," protested Harry. "Surely, there must be some more to it." "There isn't." "Then, for the tale of an engineer who was all but murdered, and a case enveloped in mystery from end to end," cried Mr. Prenter, "we have a most singular scarcity of details." "There are only two more details needed, as it appears to me," Tom remarked quietly. "Good!
There could be no guessing what would occur next to hamper or destroy the fruits of their hard labor. "Mr. Prenter," asked Tom suddenly, "is there anything about which you wish to see me just now?" "Not particularly," replied the treasurer. "Only, in view of late developments I'm going to remain about for the next few days, unless you order me out of the house. I want to be close to the trouble."
Refreshed by a few hours' sleep Tom and Dick were called, to find their supper ready. Nicolas stood behind their chairs, attentive to their needs. Mr. Prenter remained out on the porch, but Harry sat at table with his friends. "Has Mr. Bascomb put in an appearance here?" Tom inquired. "No," said Hazelton briefly. "He certainly has wound up my curiosity," murmured Tom.
Bascomb really fit to be trusted?" Prescott propounded. "Mr. Prenter seems to think so, and he is a capable judge of men," Tom rejoined. "It is the combination of all these circumstances taken together that makes me so curious over Mr. Bascomb's being willing to bail the fellow." "Oh, well, it's too much of a puzzle for us," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders.
"To find that negro, and get him jailed," Tom declared incisively. "Good enough!" nodded Mr. Prenter. "The detectives will find the negro." "Will they?" Tom asked. "Then that will be something new, indeed. I've seen detectives employed a good deal, Mr. Prenter, and generally all they catch are severe colds and items to stick in on the expense account."
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