More words passed between the two men, and then the larger one said aloud:
“If you’re lyin’, you’ll get yourselves inter trouble. I am Ben Bowers, the sheriff from Newport. This is John Nason, one of my deputies. We are here looking after a certain chap who has been passing in this section under the name of Joe Tweed.”
“We know nothing of Mr. Joe Tweed. We never heard of him, sir.”
“That’s all right. You look as if you was honest, but, perhaps, you don’t know what this Tweed has done.”
“Well, he’s robbed an old miser, over in North Newport, of thirty thousand dollars, and hit the old man a crack on the head that may kill him. Now, if you’ve seen Tweed, or know anything about him, the best thing you can do is to tell everything. You’ll git in a bad scrape if you don’t, that’s all.”
By this time Frank was thoroughly angry, but he held himself in check, seeming perfectly cool, although he spoke firmly.
“We are not robbers, Mr. Sheriff, and we do not associate with robbers. Such an insinuation is decidedly unpleasant.”
“Perhaps they’ve seen him,” said the deputy.
Bart strode to Frank’s side and said, in a low tone:
“Who knows—this chap who calls himself Bunker may be the fellow they are looking after.”
“What does this Joe Tweed look like, Mr. Bowers? Will you describe him, please.”
“He’s a large man, dresses pretty well, smooth-faced, looks like an actor. He is a very smooth talker. Has a small, blue scar under his left ear.”
“Bunker’s not the man,” he said, regretfully.
“We have seen no such man as you describe,” declared Merriwell. “He has not been here.”
“It’s strange,” declared the sheriff. “Proctor said he saw him around here yesterday afternoon. Proctor was coming over from Turner’s about the middle of the afternoon, and, as he was running past this point, he said he saw Tweed come out of the woods. When Tweed saw Proctor’s boat, he turned round and made into the bushes in a hurry. That looks as if he had some sort of hiding place round here.”
“With the exception of Hans, we were all over to Camp Benson yesterday afternoon. Hans was here alone. Did you see anybody prowling around here yesterday, Hans?”
“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans, turning pale. “You pet I didn’d seen nopodys! Uf I knew nopodys vos browling around here, I vould been so scat dot you vould had heart vailure! Und id vos a roppers? Py Chorch! you don’d got me to stayed here some more all alone myseluf by!”