"So that pair got him, too! I was afraid of them all the while.
And I had to be away. Do you know how they did it? What's the
working of their game? It's devilish and certainly clever. They
played that boy for a year; they knew they would get him in the
end. So did I.

"He was a fine lad, a fine lad. I knew this morning when I came
down from Nevada that they had him. Found your duds. A stranger.
House looked queer. But I had hopes he might have gone over to see
his girl. Just thought I'd wander over to Berkeley. Found that
bird Rhamda under a palm tree watching the Holcomb bungalow. It
was the first time I'd seen him since that day things went amiss
with the professor. In about ten minutes you came out. I stayed
with him while he tracked you back here; I followed him back down
town and lost him. Tell me about Watson."

He sat down; during my recital he spoke not a word. He consumed
one cigar after another; when I stopped for a moment he merely
nodded his head and waited until I continued. He was sturdy and
frank, of an iron way and vast common sense. I liked him. When I
had finished he remained silent; his grief was of a solid kind! he
had liked poor Watson.

"I see," he said. "It is as I thought. He told you more than he
ever told me."

"He never told you?"

"Not much. He was a strange lad--about the loneliest one I've ever
seen. There was something about him from the very first that was