"Because he might have died before you got here."
"Where's the man who helped you?"
"Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a police affair and ran away."
Behind the kitchen door Cutty smiled. She would do, this girl.
"Sounds all right," said the policeman. "I'll take a look at the man."
"This way, if you please," said Kitty, readily. "You come, too, sir," she added as the squat man hesitated. Kitty wanted to watch his expression when he saw Johnny Two-Hawks.
Seed on rocky soil; nothing came of the little artifice. No Buddha's graven face was less indicative than the squat man's. Perhaps his face was too sore to permit mobility of expression. The drollery of this thought caused a quirk in one corner of Kitty's mouth. The squat man stopped at the foot of the bed with the air of a mere passer-by and seemed more interested in the investigations of the policeman than in the man on the bed. But Kitty knew.
"A fine bang on the coco," was the policeman's observation. "Take anything out of his pockets?"
"They were quite empty. I've sent for a military surgeon. He may arrive at any moment."
"This fellow live across the way?"
"That's the odd part of it. No, he doesn't."
"Then what was he doing there?"
