"Ask Sarah Marwick," and he went to the wall and pushed a button.

"Sarah knows the history of every one, scandalous and otherwise." Sarah Marwick came presently to the door, an austere spinster in black gown and white apron.

Her nose, though not Whipple in any degree, was still eminent in a way of its own, and her lips shut beneath it in a straight line.

She waited.
"Sarah," said Gideon, "do you know a person named Cowan?
David Cowan, I believe it is." Sarah's mien of professional reserve melted.
"Do I know Dave Cowan ?" she challenged.

"Do I know him?
I'd know his hide in a tanyard." "That would seem sufficient," remarked Gideon.
"A harum-scarum good-for-nothing--no harm in him.