The Argosy, April 1916 — page 40: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

30 “Well, whatever your theory may be,” said Yale rather impatiently, ‘are you go- ing to do what you can to find her?” “You may bet the nails in the heels of your shoes I am. That’s what I am here for. That’s what the city of Utica pays me my salary for. Whether Miss Wayne is in league with the Raymond robbers, or is their victim, or has got into any trouble unconnected with the robbery, we’ll do all we can to find her. Don’t worry about that.” “Thank you. Now—I cannot sit idle. I think a great deal of Miss Wayne, though I have seen her but little, and have known her little more than two days. More, I am responsible for her appearance before the magistrate when she is wanted. Still more, I feel a personal responsibility for her wel- fare. She is, as you know, friendless here, except for me.’ “Hardly,” said the chief, Shaking Yale’s hand. ‘You may count me in.’ “Thank you again, chief. You think she is innocent, then?” “Well, no, I don’t exactly say that. Ray- mond has enough foundation for his charge, circumstantial though it may be. But we don’t hate everybody who does wrong. There is a way to reclaim.” “Find her first. Have you any objection _ to my making a search entirely independent of the police hunt?” “Not at all. The more the merrier. We ‘have no jealousy here. In fact, it would add to the romance of the thing if you did find her, alive and well. Good luck to you, Mr. Yale.” - Whatever the chief did Yale did not know. He did not even care. He knew the police force was competent, and the ‘chief an efficient head. For himself, he went to the Butterfield House, obtained a room, sent an imperative message to Johnny Williams, who owned the prize automobile, and then went to bed and slept. At daybreak Johnny Williams was at the door of the hotel in his machine. Yale was up and dressed. “Had your breakfast?” he asked Wil- liams at the curb. “Cup coffee,” answered Williams. when we get back.” “Oh, you will! Get out of that and come inside. There is no telling when we'll get back. I am engaging you and your ma- chine by the day until I’m _ through. What’s your price?” “Eat THE ARGOSY. Williams named what he thought was exorbitant, expecting Yale to beat him down. Out-of-town patrons usually did. Yale closed with him af once. They ate a hearty breakfast. Before starting Yale made sure that he had money enough for all probable purposes. He handed Williams a bill. “Might come in handy. Do you carry a gun?” ¢ ‘Yes.” “Loaded?” "Ves *? “Got it now?” Ves.’ “All right. We may be going into dan- ger. Want to back out?” “No.” Williams was not a man to waste words. “Now,” said Yale, as they lighted cigars, “YT want to go up back of Roscoe Conkling Park along Old Third Street. It used to be Third Street when I was a boy. Suppose there is another Third Street somewhere, and there may have been then. Well, we'll get along. That road that crosses Third back of the reservoir—I forget the name— I ought to know it, but—” “Higby Lane,” said Williams promptly. “That’s it. Go to that corner, and on the way pick up Watson, an employe of the park. I want to question him.” The machine sped up Genesee Street to Oneida, up Oneida to Howard, east on Howard, past Johnson Park, and south again on Seymour Avenue, which led straight to the main entrance of the park. It did not take long to find Watson, and with him as an additional passenger Wil- liams drove to Third, and up along that road between the reservoir and the park. ‘“‘There’s the spot where I found the camera,” said Watson. The car came to a standstill. out and examined the ground. “No great struggle here,” he reported, “vet—yes, it looks as if there was a mix- up of some kind. Footsteps leading toward Higby Lane. Watson, when you saw Miss Wayne in the park taking pictures did she seem—seem unsettled any way? Upset? Nervous? Any load on her mind?” “Lord bless you, no! She walked around like a queen. You’d think the park was her private grounds, sir.’ ‘“Didn’t look like a girl who contem- plated suicide?” “Her? No.” Yale got MICLOOOK C@