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Nor can I ever forget the peculiar thrill that went through me when I was informed by the head of the agency that a tracer was being sent out for Great-grandfather to call him to the phone. Great-grandfather let me do him this justice was prompt. He was there in three minutes.
After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?" "Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly. The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then: "I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men at the end of a pistol; and you tell me I'm in love. By what logic " "It is written in your face, Mr.
And that was all for the Tracer of Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in the pretty girl who confronted him no magic and matchless marvel of transcendent loveliness only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is always attractive.
And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no electric bell sound." The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And that," he ended, "will do, I think.
"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own headquarters. "Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow." In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen." "Good. Look up the name Inwood.
And the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her." "Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?" The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared alternately at Mr.
How did why do you say 'her'?" "Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling. "No you are right." The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music started at his own request. "She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. Is she wealthy?" He looked up mildly.
"If you like yes, you or any man in trouble in perplexity in the uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis." "It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know how. All has been mere impulse so far. No, I don't know how to analyze it all." "I do," said the Tracer. Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes. "You are in love," said the Tracer.
And after a moment or two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a Mrs. Stanley a new client of his who had recently bought a town house in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of family jewels.
Your Tracer doesn't intend to stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are you laughing at?" But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had seen in Mr.
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