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Updated: May 22, 2025
"No; I hadn't time to get a paper," replied Waldemar, taking the copy extended to him and reading in large display: OFFER TO PHOTOGRAPHERS Must be Taken According to Plans and Specifications Designated by the Late Nick Karboe. Apply to A. JONES, Ad-Visor. Astor Court Temple, New York City. "No wonder they ran," said Waldemar with a grin, as he digested this document.
Prentice," pursued the Ad-Visor, "measure just three feet from top to bottom. The phrase 'three feet high' which so puzzled you, as combined with the adjectives of great size, was obviously a printer's direction.
A. Jones, Ad-Visor, Court Temple, N. Y. City. Had the Reverend Mr. Prentice been a reader of journals devoted to the art and practice of printing he might have observed that message widely scattered to the trade. It was answered by a number of printing shops. But, as the answers came in to Average Jones, he put them aside, because none of the seekers for business was able to "show samples."
"'Did he get you, Average?" he cried. "Not er this time. Pretty good er team work," drawled the Ad-Visor. "We've got our man for felonious assault, at least." Enderby, panting under Bertram's solid knee, blinked and struggled. "No use, Livius," said Average Jones. "Might as well quiet down and confess. Ease up a little on him, Bert. Take a look at that scar of his first though."
"I'd like to make the job complete." Then, courteously bidding the North Pinto Gold Mining Company farewell, the two water-dealers clambered up the rocks and disappeared beyond the abrupt sky-line. Once again Doctor Conrad Hoff sat in the private office of Average Jones, Ad-Visor. The young man was thinner, browner and harder of fiber than the Jones of two weeks previous.
You won't mind, will you," he said to Waldemar, "if I leave you unceremoniously?" "Recalled a forgotten engagement?" asked the other, rising. "Yes. No. I mean I'm going to Harlem to hear some music. Thirty-fourth's the nearest station, isn't it? Thanks. So long." Waldemar rubbed his head thoughtfully as the door slammed behind the speeding Ad-Visor.
"How the normal mind does shrink from connecting crime with good clothes and a social position!" remarked the Ad-Visor. "Just give me a moment's time." The moment he spent jotting down words on a bit of paper, which, after some emendation, he put away. "That'll do for a heading," he remarked.
A detective he now frankly considered himself; and the real drudgery of his unique profession of Ad-Visor was supportable only because of the compensating thrill of the occasional chase, the radiance of the Adventure of Life glinting from time to time across his path.
And, at that moment, terror struck into the soul of Waldemar. "Suppose they came back!" he whispered to Average Jones. "We've left the house unguarded." "I've fixed that," replied the Ad-Visor in the same tone. "Watch Morrison!" Governor Arthur approached the civic statue. An official, running out to the coach, handed him a silken cord, which he secured with a turn around the wrist.
Hence it was with misgiving that the Ad-Visor opened the door of his sanctum to Mr. Spofford, on a harsh December noon. But the misgivings were supplanted by pleased surprise when the caller laid in his hand a clipping from a small country town paper, to this effect: RANSOM Lost lad from Harwick not drowned or harmed. Retained for ransom. Safe and sound to parents for $50,000.
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