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Updated: June 8, 2025
Birnes, Chief Arkwright and Detective Sergeant Connelly were on a train, bound for Coaldale. Mr. Birnes had left them for a moment at the ferry and rushed into a telephone booth. When he came out he was exuberantly triumphant. "It's my man, all right," he assured the chief. "He has been missing since Friday night, and no one knows his whereabouts. It's my man."
Birnes, and the men of his agency, to find out about me, and, if possible, to find out whom I represented, so they might locate the supply? I wouldn't tell them, because it was not desirable that they should deal directly with Mr. Kellner, who was old and childish, and lacking, perhaps, in appreciation of the real value of diamonds.
There are two there now one in a rear room of the basement, and another in the pantry, with the doors locked on the outside. Their names are Claflin and Sutton!" So, that was it! It came home to Mr. Birnes suddenly. Confound their stupidity! "Why are they locked up?" demanded the chief, with kindling interest. "Why have you been watched?" "I think, perhaps, Mr.
There was a little pause, then Mr. Birnes continued impressively: "This correspondence is of no consequence in itself, of course. But it gives us this: Carrier pigeons will only fly home, so if Mr.
One of them Frank Claflin was directly across the street, strolling along idly, the most purposeless of all in the hurrying, well-dressed throng; another Steve Birnes, chief of the Birnes Detective Agency appeared from the hallway of a building adjoining the H. Latham Company, and moved along behind Mr.
Therefore, there were more diamonds, and he got his share of them." "Hello!" came in Mr. Birnes' voice from the hall. "Give me 21845 River, New York. . . . Yes. . . . Is Mr. Latham there? . . . Yes, Henry Latham . . . ." Again Mr. Wynne's self-possession forsook him, and he came to his feet, evidently with the intention of interrupting that conversation.
But why did he take that useless cab ride up Fifth Avenue? If he had no objection to any one knowing his address, why did he go so far out of his way? Mr. Birnes couldn't say. As he pondered these questions he saw a maid-servant come out of a house adjoining that which Mr. Wynne had entered, an he went up boldly to question her. Did a Mr. Wynne live next door? Yes. How long had he lived there?
Follow the road there till you come to Widow Gardiner's hog-lot, then turn to your left, and it's about a quarter of a mile on. The only house up that way you can't miss it." The agent stood squinting at them, with friendly inquiry radiating from his parchment-like countenance, and Mr. Birnes took an opportunity to ask some other questions. "By the way, what sort of old man is this Mr. Kellner?
It would hold about as much as a high hat." Explicit as the information was it led nowhere, apparently. Mr. Birnes readily understood this much, yet there was a chance a bare chance that he might trace the girl on the 'L, in which case anyway, it was worth trying. "What did she look like? How was she dressed?" he asked.
"Yes," he admitted; "but how do you know all this, Birnes?" "Mr. Birnes and the men of his agency have favored me with the most persistent attentions during the last few days," Mr. Wynne continued promptly. "He has had two men constantly on watch at my office, day and night, and two others constantly on watch at my home, day and night.
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