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Updated: May 6, 2025
Curlie, obeying her instructions, read on and with every line his conviction grew stronger that the conclusions he had come to were well formed. This is what he read: "Having spent Good Friday with his family, our captain, deeming further delay but loss of time, determined to cast anchor and sail for the coast of Ireland.
He moves toward us, then away at times, just as he does to right and left." "Hm," sighed Curlie, resting his chin on his hands. "That's a new dodge, this moving business. Complicates things, that does." For a time he sat in a brown study. At last he spoke again, this time quite as much to himself as to the other: "Folks don't move unless they have a way to move.
When Curlie returned from his mission ashore he carried but one bundle. That resembled a fencepost in size and shape. It was carefully wrapped and sealed in sticky black tar cloth. "Going to throw a message overboard in case we're lost, I suppose," laughed Joe. "Something like that," Curlie laughed back.
I know you'd love to catch him, Curlie, but it would be dangerous, awfully dangerous! So don't you try, for he is going far, far away." Coles Masters' fingers had worked rapidly during this whispered message. Not only had he measured the distance and taken the location, but he had written down the message word for word. "Well, I'll be jiggered!" he muttered.
Having boarded an interurban car, Curlie slept his way into the city. Once there he hurried over to the secret tower room, where the news of his night's adventure was received with great joy. "So you got him!" exclaimed Coles Masters. "Smashed him up right? Bully for you. That's great!" He slapped Curlie on the back.
It was difficult to distinguish objects at a distance, but, unless his eyes deceived him, Curlie saw some object, all white and ghostly, rising slowly from the hatchway leading to the forecastle. Cold perspiration sprang out upon his brow, his heart beat madly, his knees trembled as he involuntarily moved forward. That was the way he had of treating ghosts; he walked straight at them.
On our way back Curlie informed us that he had taken us three miles beyond our lines, and we were very near being caught just opposite the line at the firing of the sundown gun. But with Curlie's earnest pleading the guards consented to allow us to cross the line.
Sudden as had been the catastrophe, it had not been too quick for the driver. Just as the car crashed over, Curlie caught sight of a figure in long linen duster and with closely wrapped head, dashing up the bank, over the fence and into the brush. "Go it," he exclaimed, making no attempt to catch the fugitive, "you know the country better than I do. I'd never catch you in that labyrinth of trees.
That fellow has some means of locomotion. Anyway," he sighed, "it's not our friend of the big hotel unless unless he or she or whoever it is has taken to locomotion, and that's not likely. Not the same side of the city. Out near the forest preserve." "Yes, or a little beyond," said Coles. "What do you think," asked Curlie suddenly, "has he got an automobile or an airplane?"
"It's queer she gave us up so quickly." "Yes, but I'm glad she did." Suddenly Curlie started. As they rounded a corner he caught sight of a trim, slender figure. This girl had been standing in the light of a shop window. Now she dodged inside. "Huh!" he grunted. "Thought that looked like her, but of course it couldn't be. Some ship captain's daughter probably."
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