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Updated: May 20, 2025
Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mind waiting." "That's nice," says I. "He'll be back in a week or so." "Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?" Which was where I begun to work up a hunch. Course, it's only a wild suspicion at first. She don't fit the description at all.
"Now what do those scratches mean?" "I. W. 2:15," says I, readin' it off. "The arrow points to Inez. He must be with her now." "Wherever that is!" growls Mr. Ellins. "Go on." "Say, lemme think a minute," says I, slippin' into the swing chair and doin' the Sherlock gaze at the desk. "Oh, certainly!" says he, snappy and sarcastic. "Take a nap over it!
"Why, great Scott, Ellins," goes on Megrue enthusiastic, "don't you know that buried treasure stuff is the stalest kind of tourist bait in use on the whole Florida coast? The hotel people have been handing that out for the past fifty years. Wouldn't think anyone could be still found who'd bite at it, would you? But it seems they exist.
We ought to make Key West by morning, if we're not over-hauled." "If!" I whispers to Vee. Dinner was announced, but for once there's no grand rush below. Mr. Ellins orders a hand-out meal to be passed around, and we fills up on sandwiches while keepin' watch on that black smudge, which is creepin' closer and closer.
"No, ma'am," says I. "Torchy." "Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I suppose you are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?" "His private secretary," says I. "So you can see what luck he's playin' in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix up for you?" "It's rather personal, I'm afraid," says she. "The boy at the door insisted that Mr.
And after I'd read it through for the third time, and was sure it was so, I manages to gasp out: "Lucky is right, Mr. Ellins; that's the only word." You might not guess it, but every now and then I connect with some true thought that makes me wiser above the ears. Honest, I do. Sometimes they just come to me by accident, on the fly, as it were. And then again, they don't come so easy.
"You're joshin'," says I. Honest, I didn't think she meant it. She didn't say any more about it, and all the way home she was as quiet as a bale of hay. That was the last I see of Marjorie for near a week. Then, one afternoon as I was goin' through Tinpan Alley on an errand, I sees the Ellins carriage pull up, and out she comes. Now, say, I knew in a minute that wa'n't any place for Marjorie.
Ellins had been playin' a long shot just for the sport of holdin' a ticket and watchin' the wheel turn. As for me and Vee, we'd pooh-poohed the idea consistent from the very start, and had only been let in along towards the last because we'd happened to be useful. I don't know that we was any more staggered, though, than the rest of 'em.
Ellins turns him over to me, with orders to watch him close while he's investigatin' the tale. Then, when I'm gabbin' free and careless about it to Vee, her Auntie sits there with her ear stretched. She wants to know what hotel I've left the Captain at. And the next mornin' he's gone. Also on other counts the arrow points to Auntie.
"We have with us this morning," he goes on, "one Lieutenant Cecil Fothergill, just arrived from London. Perhaps you saw him as he was shown in half an hour or so ago?" "The solemn-lookup gink with the long face, one wanderin' eye, and the square-set shoulders?" says I. "Him in the light tan ridin'-breeches and the black cutaway?" "Precisely," says Mr. Ellins. "Huh!" says I. "Army officer?
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