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Updated: June 14, 2025
He found scraps of writing in the wastebasket, too, and inspected them carefully. "Somebody in this apartment wrote those notes, all right," Farland mused. "But why? That's the question I want answered, and I'll have to be careful how I start in to find out. You can't bluff that girl; one look is enough to tell me that.
"After I left the hotel, I met Farland and then walked down to the river and met you and you know the rest. How could they have contemplated hanging that crime on me when they did not know but that I had a perfect alibi? I think we're on the wrong track, Murk." "Well, boss, how about your fountain pen?" Murk asked. "How come it was found beside the body?"
Suddenly, just ahead of them, they saw Sidney Prale and the man from headquarters. They hurried to catch up with them. "What's the idea?" Farland asked. "Needed a walk," Prale replied. "Didn't feel like going to bed, and a walk would do me good, I knew." "I'll have some things to tell you in the morning," Farland said.
But why should he try to get Prale out of town? And, being a man of that sort, why did he say that he wouldn't handle Prale's funds? You'd think a man of his sort would like nothing better than to get his fingers tangled up in that million." "I'll have a man take a look at George Lerton." "Don't strain yourself," said Jim Farland.
He was an old man, bent and withered, and he looked at Farland with sudden suspicion. "You want to see somebody in the house?" he asked, in a voice that quavered. "I want to see you," Jim Farland answered. "What about, sir?" Farland exhibited his shield, and the old janitor recoiled, fright depicted in his face. "I ain't done anything wrong, mister," he said hoarsely.
They started toward the door, and Prale and Murk followed them, watched them until they started away, and then turned back to bathe their faces and hands. Then Prale got a taxicab, and drove to the office of a physician, who did his best to make the countenances of Prale and Murk presentable. It was an hour later when Jim Farland called Prale by telephone at the hotel.
"But there is something peculiar about " "Out with it! Know this man?" "I've seen him before," the merchant replied. "When?" "La-last night, sir." "Now we are getting at it!" Jim Farland exclaimed. "When did you see him last night, and where, and what happened?" "He was in the store, Mr. Farland, about half past ten or a quarter of eleven o'clock. He he bought those clothes he's got on."
"You had him followed that night and you sent those notes to the barber and the clothing merchant, with money in them." "And you betrayed yourself when you began using violence," Prale put in. "You were too vindictive. You showed that you had some good reason of your own for wanting to drive me away from New York quickly!" "Oh, we've got you!" Farland repeated.
Jim Farland knew that at once. "That's my name, and some people are kind enough to say that I am a detective," Farland replied. "What's the idea of treating me rough like this?" "I regret that violence was necessary to get you here, Mr. Farland," the masked man replied, "but it seemed to be the only way in which I could get a chance to talk to you freely without subjecting myself to danger."
"Well, I did connect him with it," Farland put in. "But when I sprung it on him here this afternoon, I was running a bluff. I had some evidence, but not enough to convict. You might have got away with it, Lerton, if you had had any nerve. But you happen to be a rank coward and a guilty man!" "You you " George Lerton gasped. He had been holding two fingers in a pocket of his waistcoat.
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