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Updated: June 14, 2025
He began a close inspection of the apartment, leaving no trace of his search behind him, disarranging nothing that he did not replace. Jim Farland was an expert at such things. He ransacked a small desk that stood in one corner of the living room and found a tablet of writing paper similar to that upon which had been written the anonymous messages Sidney Prale had received.
You can go down and watch the animals. I'm going out now, but I'll be back some time during the afternoon, and then we'll talk about things." Jim Farland waited in the vacant apartment until he heard Kate Gilbert depart. A quarter of an hour later, he opened the front door a crack and saw the gigantic Marie wheel out the chair with Mr. Gilbert in it. They went down in the elevator.
"I'll have to ask you to leave my office, sir!" "I expect to do that little thing before long, and you are going with me," Farland said. There was a knock at the door. Farland did not take his eyes off George Lerton. "If you have touched a button and called some fool clerk, I'll manhandle you!" he promised. "Kindly consider yourself a prisoner!"
Farland left the office and continued his investigations. In the evening he went to his home for a meal, and admitted to himself that he did not know any more than when he had started out that morning. "It gets my goat!" he said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I'll have to begin working from some other starting point.
Farland went up the steps, opened the door, and stepped inside the lobby. He walked across to the mail boxes and began looking at the names. He found some one named Gilbert had an apartment on the third floor, front. The stairs were before him, and Farland was about to start up them when a door leading to the basement was opened, and a janitor appeared.
He was holding his hands above his head and seemed to be afraid that his captor would shoot. But as he came opposite Farland, he lurched to one side and made an attempt to grapple with him. The detective did not fire. He sprang aside himself, swung the automatic, and crashed it against the other man's temple. The guard groaned once and dropped to the floor.
If he complained, and the police investigated, they would find the house closed, and the nearest neighbors would declare that it had been closed since the owner went away. The furniture is not even dusted." "That part is all right." "And that attack on Prale in the Park during the afternoon!" she went on. "That was a mistake. Suppose Detective Farland managed to connect that with us.
An hour later, having parted with Detective Jim Farland, Sidney Prale walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, determined to go to his hotel suite and rest for the remainder of the evening. His conversation and short visit with Farland had put him in a better humor. There was no mistaking the quality of Farland's friendship.
Get on your hat and coat!" "I what do you mean, sir? Am I arrested?" "No. Get that letter and come with me. I want you to tell the truth to somebody else, that's all." The frightened barber got his hat and coat and the letter, and followed Jim Farland and Murk to the corner. There Farland engaged another taxicab, and ordered the chauffeur to drive back to the little clothing store.
Murk had no special liking for detectives, and he was the sort of man detectives do not like. Presently Jim Farland arrived. "Well, Sid, Coadley got you out of jail and home before I could get here, did he?" Farland said. "I suppose I'll not need that note of yours now. Is this Mr. Murk?" "It is," Prale said. "Murk, meet Jim Farland. He's a detective friend of mine." "Gosh, Mr.
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