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Updated: May 15, 2025
He had scurried around and nosed out Martin's family history, and procured a photograph of Higginbotham's Cash Store with Bernard Higginbotham himself standing out in front.
As the car crossed the zone of scattered dwellings that separated Oakland from Berkeley, he kept a lookout for a familiar, two-story building along the front of which ran the proud sign, HIGGINBOTHAM'S CASH STORE. Martin Eden got off at this corner. He stared up for a moment at the sign. It carried a message to him beyond its mere wording.
"The pattern is beginning to take shape, Mr. Hite. The pieces are beginning to fall into place. I believe that the next act in this tragedy will take place at or hear Justice Higginbotham's camp. If there is nothing further to keep me here, I should like to go back. Is Mr. Hale going to continue his vacation with me, Mr. Hite?" There was a humorous smile in the fine deep-set eyes.
Jim led the way to the cottonwoods near where Higginbotham's "Insurance Office" had stood. He stopped at the very spot and said: "Little girl, do you know what happened here about a year ago?" "What?" she answered, as though in doubt. "Guess." "I can't," she replied. She would not say it. If he wanted it said, he must say it himself.
Every man assailing them with separate questions, all propounded at once, the couple were struck speechless, though one was a lawyer and the other a young lady. "Mr. Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham! Tell us the particulars about old Mr. Higginbotham!" bawled the mob. "What is the coroner's verdict? Are the murderers apprehended? Is Mr. Higginbotham's niece come out of her fainting fits? Mr.
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