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Updated: June 21, 2025
"It is the detective part that interests me most in the game, but I haven't had much of it, yet. You haven't run across any promising ads lately, have you?" Waldemar's wide, florid brow wrinkled. "I haven't thought or dreamed of anything for a month but this infernal bomb explosion." "Oh, the Linder case. You're personally interested?" "Politically. It makes Linder's nomination certain.
Linder's eyes did not drop, but a film seemed to be drawn over them. "You once knew er a Mrs. Arbuthnot?" The thick shoulders quivered a little. "Her husband her widower is in Brooklyn. Shall I push the argument any further to convince you that you'd better drop out of the mayoralty race?" Linder recovered himself a little. "What kind of a game are you ringing in on me?" he demanded.
"I don't figure you're exactly serious, Dad, in your talk about Transley. You're just feeling out. Well let me do a little feeling out. How about Linder?" "Linder's all right," Y.D. replied. "Better than the average, I admit. But he's not the man Transley is. If he was, he wouldn't be workin' for Transley. You can't keep a man down, Zen, if he's got the goods in him.
"I am told that you, Morgan, have some knowledge of the dastardly work of this spy, Franz Linder. Is it so?" asked Captain Trevor suggestively. "Oh, sir!" cried the young fellow, in excitement, "I believe I know what is referred to here by Linder's correspondent, as 'the water-wheel bomb. That is what he blew up the Elmvale dam with!"
It was a chance if the line was not out of business, but he lifted the receiver and listened to the thump of his heart as he waited. Presently came a voice as calm and still as though it spoke from another world, "Number?" He gave the number of Linder's rooms in town; it was likely Linder had remained in town, but it was a question whether the telephone bell would waken him.
This was Linder's position, except that he had no furrow to work against. All he could do was tell off men with sacks and horse blankets soaked in the barrels of water to hold the back-fire in check as best they could. So far they were succeeding. As soon as the fire had burned a few feet the forward side of it was pounded out with wet sacks. It didn't matter about the other side.
Along with several million other readers, Average Jones followed the Linder "bomb outrage" through the scandalized head-lines of the local press. The perpetrator, declared the excited journals, had been skilful. No clue was left. The explosion had taken care of that. Their putty-and-pasteboard fantasies did not long survive the Honorable William Linder's return to consciousness and coherence.
"Don't I know it?" he repeated, as his mind apparently ran back over some reminiscence that verified Linder's remark. It was evident from the pleasant grimaces of George's face that whatever he had suffered from the uncertain sex was forgiven. "Say, Lin," he resumed after another pause, and this time in a more confidential tone, "do you s'pose Transley's got a notion that way?" "Shouldn't wonder.
It was mid-afternoon when he overtook Transley's outfit, now winding down the southern slope of the tongue of foothills which divided the two valleys of the Y.D. Pete, wet over the flanks, pulled up of his own accord beside Linder's wagon. "'Lo, George," said Linder. "What's your hurry?" Then, glancing at his saddle, "Where's your blanket?"
Guess you don't believe that, neither?" "You guess right again." Linder was quite unperturbed. He knew something of Drazk's gift for romancing. Drazk leaned over in the saddle until he could reach Linder's ear with a loud whisper. "And she called me 'dear'; 'George dear, she said, when I came away." "The hell she did!" said Linder, at last prodded into interest.
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