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Updated: May 21, 2025
About a month after the above letter had been received, on September 10th, Geoffrey McBirney, dashing down the three flights of stairs in the Parish House from his quarters on the top floor, peered into the letter-box on the way to morning service. He peered eagerly. There had been no answer to his letter; it was a month; he was surprisingly uneasy.
She had reached that age when some women naturally turn toward righting the wrongs of humanity, and, in this instance, as in many others, humanity did not exactly appreciate it. "How are you, McBirney?" greeted Garrick, as he met his old friend, then, turning to young Warrington, added: "Have you had a car stolen?" "Have I?" chimed in the youth eagerly, and with just a trace of nervousness.
"And, McBirney," concluded Garrick, without going into the question of the marks of the tires, "most remarkable of all, I am convinced that the car in which his assailant rode was no other than the Mercedes that was stolen from Warrington in the first place." "Say," exclaimed McBirney in surprise, "that car must be all over at once!" "Why what do you mean?"
It's possible that McBirney may be right about that car being up there. Certainly we know that it has been up there, whether it is now or not." "And Herman wrong about its being in the city?" I suggested. "Well, one guess is as good as another in a case like this, I suppose." It had been a great relief to get back to our rooms and live even for a few minutes like civilised beings.
"I wish you'd let me tell you what they all think about you." McBirney shook his head impatiently, and Dick sighed heavily, and then in a moment the door shut softly. Things were vague to him for hours longer, and a sleeping powder kept the next morning drowsy, but in the afternoon, when Marston came for his hourly look at the patient, "Dick," said the patient, "I want to talk to you."
A glance at the gay group showed two or three new faces. More guests! McBirney set his teeth. But he had no space to take note of the arrivals, for Angela spoke. "Just in time, Mr. McBirney," Angela greeted him. "Don Emory's coming see!" A car was spinning up the drive. "Is he?" he answered perfunctorily.
But I was just running ahead of your story. The undersized man couldn't have figured in the case afterward, assuming that it was the car. He must have left it, probably in the city. Have you any idea who it could be?" "Not unless he might be an employee or a keeper of one of those night-hawk garages," persisted McBirney. "That is possible." "Quite," agreed Garrick.
Garrick was listening, without comment. "Some of the thefts, like this one of Warrington's car," continued McBirney, warming up to the subject, "have been so bold that you would be astonished. And it is those stolen cars, I believe, that are used in the wave of taxicab and motor car robberies, hold-ups, and other crimes that is sweeping over the city.
Out he tumbled from the shrubbery, exactly in front of the incoming automobile, as unpleasant a spoiled infant as could be imagined, yet a human being with a life to save. McBirney, standing in the drive, whirled, saw the small figure, ten feet down the drive, the machine close upon it; there was time for a man to spring aside; there was no time to rescue a child.
We returned from our walk around the block to the garage where Dillon and McBirney were waiting for us. "I leave you free to do what you please, Dillon," answered Garrick to the commissioner's inquiry, "as long as you don't pinch this place which promises to be a veritable gold-mine. McBirney, I know, will reduce the number of cars here tomorrow by at least two.
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