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Updated: May 25, 2025
About a week after the tragedy at Ridgewood as Bordine was walking down the street his eyes was attracted by a poster on a dead wall near. He paused and read: $5,000 REWARD. The above reward will be given for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person who murdered Victoria Vane at her home in Ridgewood on the 10th of June. "BUCK BRADY, Sheriff."
I took my Airedale over to the Ridgewood show last spring and got a third with him. I'm going to take him up to Craigswold on Labor Day, too. What kind of dog is yours?" "The dandiest dawg that ever stood on four legs," answered Link, afire with the zeal of ownership. "Why, that dawg of mine c'n " "What breed is he?" asked the postmaster, not interested in the dawning rhapsody.
He raised his eyes to peer into the face of a ragged tramp. The city of Grandon was only a few miles distant from Ridgewood and connected by rail. It was a small city of mushroom growth, as is characteristic of many Western towns. It was here that the engineer August Bordine resided. He was well to-do, supporting a widowed mother, giving her a comfortable home from his earnings.
He had spent his evening at the Lido, a flossy games parlor in the suburb of Ridgewood, and had come away with better than seven hundred credits the second best single night he had ever had. He felt good about things. Hawkes was working at a parlor far across the city, and so they did not arrange to meet when the evening was over; instead, they planned to come home separately.
"Over at Ridgewood." "What the Satan you drivin' at, pardner?" "You ought to know." "Speak right out plain, pardner, and don't beat about ther bush," growled the tramp, showing his teeth. "Well, it's that little affair about the girl that died so suddenly over at Ransom Vane's. You haven't forgotten that, of course?" "Of course not."
I wouldn't mind half so much about the other sneaky things he does; if it wasn't for the way he treats Laddie. "Suppose we send Lad to the boarding kennels, at Ridgewood, till the brat is gone?" suggested the Master. "I hate to do it. And the good old chap will be blue with homesickness there. But at least he'll get kind treatment.
Up the Valley and down it, from Tuxedo to Ridgewood, there had been a half-score robberies of a very different order depredations wrought, manifestly, by professionals; thieves whose motor cars served the twentieth century purpose of such historic steeds as Dick Turpin's Black Bess and Jack Shepard's Ranter.
"After some weeks of uncertainty the mystery surrounding the murder of Victoria Vane, a beautiful young girl of Ridgewood, seems likely to be closed up. Mr. Ransom Vane, the brother of the murdered girl, has been in our city for some time in secret communication with officers of the law.
"Glad to see you," said the inventor heartily. "Mr. Massey, this is my friend, David Ridgewood, Graham Woods Bartlett's gardener." "How do you do, Mr. Massey," said David. "I've seen you before, of course. Heard of you often." John Massey did not answer at once, since he was somewhat at a loss. He had not been in the habit of meeting socially his friends' gardeners. At last he blurted forth.
Amongst the smaller kennels is that of Mr. Reeks, now mostly identified with Oxonian and that dog's produce, but he will always be remembered as the breeder of that beautiful terrier, Avon Minstrel. Mr. Arnold Gillett has had a good share of fortune's favours, as the Ridgewood dogs testify; whilst the Messrs.
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