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Updated: September 13, 2025
Worth came out and settled himself at the wheel; he and Edwards exchanged a last, low-toned word; and they were ready to be off. Barbara leaned towards me with shining eyes. "Perhaps," she said, "Skeels might even be Clayte!" then the roadster whisked her away. The bulk of Worth Gilbert's fortune was practically tied up in this affair.
"Well then if you don't mind Worth, I'll go and use Vandeman's phone put my office wise to these Brundage clews of yours." Worth nodded. No social scruples were his. I had by no means given up the belief that Skeels in jail at Tiajuana, would still turn out to be one of the gang.
She was full of eager interest; it seemed to her that Skeels ducking the detectives that way was more than clever almost worthy of a wonder man. "Slickest thing I ever knew," I grumbled. "You can gamble I wouldn't be going south after him if Skeels hadn't shown himself too many for the Hicks agency and they're one of the best in the business."
"I know Skeels; have known him for years." "Years? How many?" It was still the girl asking. "Since 1907 or thereabouts." "Was he always a gambler?" she wanted to know. "Always. Ran a joint on Fillmore Street after the big earthquake, and before San Francisco came back down-town." "A gambler," she spoke the word just above her breath, as though trying it out with herself.
And Worth did take his time admiring her; I saw that; but all he found to say was, "Bobs, I suppose Jerry's told you that he's treed Clayte at Tiajuana?" "No," said Barbara, "he hasn't said a word. But I'm just as much surprised at Clayte's being caught as I was at Skeels escaping capture." "Say that over and say it slow," Vandeman was good natured.
I had all set for next morning: my roadster at Capehart's for repair, old Bill tipped off that I didn't want any one but Eddie Hughes to work on it; and to add to my satisfaction, there arrived in my daily grist from the office, the report that they had Skeels in jail at Tiajuana.
When it came, it was another startling question, "Didn't find Skeels in the south, eh?" I hadn't thought they'd carry their watching and trailing of us so far. I answered that question with another, "When did you see or hear from Worth Gilbert last?" "Not since the funeral," he said promptly, "the day before the funeral a week ago to-day, to be exact.
"Say," I leaned over toward him, "wouldn't it have saved wear and tear if you'd told me at the first that you knew Skeels couldn't be Clayte?" "Oh, but, Jerry, you were so sure! And Skeels wasn't possible for a minute never in his little, piking, tin-horn life!" I don't believe I had seen Worth so happy since he was a boy, playing detective.
Neat dresser, quiet, usually wears blue serge suit, black derby hat, black shoes." "By Golly you see it now yourself, don't you, Jerry?" "I see that you're holding up work," I said impatiently. And now it was the quiet girl who came in with. "Who gave you this description of Steve Skeels? I mean, how many people's observation of the man does this represent?" "One. My own," I jerked out.
It must have been through Cummings that she learned what was about to take place in Dykeman's private office. What had she told Cummings? I was ready to blurt out the question, when she fumbled in her bag with little, shaking hands, drew out and passed to me unopened the envelope addressed to Worth, with my detailed report of the Skeels chase.
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