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Updated: July 16, 2025
He leaned over the balustrade and called down: "Any luck, Storg?" "No, he got away," was the reply. "He's a good runner. I couldn't keep up to him." "Never mind," consoled Higgins. "Maybe it's just as well. We'd have trouble proving anything illegal against him, though I could have had him held on a charge of vagrancy until I investigated a bit."
"He's gone!" cried Higgins, looking around. At that moment there was a sound in the corridor, and somewhere along its length a door opened. "He's getting away!" yelled Storg, as he jumped back into the hallway. Larry followed, and the policeman flashed his electric lamp.
There was a crackling sound, a splintering of wood and the hinges gave way. Higgins fairly jumped into the room as the portal fell in. Storg followed after him, with his hand on his revolver, ready to use it should occasion arise. But there was no need, for the room was deserted, though a candle burning on a mantel showed there had recently been an occupant in it.
"He'll be about here somewhere," whispered Higgins, a needless precaution, as their advance had been already heralded by their heavy foot-falls. "There's a light there," said Storg, pointing to the end of a long hall. Coming from under a door could be seen a faint gleam. "That's where he is!" exclaimed Higgins. "Come on!" Larry followed the officers. Their steps echoed through the silent building.
"He evidently only used a few of these handsome apartments," and he laughed as he looked around on the dilapidated rooms, with the plaster peeling from the walls, the windows half broken, and the doors falling from their hinges. "Hark!" exclaimed Larry. "Some one is coming!" Footsteps sounded in the lower hall. "That's Storg, coming back!" cried Higgins. "I hope he got his man."
Higgins showed where a light was nickering back and forth between two rooms on one side of the building, about the third story up. "It's been going that way for the last hour," said Higgins. "I'm going in now. Get your gun ready, Storg. You may not need it, but, if you do, it's best to have it handy." Larry followed behind the policemen, his heart beating a little faster than usual.
"Yes, and he shaved himself here," the officer added, as he pointed to a razor, some soap, and pieces of paper on which were unmistakable evidences that the mysterious man had been acting as his own barber. "I'd like to catch him," the bluecoat went on. "I'm sure there's something crooked about him." "It looks so," agreed Larry. "Maybe Storg will get him."
It would have done little good had he done so, for by this time the mysterious man was in the second hallway, and out of reach of any possible bullets. "You stay here and look after things, I'll catch him!" called Storg, as he raced down the stairs, his light making erratic circles as he advanced. "I guess that's good advice," commented Higgins to Larry, who had remained in the upper corridor.
Then, in the little circle of light cast from the glass bullseye, Larry saw, running down the stairs, the smooth-shaven man he had helped pull from the angry sea on the life-raft. "There he goes! Catch him!" cried Storg, as he clattered down the stairs after the fugitive. "Hold on! Stop!" yelled Higgins, running from the room. "Halt, or I'll shoot!"
Readers of Lowell's "Fireside Travels" will have noticed that the first of them is addressed to the "Edelmann Storg" in Rome. The true translation of this expression is "Nobleman Story;" that is, William W. Story, the sculptor, who modelled the statue of Edward Everett in the Boston public garden.
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