Part 26 (1/2)

After making a few guarded inquiries in the neighborhood of the store, Preston sought out the house where Gerard had boarded during his stay in Mount Clemens. There he found that the missing merchant, in order to allay suspicion, had paid the rental of his apartment for three months in advance, and that the place had not been touched since, save by the local authorities who had been working on the case.

”You won't find a thing there,” the chief of police informed Hal, in response to a request for information. ”Gerard's skipped and that's all there is to it. We've been over the place with a fine-tooth comb and there ain't a sc.r.a.p of evidence. We did find some telegrams torn up in his waste basket, but if you can make anything out of 'em it's more than I can,” and he handed over an envelope filled with sc.r.a.ps of finely torn yellow paper.

”Not the slightest indication of where Gerard went?” inquired Preston as he tucked the envelope in an inside pocket.

”Not a bit,” echoed the chief. ”He may be in China now, so far as we know.”

”Was he married?”

”n.o.body here knows nothin' about him,” the chief persisted. ”They do say as how he was right sweet on a girl named Anna Something-or-other who lived in the same block. But she left town before he did, and she 'ain't come back, neither.”

”What did you say her name was?”

”Anna Vaughan, I b'lieve she called herself. You might ask Mrs. Morris about her. She had a room at her place, only a few doors away from where Gerard stayed.”

The apartment of the man who had vanished, Preston found, was furnished in the manner typical of a thousand other places. Every stick of furniture appeared to have seen better days and no two pieces could be said to match. Evidently Gerard had been practicing economy in his domestic arrangements in order to save all the money possible for a quick getaway. What was more, he had carefully removed everything of a personal nature, save a row of books which decorated the mantel piece in one of the rooms.

It was toward these that Preston finally turned in desperation. All but one of them were the cheaper grade of fiction, none of which bore any distinguis.h.i.+ng marks, but the exception was a new copy of the latest Railroad Guide. Just as Preston pounced upon this he heard a chuckle from behind him and, whirling, saw the chief of police just entering the door.

”Needn't worry with that, young man,” he urged. ”I've been all through it and there ain't nothin' in it. Just thought I'd drop up to see if you'd found anything,” he added, in explanation of his sudden appearance. ”Have you?”

”No,” admitted the postal operative. ”Can't say that I have. This is the first piece of personal property that I've been able to locate and you say there is nothing in this?”

”Nary a clue,” persisted the chief, but Preston, as if loath to drop the only tangible reminder of Gerard, idly flipped the pages of the Guide, and then stood it on edge on the table, the covers slightly opened.

Then, as the chief watched him curiously, he closed the book, opened it again and repeated the operation.

”What's the idea? Tryin' to make it do tricks?” the chief asked as Hal stood the book on edge for the third time.

”Hardly that. Just working on a little theory of my own,” was the response, as the post-office man made a careful note of the page at which the Guide had fallen open--the same one which had presented itself to view on the two other occasions. ”Here, would you like to try it?”

and he handed the volume to the chief. But that functionary only shrugged his shoulders and replaced the Guide upon the mantelpiece.

”Some more of your highfalutin' detective work, eh?” he muttered. ”Soon you'll be claimin' that books can talk.”

”Possibly not out loud,” smiled Hal. ”But they can be made to tell very interesting stories now and then, if you know how to handle 'em. There doesn't seem to be much here, Chief, so I think I'll go back to the hotel. Let me know if anything comes up, will you?” And with that he left.

But before returning to the hotel he stopped at the house where Anna Vaughan had resided and found out from the rather garrulous landlady that Gerard had appeared to be rather smitten with the beautiful stranger.

”She certainly was dressed to kill,” said the woman who ran the establishment. ”A big woman and strong as all outdoors. Mr. Gerard came here three or four nights a week while she was with us and he didn't seem to mind the mice at all.”

”Mind the what?” snapped Preston.

”The mice--the white mice that she used to keep as pets,” explained the landlady. ”Had half a dozen or more of them running over her shoulders, but I told her that I couldn't stand for that. She could keep 'em in her room if she wanted to, but I had to draw the line somewhere. Guess it was on their account that she didn't have any other visitors. S'far as I know Mr. Gerard was the only one who called on her.”

”When did Miss Vaughan leave?” Hal inquired.

”Mrs. Vaughan,” corrected the woman. ”She was a widow--though she was young and pretty enough to have been married any time she wanted to be.

Guess the men wouldn't stand for them mice, though. She didn't stay very long--just about six weeks. Left somewheres about the middle of July.”

”About two weeks before Gerard did?”

”About that--though I don't just remember the date.”