Part 23 (2/2)
Sam was convinced that Giuseppe was the real owner of the medal. A possible important discovery. And he smiled as their eyes met full, face to face. And the Italian smiled at Sam's open-faced frankness; but utterly unsuspecting the splendidly concealed satisfaction that prompted the smile from Sam.
”Where does the man live to whom you loaned this?” asked Sam.
Giuseppe appeared puzzled. He looked up the street, then down the street, but finally said, ”I dunno, eesa move away las week.”
”Where did he live?”
”In-a da cabin--odder side Nort Pacific Mill, at-a da Giles lak.”
”What is his name?”
”George-a da Golda!”
Sam was careful to appear unconcerned, and, to avoid questions that might arouse suspicions of something ”crooked”--”Well,” he continued, ”I have no doubt the medal is yours, but it is a valuable souvenir, and as Mr. Golda may have something to say, I shall leave my address with this officer.” He thereupon handed the officer a card, remarking, ”Please file it at your headquarters.”
Then again turning to Giuseppe, Sam continued, ”You notify Mr. Golda to call at the police station and put in his claim and I will be on hand with the medal at any time the authorities apprise me of Mr.
Golda's arrival.”
The Italian's disgust was plain and he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”Sacre da-be d.a.m.n!
Eesa mak George-a Golda fetch eem back. Garibaldi geeve eet-a ma fadder.”
Without further question, Sam proceeded on his way to Simm's office.
That Giuseppe was not the man Sam was after, appeared certain, but that he was well acquainted with the fellow, there seemed no doubt.
Giuseppe must be watched, for he would find Golda to get the medal back, as it was evident Giuseppe treasured it as an heirloom.
While deeply engrossed on this line of thought, Sam was starting down Third street on his way to Detective Simms' office, and had nearly reached Alder street when his reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice, exclaiming, ”Good marnin', sor!”
”How are you?” responded Sam, recognizing Smith.
”Sure, I'm failin' foine, axcipt”--and a wistful look came into his eyes--”axcipt for a sore spot in me heart. G.o.d s.h.i.+eld her!” and he bent his head reverently.
Sam knew full well the object of Smith's allusion, and said sympathetically, ”You share in the sorrow of your house?”
”Indade: I do, sor! Tin years ave I known her swate disposition. Sure, didn't I drive her coach to the church whin she married him? And she was kind to my poor wife, too, whin she suffered betimes wid brankites. G.o.d rest her soule! She's wid the angels now! But I see yeese do be hurted!”
”A bruise! An accident last night, but it's nothing, I guess! Are you out for a bracer this morning?”
”Just a little sthrole, wid me eye open for signs.”
”Signs of what?”
”Oh, the dinsity of the cratchur! Sure, I do be always lookin' fer the little wan.”
”Why don't you search the river?” suggested Sam significantly; ”her mother says she is drowned.”
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