Part 27 (1/2)
”Well, that makes it more interesting. Who is the party?”
”The fellow's name is Tom Ostrello.”
”Foreigner, eh?”
”No, he is American-born--the son of Mrs. Langmore.”
”You don't mean the woman who was murdered with her husband?”
”Yes. He is a commercial traveler for a drug concern.”
”Good! I'm glad I elected to be a traveler myself.”
”As I said, Vapp, this is no ordinary case. I want you to keep track of this man day and night.”
”I'll do it--if it can be done.”
”I want you to note every person he communicates with.”
”I'll do that, too.”
”And here is another thing of great importance. If he spends money, try to find out if it is good money.”
”Eh?” The shadower looked surprised for an instant. ”You want me to look out for counterfeits?”
”Exactly.”
”That is not so easy, but I'll do my best,” went on Charley Vapp, and then he asked a number of questions regarding Tom Ostrello, all of which Adam Adams answered as well as he was able.
”You are to stay on this case until I tell you to drop it,” said the detective. ”And remember, if anything unusual occurs, let me know as soon as you can reach me.”
”I understand. Anything more?”
Adam Adams mused for a moment.
”Yes. You know Miss Bernard, who works for me here?”
”Sure.”
”Well, take care that she doesn't see you shadowing Ostrello.”
”I'm wise,” answered the shadower, smiling, and the next moment he was gone. He was not fl.u.s.tered by what was before him, for he had been shadowing people for eleven years, and as long as there was five dollars per day and his expenses in the work, he was willing to continue indefinitely.
With the shadower gone, Adam Adams meditated for a moment and then donned his walking coat and his hat. In his pockets he placed several large but rather flat packages.
”I am going out, Miss Harringford,” he said to the clerk. ”If I am not back by five o'clock, you may lock up and go home. Be on hand as usual in the morning.”
Down in the street he hopped aboard a pa.s.sing car and rode eight blocks. He entered an office building, went up in an elevator to the third floor, and took himself to a suite of offices occupied by certain United States secret service officers.
”I want to see Mr. Breslow,” he said, and was shown to a private apartment, where an elderly man sat, studying several reports.
”How are you, Adams!” was the greeting.