“Hush!” Sam interrupted, “not so loud. If a fellow by the name of George Golda claims it”——
“George Golda!” repeated Smith.
“Yes; if George Golda claims it bring him to me. If he will not come, track him, and let me know where he lives as soon as possible. Do it quietly.”
“Sure, I will that. D’yees think he’s the wan?” whispered Smith, intensely interested.
“We shall see,” replied Sam. “But don’t part with the bronze. You will remember?”
“I will, be me soul, I will, and be the token ave it, I’ll”—and Smith spat on his hands and made other significant manifestations quite understandable to descendants of a fighting nation.
Immediately thereafter Sam continued on to Simms’ office, and there, closeted with the detective, related his experience.
Twenty minutes later, a quiet, unassuming, seedy-looking man carelessly lounged about in the vicinity of the Plaza fountain, and no matter what position he occupied, or where he loitered, express No. 346 and its driver never escaped from his sight.
CHAPTER X.
The sun had traversed half the distance from the horizon to the zenith when Rutley called at Rosemont for information concerning the seriousness of Sam’s injuries, and incidentally to have a chat with Hazel, for he was very fond of the girl.