Arden felt something of a chill.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Are they so old, then?”
“Some are. What did you want to know?”
“That one about Harry Pangborn.” Couldn’t the chief have heard the name at first?
“Yes,” he answered, without much encouragement.
“It says a thousand dollars reward,” Arden reminded him.
“Just a moment.” He smiled at her from behind his heavy desk, a safe breastwork, and went to a filing cabinet. Running his fingers along the tops of a row of cards he brought out one that had a poster fastened to it. “Is this the one?” he asked, holding it out to Arden.
“That’s it!” she answered. “I’m sure I’ve seen that man’s face somewhere around here—in town, perhaps. Don’t you know anything about him?”
“Hum! No, not much. That’s rather an old and dead case. We haven’t much to go on about him. I don’t think you’ve seen him. If he was around here any place, you can be sure we’d have apprehended him and claimed the reward ourselves.”
“Oh,” murmured Arden, rather dismayed. “Then you don’t think there’s a chance that I might have seen him?”