Belle spoke: "There is only one thing that can be done; that is find Squeaks. I know he is living somewhere yet, gloating probably over the success of his plan to get rid of Shay. I know he is alive, and we must find him. We have one month to do it, Jim. We must find him."
Jim shook his head. "We've tried hard enough already. We've examined every corpse taken out of the river or exposed at the morgue."
"Well; doesn't that help to prove that he is alive?"
"We've advertised and notified every police station in the country," Jim continued.
"They don't want to find him, Jim; they're on the other side."
"I don't know what else to do."
"Jim, I've read enough and seen enough of human nature to know that, if Squeaks is alive, he's not hiding in California or Florida or London; he's right here in South Ward where he can watch things. It's my belief, Jim, that he's been in the court room watching the trial."
Jim shook his head; but she went on. "This much I'm sure; he would hang around his former haunts, and we should leave nothing undone to find him."
They went first to Shay's attorney, but he dismissed the idea as chimerical, so they dropped him from their plans. Together they set to work, with little hope indeed, but it was at least better to be up and doing. Judge Squeaks's office was small, easily entered and productive of nothing. The police would give no information and seemed little interested in the new theory. Squeaks's lodgings yielded nothing new, but they found that Belle's theory was right; he had also had a room on the floor above. The woman in the gray cloak had called on him once or twice in the previous month and had come once since. She was a sort of janitress, as she had a key and straightened up his room. There was no hint of help in this. There was only one of his haunts that they had not thoroughly examined, that was the club. There was no need for that, as they knew every one that came and went, at least by sight.
Mrs. Hartigan was sitting in the club office at the back of the building next day when Skystein came in, and sat down to go over some club letters, officially addressed to him. As he read he made a note on each and sorted them into three neat piles. Belle watched him with interest that was a little tinged with shame. It is so human to consider a man inferior if he does not speak your language fluently, and the early impression they had gotten of Skystein gave them a sense of lofty pity. But it did not last. At every board meeting they had found reason to respect the judgment and worldly knowledge of the little Hebrew; those keen black eyes stood for more than cunning, they were the lights of intellect. Belle turned to him now. If any one knew the underworld of the South Ward it was he, and what he didn't know he had means to find out.