The captain evidently concluded that he was dealing with a lunatic, for he said indulgently:
“Surely not.”
“And no notoriety in the newspapers, so that I might be trailed down by assassins?”
“Not a word, provided you tell the truth.”
The old man began his story, which was an interesting one. It seemed he had been a Russian spy, and a price was set on his head. A fugitive, he chanced to meet in Germany the father of Ernest Warren. The latter was very kind to him. Mr. Warren was a civil engineer engaged on some large public work. He took sick and died. He had learned to trust Blennerhassett as a loyal friend, and had given him all his money with directions to repair to the United States and take personal charge of Ernest.
The latter, it seemed, was one of the heirs to an estate in litigation. It was to the interest of others after the fortune to have him disappear. Not only to protect Ernest, but also because he was fearful the Russian government might hunt him down personally, Blennerhassett had made his new home in an isolated old house about fifty miles up the coast from Rockley Cove.
He never explained to Ernest the cause of this seclusion and mystery. The lad had rebelled against such a solitary life, had run away after accidentally destroying five hundred dollars by fire, and Blennerhassett, not daring to come out openly, had surreptitiously visited a nearby wireless station when its operator was absent, and under cover had tried to communicate with the outside world.
He had incidentally come across Brady, and had started him on a search for the runaway, promising a five hundred dollar reward for finding him. The day before the present one a demand had come from Brady for five thousand dollars to be brought to Springville at once, or the boy would never be returned.
“The five hundred dollars Ernest burned up was his own money,” explained Blennerhassett. “I love him as my own son. All I ask is that I find him.”
The police captain opened the door of his office and called out into the station main room.