“Oh, did I tell you that I saw Horton’s girl yesterday; this Miss Saulsbury?”
“Where?” George demanded, staring.
“At Police Headquarters. A friend of Millard showed us around.”
Storm told in detail of the scene at the Bureau of Missing Persons, and George listened with deep interest.
“Mighty loyal of that girl to stand up for poor Jack when the whole world was ready to condemn him as an absconder, wasn’t it?” he commented, as Millard had done. “Even I—well, it did look pretty black against him, didn’t it? They’ll get his murderers, sure!”
“So Millard thinks. He is crazy about the work of the Department since he has been given a glimpse behind the scenes, and he swears they can’t fail.” Storm laughed. “In fact, we have a little wager on about it, and you are to hold the stakes. He is coming up to dinner next Tuesday night.”
“Well, for an old friend of Jack, you’ve taken a queer stand, it seems to me,” George said slowly. “Anybody would think you didn’t want to see his murderers punished!”
“Not at all!” Storm retorted coolly: “There is nothing personal in this; it is a purely abstract question. Millard believes in the infallibility of the Department, and I don’t. What have they done so far? Horton was last seen alive in Poughkeepsie on Wednesday afternoon; he is murdered in New York some time that night, and his body is not even discovered until Friday afternoon. This is Saturday night, and what progress has been made in the case? Exactly none! They don’t know how Horton came to be out there on the Drive, who killed him or where the money is!”
“They’ve found the bag it was in, anyway.”
“What?” Storm stared at him as though he could scarcely believe he had heard aright.