"I got a line on young Robinson," answered Tuttle. "He's gone to a small resort named Rockbeach, up on the coast of Massachusetts, but his father doesn't know his business, or if he does he denies it."
"Rockbeach?" said Garrison, who realized at once that Theodore had gone there to search out the justice of the peace who had married Dorothy and Fairfax. "Is he up there still?"
"He hadn't come home this morning."
What so long an absence on Theodore's part might signify was a matter purely of conjecture. There was nothing more to be done but await developments. Whatever young Robinson's scheme, it might be wholly disorganized by the latest will that John Hardy had drawn.
"What about the two dagos—the fellows who attacked me in the park?" inquired Garrison. "Have you found out anything concerning them?"
Tuttle replied with a question. "Haven't you seen it in the papers?"
"Seen what?"
"Why, the bomb explosion and the rest of it—all Black Hand business last night," answered Tuttle. "One of our pair was killed outright, and the other one's dying, from a premature explosion of one of their gas-pipe cartridges. They attempted to blow up a boiler, under a tenement belonging to a man they'd tried to bleed, and it got 'em both."
He took from his pocket a two-column clipping from a morning newspaper, and placed it on the desk.
"Out of my hands, then; no chance to help send them up," commented
Garrison reflectively, as he glanced through the article. "I'll keep
this, if you don't mind," he added. "It may be useful with
Robinson—in helping to warm up his blood."