I was therefore all alert, awaiting an order from Mr. Ward to start out with my men. But the order did not arrive for the very good reason that the man whom it concerned remained undiscovered. The end of July approached. The newspapers continued the excitement. They published repeated rumors. New clues were constantly being announced. But all this was mere idle talk. Telegrams reached the police bureau from every part of America, each contradicting and nullifying the others. The enormous rewards offered could not help but lead to accusations, errors, and blunders, made, many of them, in good faith. One time it would be a cloud of dust, which must have contained the automobile. At another time, almost any wave on any of America’s thousand lakes represented the submarine. In truth, in the excited state of the public imagination, apparitions assailed us from every side.
At last, on the twenty-ninth of July, I received a telephone message to come to Mr. Ward on the instant. Twenty minutes later I was in his cabinet.
“You leave in an hour, Strock,” said he.
“Where for?”
“For Toledo.”
“It has been seen?”
“Yes. At Toledo you will get your final orders.”
“In an hour, my men and I will be on the way.”
“Good! And, Strock, I now give you a formal order.”
“What is it, Mr. Ward?”