“They are for a client of mine,” he said casually to the druggist, who didn’t think of doubting Jim’s motives.
The ice cream was carefully packed so that it was still in good condition when Jim arrived at the hide-out.
“You certainly are the answer to a man’s prayer,” said Timothy, dividing the ice cream into two equal portions. “Ice cream and cigarettes! I really was craving a smoke. You put those ravens in the Bible to shame, Jim. Imagine a bird delivering a quart of ice cream! I prefer a boy with a horse. It’s not so fancy, but it’s a good deal more satisfying to the stomach.”
Jim produced the papers and together they went over each page of all four editions. They made a hasty search first and then examined each article thoroughly. Even the financial pages were searched. There was not a single mention of Timothy Dinwiddie or his victim, Willie Fry.
“That’s funny,” said Timothy, scratching his head. “It happened on Monday. You’d think there would still be some mention of the business on Thursday. I might not be so important as I thought, but Willie Fry was a well-known jockey.”
“Maybe they’re keeping quiet on purpose,” suggested Jim, who had read his share of mystery stories.
“What do you mean by that?” inquired Timothy nervously.
“Sometimes the police keep very quiet in order not to let a criminal know they are hot on his trail,” Jim said ominously.
“I hope that’s not what’s happened,” Timothy said fervently. He looked apprehensively around at the woods.
“Well, I’ll go to the newspaper office. The editor and I are pals. He may have the old papers. I’ll think up some story and get the missing ones from Monday on,” said Jim. “I can’t go tomorrow, as it might look suspicious to be going to town too often. But Wednesday I’ll get them. I’ll bring you some fresh eggs and milk too. Also, we got a lot of melons if you want one.”