“No, and I’m afraid I never shall,” was his answer. “It is a strange mystery. I can’t seem to get anywhere with it.”
“I wish I could help you,” she said earnestly, “but I can’t seem to.”
“You gave me a good story, at any rate,” retorted Larry. “By the way, the art department sent me up your picture to return to you, but—er—do you mind if I keep it for myself?”
She looked at him a moment and answered:
“No—not very much.”
“Then I will,” exclaimed Larry. “Here we are at the elephant house. Let’s see who can feed the big fellows the most peanuts,” and, still like children, they entered.
The question of who was the greatest favorite of the pachyderms was not settled. Certain it was that the biggest elephant seemed to like Miss Mason’s peanuts better than Larry’s, but perhaps that was because she fed them to him by the half-bagful. Soon the two had handed over all the dainties they had purchased.
As they walked up a path Larry saw two figures approaching them. Both were vaguely familiar to him, and he was just wondering who they were, when, suddenly, he came face to face with them.
Even in the waning light he had no trouble in recognizing them. They were Miss Grace Potter, the daughter of the millionaire whom Larry had located after such a search, and Harrison Witherby, the clerk in the Consolidated National Bank, which had been robbed of a million dollars.
“Oh, good evening, Mr. Dexter,” greeted Miss Potter, in some surprise, as she noted Larry’s companion.