At the Kenora he heard of someone who had seen 128 Jim the day before at the town of Salmon Arm, between thirty and forty miles away. He took the stage there, only to find that Langford had left presumably for Vernock. Back again he came, and it was late at night when he got to town. On dropping off the stage, he ran into the faithful Smiler.
“Hullo, kid! You see Jim Langford?” he asked.
Smiler nodded.
“Know where he is?”
He nodded again excitedly, hitching up his trousers which were held round his middle by a piece of cord.
“Might have known it,” thought Phil, “and saved myself a lot of running about.
“Lead on, MacDuff!” he cried. “Show me Jim Langford and I’ll give you two-bits.”
Smiler led the way in the darkness, down a side street into the inevitable and dimly lit Chinatown. Smiler stopped up in front of the dirty, dingy entrance of a little hall occasionally used for Chinese theatricals. He pointed inside with a grin, refused Phil’s proffered twenty-five cents, backing up and finally racing away.
A special performance in Chinese was being given by a troupe of actors from Vancouver and all Chinatown who could were there.
Phil paid his admission to a huge, square-jawed Chinaman at the pay-box, and pushed through the swing doors, inside.