They plunged into the intimate community of interest which is the peculiar heritage and asset of the small, close-knit old college. Presently, however, Kirby’s forehead wrinkled again. He sat silent, communing with himself. At length he lifted his head like one who has taken a resolution.
“You made a good guess at a woman in the case,” he, said. “And you call this a coincidence? She’d say it was a case of intuition. She’s very strong on intuition and superstition generally.” There was a mixture of tenderness and bitterness in his tone. “Chance brought that advertisement to her eyes. A hat-pin she’d dropped stuck through it, or something of the sort. Enough for her. Nothing would do but that I should chase over to see the Owl Building bunch. At that, maybe her hunch was right. It’s brought me up against you. Perhaps you can help me. What are you? A sort of detective?”
“Only on the side.” Average Jones drew a card from his pocket, and tendered it:
A. JONES, AD-VISOR
Advice upon all matters connected with
Advertising
Astor Court Temple 2 to 5 P.M.
“Ad-Visor, eh?” repeated the other. “Well, there’s going to be an advertisement in the Evening Truth to-day, by me. Here’s a proof of it.”
Average Jones took the slip and read it.
LOST—Necklace of curious blue stones from Hotel Denton, night of August 6. Reward greater than value of stones for return to hotel. No questions asked.
“Reward greater than value of stones,” commented Average Jones. “There’s a sentimental interest, then?”
“Will you take the case?” returned Kirby abruptly.
“At least I’ll look into it,” replied Average Jones.