Christopher and the Clockmakers

by Sara Ware Bassett

Evidently the inspector was of the same opinion, for he made no answer.

"Well, that's all, Hollings," announced the great man, turning to his clerk. "You may go now."

"I hope and pray the ring may be recovered, sir. I shall not have a happy moment until it is."

"All that must rest with the police. The case is in their keeping now," was his employer's terse reply.

In the meantime, Mr. Norcross had not said anything at all. He seldom did say anything. But as the group rose to depart, he dragged himself up out of his chair and, as if giving his blessing to the enterprise, remarked:

"Good luck to you, Inspector!"

"Thank you, sir."

Then Christopher, his father and the Chief entered the elevator and afterward the car that took them to headquarters.

Here the boy had displayed before him an array of photographs from which he had not the slightest trouble in picking that of the man with the scar; but his sharp-nosed companion he was unable to identify.

"I thought I'd recognize him anywhere," lamented Christopher. "His hair was so black and thick that—"