John Henry Smith Part 40

I had more confidence in a plan I then set in motion. I have a friend in London of the name of Flynn. He is an American newspaper man. Flynn says he would like to be a "journalist," but needs the money; therefore he continues to be a newspaper man, and he is a good one.

Flynn is connected with one of the big news a.s.sociations and after drifting with the tide of cab and omnibus traffic which gorges on Fleet Street, I finally located him in an office in New Bridge Street. I had not seen him in five years.

"h.e.l.lo, Smith!" he exclaimed, placidly as if we had spent the preceding evening together. "When did you strike town?"

"Last night," I said, heartily shaking hands.

"I see that you recently put a crimp in that Wall Street gang," he observed, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. "You were in with Harding on that deal, weren't you?"

"Yes," I said, "and I'm looking for him."

I briefly told him of the death of my uncle, and explained that Harding had left suddenly and that it was necessary I should locate him without delay.

"He was in London stopping at the Savoy a week ago," said Flynn, after consulting a record book. "I sent a man to see him and he wouldn't be seen. No use for you to go there; they won't tell you where he went."

"But can you help me locate him?" I eagerly asked.

"Certainly I can, provided you stand the tolls," he said. "Electricity is as rapid here as in the United States, and if this magnate is on one of these islands we can get his address in four or five hours, if we have any kind of luck. Suppose we wire the twenty larger cities and towns, about the same number of summer resorts, and the leading golf centres?"

"Great scheme, Flynn!" I declared, "you're a natural detective."

"Natural nothing," growled that clever individual, "it's a part of the regular grind. It should be no great trick to find a man worth thirty millions in an area not much bigger than Illinois."

He wrote a telegram, dictated the list of places to his stenographer and turned to me.

"Any engagement for dinner?" he asked, and when I said I had none he suggested we go to the Savage Club. We did so, and that dinner was the first enjoyable episode in many dismal weeks. The quiet charm of the old club, together with its famous ale, had a soothing effect on my nerves, and after several pleasant hours we took a cab back to his office.

Flynn disappeared for a minute and when he returned he handed me a stack of telegrams.

"There are some reports already in," he said. "Look them over while I attend to the work for which I'm supposed to draw salary."

I read them hurriedly. There was no news of the Hardings from Birmingham, Manchester, Nottingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Brighton, Blackpool, and a score of other places. Then I opened one from Glasgow.

They had been in Glasgow, but had left. I was on the trail, and announced the news to Flynn. He smiled and again bent over his work.

In a few minutes a boy came in with more telegrams. They had been in Edinburgh on the day following their visit to Glasgow, but were not there now.

"They were in Edinburgh four days ago," I declared.

"Probably headed for St. Andrews," said Flynn, stopping in the middle of a sentence he was dictating. "Don't bother me, Smith, I'm busy."

I spent the next half hour studying a map of Great Britain on which I mentally traced _Her_ course from London to Glasgow and from there to Edinburgh. Another batch of telegrams from Plymouth, Hull, Dublin, Southampton, Newcastle, York, Hastings, and lesser places was silent concerning the missing Hardings.

It was ten o'clock in the evening when the boy handed me three envelopes. I read the first two and threw them on the floor. Without glancing at the date line I read the third one. It ran:

"Robert L. Harding, wife and daughter at the Caledonia.--Jones."

It was dated St. Andrews.

"I've found them!" I declared. Flynn was just closing his desk. His day's work was ended and he was in better humour.

"Where are they?" he asked, throwing a ma.s.s of stuff into a waste basket.

"St. Andrews."

"Of course. Every American golf crank heads for St. Andrews from the same fanatical instinct which impels a Mohammedan to steer for Mecca."

A study of the time tables showed that I could take a late night train which would place me in Edinburgh early in the morning.

"I'm indebted to you for this more than you realise," I said to him.

"Don't mention it."

"How much do I owe your concern for this service?"

"Couldn't tell you," a.s.serted Flynn. "Won't know until the bills come in, and that will take a month or more. I'll have them tabbed up and send you a statement, you send a cheque and that will end it."

"If there is anything I can do for you I--"

"Nothing," interrupted Flynn, "unless you should happen to run across the New York plutocrat who hires me. You might tell him that unless he tilts my salary he is likely to lose the most valuable man who ever produced dividends for him."

"I'll do that!" I declared, and I meant it.

Two hours later my train rumbled out of the station and headed for Scotland. I had been supremely satisfied with my progress during the day, but when I began to a.n.a.lyse the situation I was unable to discover any sound basis for self-congratulation.

I merely had ascertained her probable location. That did not improve my prospects. I had not the slightest reason to believe that she had changed her att.i.tude toward me, and I had no right to a.s.sume that she would receive, much less listen to me. She might be married, and probably was. I thought of these things and fell from the fool's heaven to which I had climbed.

But on I went toward Scotland. I would drink the cup to its lees. I foil into a troubled sleep, and after a miserable night did not know whether to be pleased or scared that I had finished the longer stage of my journey.

The early morning train from out Edinburgh's dingy station carried one pa.s.senger who paid small attention to the scenery between the beautiful capital of Scotland and its famous university town. My one thought when we crossed over the great bridge which spans the Firth of Forth was that it was unconscionably long, and that the train slackened its speed in taking it.

Then we came to a junction within sight of St. Andrews, and when I was informed by the railway agent that I would have to wait half an hour for a connection I told him that I would walk down the track. He informed me that this was against the law. Having some familiarity with the monotony with which the laws are enforced in Scotland, I smoked and waited.

The railroad skirts the links of St. Andrews, and from its pictures I recognised the club house. Disdaining to ask questions or take a carriage, I ordered my luggage to a hotel and started on a brisk walk, hoping thus to brace myself for the ordeal ahead of me.

_She_ was here. Somewhere in this picturesque old town _she_ was living and breathing that very moment. _She_ had pa.s.sed through the street which then resounded with my brisk footsteps. Her name had been Grace Harding. Was it yet Grace Harding?

I ran square into Carter!

"Why, my dear Smith!" he exclaimed, clutching at his monocle which came as near falling as it well could and remain in place. "Why don't you call 'Fore!' when you drive ahead like this? You're in Scotland, my dear fellow!"

I begged his pardon, though of course it was not necessary. We heartily shook hands--at least he did.

We were on a corner of a crooked and cobblestoned street which twists around the side of a hill. There is a small store on this corner, and its neatly pointed red bricks and s.h.i.+ning plate gla.s.s are sharp in contrast to the ancient and somewhat dilapidated structures which surround it. I recall these facts distinctly, and I can see even now every att.i.tude and expression on the part of Carter.

During our brief interview his eyes frequently wandered from mine to those plate-gla.s.s windows, as if something within were of vast interest to him.

"You're looking fine, Carter," I said, and he was; "St. Andrews must agree with you."