He had learned casually that morning that Tommy's company had more than

made good Tommy's prophecy of swift work. Tommy Ashe and Joe Hedley were

rising young men.

"Oh, yes, they've got a mint," a broker he knew said to Thompson, with

an unconcealed note of envy. "By gad, it's a marvel how a pair of young

cubs like that can start on a shoestring and make half a million apiece

in two years."

"How did they both manage to escape the draft?" Thompson asked. "I'm

sure Ashe is a Class A man."

"Huh!" the broker snorted. "Necessary government undertakings.

Necessary hell! All they had to do with the shipbuilding was to bank

their rake-off. I tell you, Thompson, this country has supported the war

in great style--but there's been a lot of raw stuff in places where you

wouldn't suspect it. I'm not knocking, y' understand. This is no time to

knock. But when the war's over, we've got to do some house-cleaning."

Thompson called the shipyard first. In the glow of a sunny September

morning he felt that he must have imagined Tommy's attitude. He was a

fair-minded man, and he gave Tommy the benefit of the doubt.

But he failed to get in touch with Tommy. A voice informed him politely

that Mr. Ashe had left town that morning and would be gone several days.

Thompson hung up the receiver. For at least five minutes he sat debating

with himself. Then he took it down again.

"Give me Seymour 365L," he said to Central.

"Hello."

"Is Mr. Carr at home?"

"You have the wrong number," he was answered, and he heard the

connection break.

He tried again, and once more the same voice, this time impatiently,

said, "Wrong number."

"Wait," Thompson said quickly. "Is this Seymour 365L, corner of Larch

and First?"

"Yes."

"I beg pardon for bothering you. I'm just back from overseas and I'm

rather anxious to locate Mr. Carr--Samuel A. Carr. This was his home

two years ago."

"Just a minute," the feminine voice had recovered its original

sweetness. "Perhaps I can help you. Hold the line."

Thompson waited. Presently he was being addressed again.

"My husband believes Mr. Carr still owns this place. We lease through an

agent, however, Lyng and Salmon, Credit Foncier Building. Probably they

will be able to give you the required information."

"Thanks," Thompson said.

He found Lyng and Salmon's number in the telephone book. But the lady

was mistaken. Carr had sold the place. Nor did Lyng and Salmon know his

whereabouts.

Tommy would know. But Tommy was out of town. Still there were other

sources of information. A man like Carr could not make his home in a

place no larger than Vancouver and drop out of sight without a ripple.

Thompson stuck doggedly to the telephone, sought out numbers and called

them up. In the course of an hour he was in possession of several facts.

Sam Carr was up the coast, operating a timber and land undertaking for

returned soldiers. The precise location he could not discover, beyond

the general one of Toba Inlet.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024