“Well, they talked things over, and decided that he would be safer in New York, and that she would have to go along and look after him. But she was afraid that you would trace her; so she sent the telegram breaking the engagement.”
“How did she know about the fifty-thousand-dollar policy?” Ed again broke in.
“From Binoff. He had sent her a note to tell her that the change had been arranged, making her beneficiary of the two ten-thousand-dollar policies, and he added that Mr. Bell had also taken out a fifty-thousand-dollar policy, and made his office staff the beneficiaries.
“Well,” Rossiter went on, “that’s all there is to it. When we came in there with the police last night, she thought we were after her brother, and was up in arms.
“I dropped right then to the true facts of the case; but it took me a good part of to-day to dig out just who Roberts could be, and what he was wanted for. But he isn’t wanted at all. Another man was arrested yesterday for the murder.
“So they’re going to ship him off down to his home in Georgia,” he said with a shrug. “But, if you should ask me, boss, I don't think it will be for long. If I ever saw it written in a guy’s face, he is booked for the long trip.”
“But how did you come to find out all about this?” questioned Ed.
For answer, Rossiter turned back the lapel of his vest, and showed the badge of a United States Secret Service agent.
“I was put into your office to watch you, boss,” he laughed. “You were more or less associated with some people who were pulling a raw deal, and we thought maybe we could get at them through you.
“But it didn’t take me long to find out that you were clean as a hound’s tooth. I’m turning in my shield to-morrow, and staying on with you. No getting rid of your Old Man of the Sea.”
“Thank God for that,” said Ed.
They were in town by this time, and he whirled up to his office.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Something here I’ve got to get.” When he came out again, the little box containing the engagement ring was in his vest pocket.
“All right!” he cried. “Let’s go. But don’t fail to remind me in the morning to call up Binoff, will you, Rossiter? I want to apply for a hundred-thousand-dollar policy. I think they bring me luck.”
The End
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Cinemagic
All your ancient magics—genies, imps, and jinns
Popping out of bottles when you pulled the cork—
Cannot be compared to movie reels in tins
Flashing fairy filmplays, ’Frisco to New York!
In a comfy armchair—center, on the aisle—
I can sit enchanted, true contentment’s gage;
Humdrum daily problems vanish for the while
As I watch the actors on the shadow stage.
Do I yearn for South Seas? Crave my eyes the odd?
Laughter? Sadness?—all these mirrors of my mood?
Cinemagic wafts me to my Land-o’-Nod—
Time flies by unnoticed—no gray thoughts intrude!
Daytime leaves me dreary. Life has passed me by;
Yet night finds me eager, makes my pulses dance.
I am one of millions—millions such as I—
Thrilling to the screen’s vicarious Romance!
10 A
