Jack McGuire,” read Eden in a voice of triumph. “And the date—August twenty-sixth, 1913.”
“Jerry Delaney!” cried Holley. “By heaven, we’re getting on now. The name of the third man was Jerry Delaney.”
“Yet to be proved he was the third man,” Chan cautioned. “This, however, may help.”
He produced a soiled bit of colored paper—a passenger’s receipt for a Pullman compartment. “Compartment B—car 198,” he read. “Chicago to Barstow.” He turned it over. “Date when used, February eighth, present year.”
Bob Eden turned to a calendar. “Great stuff,” he cried. “Jerry Delaney left Chicago on February eighth—a week ago Sunday night. That got him into Barstow last Wednesday morning, February eleventh—the morning of the day he was killed. Some detectives, we are.”
Chan was still busy with the vest. He brought forth a key ring with a few keys, then a worn newspaper clipping. The latter he handed to Eden.
“Read it, please?” he suggested.
Bob Eden read:
“Theater-goers of Los Angeles will be delighted to know that in the cast of One Night in June, the musical comedy opening at the Mason next Monday night, will be Miss Norma Fitzgerald. She has the role of Marcia, which calls for a rich soprano voice, and her vast army of admirers hereabouts know in advance how well she will acquit herself in such a part. Miss Fitzgerald has been on the stage twenty years—she went on as a mere child—and has appeared in such productions as The Love Cure.”
Eden paused. “There’s a long list.” He resumed reading:
“Matinees of One Night in June will be on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and for this engagement a special scale of prices has been inaugurated.”
