windling medical quackery. And this swollen, smug-faced intruder looked
a particularly offensive specimen of his kind. Therefore the Ad-Visor
said curtly:

"I can't take your case. Good day--"

"Not take it! Did you read the reward?"

"Yes. It is interesting as showing the patent medicine faker's touching
confidence in the power of advertising. Otherwise it doesn't, interest
me. Get some one else to find your young hopeful."

"It ain't no case of findin' now. The boy's dead." His strident voice
quavered and broke, but rose again to a snarl. "And, by God, I'll spend
a million to get the dogs that murdered him."

At the word "murdered" Average Jones' clean cut, agreeable, but rather
stolidly neutral face underwent a subtle transformation. Another
personality looked out from the deep-set, somnolent, gray eyes; a
personality resolute, forceful and quietly alert. It was apparently
belied by the hesitant drawl, which, as all who had ever seen the
Ad-Visor at his chosen pursuits well knew, signified awakened or
intensified interest in the matter in hand.

"Where--er--is--the--er--body"

"I don't know. It ain't been found."

"Then how do you know he's dead?"

The other tore open the bundle he carried, and spread before Average
Jones a white stained shirt with ominous brown splotches.

"It's his shirt. There's the initials. Mailed to my house and got there
just after I left. My secretary brought it on, with the note that come
pinned to it. Here it is."

He produced a bit of coarse wrapping-paper upon which was this message
in rough capital letters:

TWO DAGOES SHOT HIM DASSENT SAY NO MORE FROM A FRIEND IN CINCINNATI. Average Jones examined the wrapper. It was postmarked Cincinnati. He
next smoothed out the creased silk and studied minutely the blotches,
which were heaviest about the left breast and shoulder.

To the surprise of Doctor Hoff, the young man's glance roved the big
desk before him, settling with satisfaction upon a sponge-cup for
moistening stamps. Applying this to one of the spots on the shirt, he
rubbed the wetted portion vigorously on a sheet of paper which lay near
at hand. His lips pursed. He whistled very softly and meditatively. He
scratched his chin with a slow movement.

"Is that all?" he shot out suddenly at the older man.

"All! Ain't it enough? He's been murdered; murdered, I tell you, an' you
set there an' whistle!"

Average Jones directed a dreamy smile toward a far comer of the room.