nt, surveying the numbers in the waiting-room and those
passing in and out, was ready to revise his opinion about the possible
difficulty of the job. He judged that half the population of New York
must be missing.

After a time the captain's secretary notified Johnnie that it was his
turn. As soon as he was admitted the puncher began his little piece
without waiting for any preliminaries.

"Say, Captain, I want you to find my friend Clay Lindsay. He--"

"Just a moment," interrupted the captain. "Who are you? Don't think I
got your name."

Johnnie remembered the note of introduction and his name at the same
time. He gave both to the big man who spent his busy days and often
part of the nights looking for the lost, strayed, and stolen among New
York's millions.

The captain's eyes swept over the note. "Sit down, Mr. Green, and
let's get at your trouble."

As soon as it permeated Johnnie's consciousness that he was Mr. Green
he occupied precariously the front three inches of a chair. His
ever-ready friend the cow-boy hat began to revolve.

"This note says that you're looking for a man named Clay Lindsay who
came to New York several months ago. Have you or has anybody else
heard from him in that time?"

"We got a letter right after he got here. He ain't writ since."

"Perhaps he's dead. We'd better look up the morgue records."

"Morgue!" The Runt grew excited instantly. "That place where you keep
folks that get drowned or bumped off? Say, Captain, I'm here to tell
you Clay was the livest man in Arizona, which is the same as sayin'
anywheres. Cowpunchers don't take naturally to morgues. No, sir.
Clay ain't in no morgue. Like as not he's helped fill this yere morgue
if any crooks tried their rough stuff on him. Don't get me wrong, Cap.
Clay is the squarest he-man ever God made. All I'm sayin' is--"

The captain interrupted. He asked sharp, incisive questions and got
busy. Presently he reached for a 'phone, got in touch with a sergeant
at the police desk in the upper corridor, and sent an attendant with
Johnnie to the Police Department.

The Irish sympathies of the sergeant were aroused by the naive honesty
of the little man. He sent for another sergeant, had card records
brought, consulted a couple of patrolmen, and then turned to Johnnie.

"We've met your friend all right," he said with a grin. "He's wan
heluva lad. Fits the description to a T. There can't be but one like
him here."