Dave Dashaway and his Hydroplane | Page 8

several times. We are holding some mail for him, and expected him several days ago."
"Do you know the company he represents?"
"Airships, isn't it? " propounded the clerk.
"That's right. The Interstate Aeroplane Company."
"Yes, I remember now," added the clerk.
"I am also connected with that company," explained Dave.
The clerk stared vaguely, as if he did not quite understand the situation.
"Yes," eagerly broke in the irrepressible Hiram, as if he was introducing some big magnate, "he's Dave Dashaway, and he's beat the field with the Interstate Baby Racer."
"Oh, Dashaway, eh?" said the clerk, with a pleasant smile. "I've heard of you and read about you."
"I am glad of that," responded Dave, "because it may help you identify me with the Inter-state people. As an employee of theirs and a friend of Mr. Timmins, I will have to be confidential with you."
"That's all right--we are used to confidences in this business," said the hotel clerk.
Dave reflected deeply for a moment. He had a definite plan in view. He realized that he must confide to a degree in the hotel clerk.
"The gist of the matter," said Dave, "is that Mr. Timmins has missed connections. He should have been here two days ago. Here is a telegram I received from the Interstate people."
The clerk read the telegram. He nodded his head and smiled, which the observant Dave took to mean that he was friendly towards Mr. Timmins, but knew of some of his business-lapses in the past.
"What do you want me to do?" asked the clerk.
"You notice that the Interstate people refer in that telegram to some papers sent to the hotel here for Mr. Timmins."
"I noticed that," assented the clerk. "I shouldn't wonder if this is the package."
As he spoke the clerk reached over to the letter case near his desk and took up a large manila envelope. It was addressed to Mr. Timmins, and bore in one corner the printed name and address of the Interstate Aeroplane Co.
"That is the letter, I feel sure," said Dave.
"I have no doubt of it," agreed the clerk.
"Do you suppose it would help you out any to have me give it to you?"
"Why, will you?" questioned Dave eagerly. "I was going to ask you to do so."
"I think I understand the situation now," said the clerk, "and I can see how your getting the letter may help your people out of a tangle. It's taking some responsibility on my part, for the letter is of course the property of Mr. Timmins. I'm going to take the risk, though, and I think Mr. Timmins will say it's all right when he comes along."
"I know he will," declared Dave. "You see, I hope to carry through a contract he has neglected."
Dave took the bulky letter and opened its envelope. He glanced hastily but intelligently over its contents. They were just what he imagined they would be, contracts for eight biplanes ready to sign, and details and plans as to the machines.
"Have you a Kewaukee directory here?" he asked.
The clerk pushed a bulky volume across the marble slab of the counter, with the words:
"Anybody special you are looking up?"
"Why, yes," replied Dave, "the County Fair Amusement Co."
"Oh, you mean Col. Lyon's proposition," observed the clerk at once. "He runs county fair attractions all over the country."
"It must be the same," said Dave.
"I know Col. Lyon very well," proceeded the clerk. "He comes in here very often."
"Where is his office?" inquired Dave.
"I don't think he has any regular office," responded the clerk. "Two or three times a week he calls for mail at the Central Amusement Exchange. He travels a good deal--has side attractions with most of the big shows."
"But he lives in Kewaukee?"
"Not exactly. He has a very fine place called Fernwood, out on the North Boulevard."
Dave thought things over for a minute or two. Then he asked:
"How can I reach Fernwood?"
"You don't mean before daylight?"
"Why, yes," responded Dave, "the sooner the better."
"I think any of the taxi men out at the curb know the location," said the clerk.
"Thank you," replied Dave, "and for all your great kindness about that letter."
He and Hiram went out to the street. There were three or four taxicabs lined up at the curb, their drivers napping in the seats. Dave approached one of them.
"Do you know where Fernwood is?" he inquired of the chauffeur.
"You mean Col. Lyon's place?"
"Yes."
"Was there only last night. I took the Colonel home."
"Then he's there," spoke Dave to Hiram. "All right, take us to Fernwood."
"You won't find anybody stirring at this hour of the morning," suggested the chauffeur.
"Then we'll Wait till the Colonel gets up," said Dave.
In less than half an hour the auto came to a halt before one of a score or more of fine houses lining the most exclusive section of the country boulevard.
Dave got out of the