Guy Garrick

Guy Garrick

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Guy Garrick, by Arthur B. Reeve
(#10 in our series by Arthur B. Reeve)
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Title: Guy Garrick
Author: Arthur B. Reeve
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one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on May 24,
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, GUY
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THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES
GUY GARRICK
ARTHUR B. REEVE
WITH FRONTISPIECE

CONTENTS
I. The Stolen Motor
II. The Murder Car
III. The Mystery of the Thicket
IV. The Liquid Bullet
V. The Blackmailer
VI. The Gambling Den
VII. The Motor Bandit
VIII. The Explanation
IX. The Raid
X. The Gambling Debt
XI. The Gangster's Garage
XII. The Detectaphone
XIII. The Incendiary
XIV. The Escape
XV. The Plot
XVI. The Poisoned Needle
XVII. The Newspaper Fake
XVIII. The Vocaphone
XIX. The Eavesdropper Again
XX. The Speaking Arc
XXI. The Siege of the Bandits

XXII. The Man Hunt
XXIII. The Police Dog
XXIV. The Frame-Up
XXV. The Scientific Gunman

An Adventure in the New Crime Science

CHAPTER I
THE STOLEN MOTOR
"You are aware, I suppose, Marshall, that there have been considerably
over a million dollars' worth of automobiles stolen in this city during
the past few months?" asked Guy Garrick one night when I had
dropped into his office.
"I wasn't aware of the exact extent of the thefts, though of course I
knew of their existence," I replied. "What's the matter?"
"If you can wait a few moments," he went on, "I think I can promise
you a most interesting case--the first big case I've had to test my new
knowledge of crime science since I returned from abroad. Have you
time for it?"
"Time for it?" I echoed. "Garrick, I'd make time for it, if necessary."
We sat for several moments, in silence, waiting.
I picked up an evening paper. I had already read it, but I looked through
it again, to kill time, even reading the society notes.
"By Jove, Garrick," I exclaimed as my eye travelled over the page,
"newspaper pictures don't usually flatter people, but just look at those
eyes! You can fairly see them dance even in the halftone."
The picture which had attracted my attention was of Miss Violet
Winslow, an heiress to a moderate fortune, a debutante well known in
New York and at Tuxedo that season.
As Garrick looked over my shoulder his mere tone set me wondering.

"She IS stunning," he agreed simply. "Half the younger set are crazy
over her."
The buzzer on his door recalled us to the case in hand.
One of our visitors was a sandy-haired, red-mustached, stocky man,
with everything but the name detective written on him from his face to
his mannerisms.
He was accompanied by an athletically inclined, fresh-faced young
fellow, whose clothes proclaimed him to be practically the last word in
imported goods from London.
I was not surprised at reading the name of James McBirney on the
detective's card, underneath which was the title of the Automobile
Underwriters' Association. But I was more than surprised when the
younger of the visitors handed us a card with the simple name,
Mortimer Warrington.
For, Mortimer Warrington, I may say, was at that time one of the
celebrities of the city, at least as far as the newspapers were concerned.
He was one of the richest young men in the country, and good for a
"story" almost every day.
Warrington was not exactly a wild youth, in spite of the fact that his
name appeared so frequently in the headlines. As a matter of fact, the
worst that could be said of him with any degree of truth was that he
was gifted with a large inheritance of good, red, restless blood, as well
as considerable holdings of real estate in