The Amateur | Page 5

it was she suggested it," cried the doctor. "She asked me if you
were Austin Ford, the great detective."
Ford snorted scornfully. "She did not!" he protested. His tone was that
of a man who hopes to be contradicted.
"But she did," insisted the doctor, "and I told her your specialty was
tracing persons. Her face lightened at once; it gave her hope. She will
listen to you. Speak very gently and kindly and confidently. Say you
are sure you can find him."
"Where is the lady now?" asked Ford.
Doctor Sparrow scrambled eagerly to his feet. "She cannot leave her
cabin," he answered.
The widow, as Ford and Doctor Sparrow still thought of her, was lying
on the sofa that ran the length of the state-room, parallel with the lower
berth. She was fully dressed, except that instead of her bodice she wore
a kimono that left her throat and arms bare. She had been sleeping, and
when their entrance awoke her, her blue eyes regarded them
uncomprehendingly. Ford, hidden from her by the doctor, observed that
not only was she very pretty, but that she was absurdly young, and that
the drowsy smile she turned upon the old man before she noted the
presence of Ford was as innocent as that of a baby. Her cheeks were
flushed, her eyes brilliant, her yellow curls had become loosened and
were spread upon the pillow. When she saw Ford she caught the
kimono so closely around her throat that she choked. Had the doctor
not pushed her down she would have stood.
"I thought," she stammered, "he was an OLD man."
The doctor, misunderstanding, hastened to reassure her. "Mr. Ford is
old in experience," he said soothingly. "He has had remarkable success.
Why, he found a criminal once just because the man wore a collar. And

he found Walsh, the burglar, and Phillips, the forger, and a gang of
counterfeiters--"
Mrs. Ashton turned upon him, her eyes wide with wonder. "But MY
husband," she protested, "is not a criminal!"
"My dear lady!" the doctor cried. "I did not mean that, of course not. I
meant, if Mr. Ford can find men who don't wish to be found, how easy
for him to find a man who--" He turned helplessly to Ford. "You tell
her," he begged.
Ford sat down on a steamer trunk that protruded from beneath the berth,
and, turning to the widow, gave her the full benefit of his working
smile. It was confiding, helpless, appealing. It showed a trustfulness in
the person to whom it was addressed that caused that individual to
believe Ford needed protection from a wicked world.
"Doctor Sparrow tells me," began Ford timidly, "you have lost your
husband's address; that you will let me try to find him. If I can help in
any way I should be glad."
The young girl regarded him, apparently, with disappointment. It was
as though Doctor Sparrow had led her to expect a man full of years and
authority, a man upon whom she could lean; not a youth whose smile
seemed to beg one not to scold him. She gave Ford three photographs,
bound together with a string.
"When Doctor Sparrow told me you could help me I got out these," she
said.
Ford jotted down a mental note to the effect that she "got them out."
That is, she did not keep them where she could always look at them.
That she was not used to look at them was evident by the fact that they
were bound together.
The first photograph showed three men standing in an open place and
leaning on a railing. One of them was smiling toward the photographer.
He was a good-looking young man of about thirty years of age, well
fed, well dressed, and apparently well satisfied with the world and
himself. Ford's own smile had disappeared. His eyes were alert and
interested.
"The one with the Panama hat pulled down over his eyes is your
husband?" he asked.
"Yes," assented the widow. Her tone showed slight surprise.
"This was taken about a year ago?" inquired Ford. "Must have been,"

he answered himself; "they haven't raced at the Bay since then. This
was taken in front of the club stand--probably for the Telegraph?" He
lifted his eyes inquiringly.
Rising on her elbow the young wife bent forward toward the
photograph. "Does it say that there," she asked doubtfully. "How did
you guess that?"
In his role as chorus the ship's doctor exclaimed with enthusiasm:
"Didn't I tell you? He's wonderful."
Ford cut him off impatiently. "You never saw a rail as high as that
except around a racetrack," he muttered. "And the badge in his
buttonhole and the angle of the stand all show--"
He interrupted himself to address the widow.