# The Message to Buckshot Jim/Chapter 6
### VI

Dr. Buchanan Gilmore was not the only one who found human nature an interesting study. James Edward Dacey may not have been quite so ardent a student of his fellow man, but in his quiet way the reporter allowed few things to escape him. He flavored all his research with the salt of suspicion. Denver newspaper men used to say that Jimmy Dacey was the best man in the business when it came to putting one and two and three together and making twelve. That was Jimmy's specialty.
He was displeased with himself when he recalled how deftly the doctor had extracted information from him without arousing suspicion. But for the incident of searching the files, Dacey would never have given the matter a second thought.
It was while turning the problem over and over in his mind on the day following the dinner at the Brown Palace that Dacey made it convenient to drop in at the headquarters of Purified Thought. That was on a Thursday afternoon. The Great Gilmore was not there, nor had he been there that day. The Hindu servant said he did not expect the doctor until Friday.
"He will be very sorry, sar," said the faithful retainer. "Shall I leave the card, sar? Very well, sar."
"So soon?" thought Dacey to himself, as he stepped into the elevator and was dropped toward the street. "I think I'll just run over to his hotel."
"Doc Gilmore?" said the desk clerk. "He got out about eight this morning. Had a valise with him. I think he caught the D. and R. G. express."
Dacey walked down the street with his chin on his chest and his cigar sagging at a dispirited angle.
"It's me to keep cases on this bird for a few days!" he said to himself. "It may be nothing but a coincidence, but I'll be John-at-the-rat-hole, just the same!"
Dacey watched the rat-hole so closely that he knew when Gilmore returned, also the number of the train which brought him back to Denver. He made it his business to call at the Purified Thought headquarters daily, and on Monday he was rewarded with more food for reflection. The Great Gilmore was going away on a vacation.
"My work has been wearing of late," said he, with a weary smile. "I find myself in need of a complete rest. I shall close my office for two weeks and take a flying trip, possibly to California. I wish you could go along!"
"Why, maybe I can!" said Jimmy hopefully. "I've always wanted to make a trip to the coast. Suppose I arrange it?"
"But I am leaving the first thing in the morning," said the doctor rather hurriedly. "I am really not sure where I am going. I might change my mind."
"You're starting away to-morrow, and you don't know whether it's East or West?" demanded Jimmy.
"My dear fellow," said Gilmore, with his most charming smile, "half the pleasure of a holiday lies in wandering about without any definite end in view. When the time comes, I shall probably flip a coin to decide whether it shall be San Francisco—or Chicago, for instance. It will be entirely as the fancy takes me."
"Well, in that case," said Dacey firmly, "I'll have to pass. I hope you have a pleasant trip. Shall I come down to see you off?"
"That's very good of you," said the doctor gratefully, "but how can you when I don't know myself what train I shall take?"
Dacey got up early on Tuesday morning, in order to be on hand when the D. and R. G. express pulled out of the Union Station. He watched the gates carefully, but the Great Gilmore did not put in an appearance. The hotel clerk informed him, later in the day, that the bird had flown on Monday night, carrying two large suit-cases with him.
Now James Edward Dacey, while an accurate mental calculator, was not particularly swift in the process. He spent several days in deep thought. Old Joe Lord, the greatest city editor that Denver ever saw, remarked that Jimmy was suffering from the pip or the sleeping sickness, and doctored him with four assignments a day in consequence.
A whole week rolled by. On the following Monday night, Dacey leaned over Lord's desk, while that able citizen pawed through a pile of copy paper and made remarks about his hired hands.
"Joe," said Dacey slowly, "I think I'd like to take a spin down to Canyon City."
"So would I!" barked the city editor. "But I've got to stay here and work like a dog—and so have you! Some more of that rotten Sunday feature stuff, is it?" Joe's voice rose in an aggrieved howl. He always howled when he talked about Sunday feature stories. They were his pet abomination. "I've had my department shot all to pieces, just because some of you fellows think you've got Rudyard Kipling skinned when it comes to throwing language! What I want in this city room is a reporter or two!" And he hammered upon the desk to show how much he meant it.
"This won't be any Sunday story, if it pans out, Joe," said Dacey. "If it comes through, it'll be the biggest news thing that's busted around here in a year."
"Well, tell it to me! Whisper it!" howled the city editor. "I'm supposed to be a judge of news stories!"
"I haven't got far enough into this one yet," said the reporter, "but I've got a strong suspicion, and enough facts to start on. It's a thing that must be worked absolutely under cover. The minute the warden or any of the folks down there got wind of it, they'd blow it up in a flash, and away we'd go. No, Joe; I've got it bottled up so far, and it's going to stay that way. I tell you, if this story breaks, it will rip this State wide open, and we'll have it all to ourselves. You remember, I told you the same thing about the McMillan case."
Dacey paused. The city editor grunted, which with him was a sure sign of mental effort. Then he reached into a pigeonhole and drew forth a printed form.
"How much do you want?" he asked in a resigned tone. Joe Lord had known Dacey for twelve years, and respected him for an absolutely trustworthy man with excellent judgment of news values. "How much, Jimmy?"
"Fifty," said Dacey promptly.
"Fifty red devils!" howled the city editor. "You'll take twenty-five!" And he made it so upon the order-blank.
"I'll be back Wednesday or Thursday at the outside," said Dacey, as he pocketed the order upon the cashier.
"You better had!" snapped the city editor.