Smyrna times., 1911-02-22
lie Turns Amateur Detective
By CLARISSA MACKIE
'pyright by American Press Asso-
citation, 1911.

Henry Ord lighted another cigar and |
waited impatiently for the reappear-
ance of his chief clerk. Every three |
minutes he consulted his watch and |
compared it with the electric time |
piece on the wall between the win
dows. He had an important engage
ment at IL o'clock, and it was now
1890. Smithers was getting more
stupid every day.
He brought his feet down from the
desk with a thump as the secretary
returned with a worried expression on
his long, pale face. Mr.. Ord reached
for his hat and held out his hand.
"Give me the securities. Smithers,"
he said.
Il can't find them. Mr.. Ord" said
the clerk diffidently. 81 thought per-
haps you might have them in here"
'Here!' snorted Mr.. Ord inpatient
ly. "If had them in here why did l
send you to the vaults after them?"
Il have looked everywhere, sir.
They are not in the vaults nor any
other place in the Office. 1 will ques-
tom
mo need to question anybody" cut
in Mr.. Ord. sinking back in his chair
and tossing his hat into the ticker
basket Il gave you those securities
day before yesterday, with instruc-
tions to lock them in my private box
| in the vaults. You returned the key
to me then, and have just handed it
to you now. l haven't had occasion
to go to the box since Thursday. Now,
where are those securities?"
81 don't know, sir" returned Smith
ers respectfully.
"Give me the key to the box. Now
come with me and show me where
you placed them"
Drawers snapped open, papers rus
tied, and Mr.. Qrd's boot heels raped
out on the metal flooring as he went
from shelf to shelf, from box to draw
er and from drawer to cupboard.
Once more he opened his own pri
vate box and ran over the papers con
tanned therein.
where the dickens are they?" he
demanded savagely when his last eff
forts proved in vain.
81 really don't know, sir" replied
Smithers. LAS | said before. l though
it possible that you might have takeI
them out, and it slipped your minG
that you had done So"
Huh! Perhaps you took them ou
yourself and it slipped your mind, eh
Ever forget anything, SmithersY'
"Not very often. sir"
Smithers faithfully followed his EN-
ployer back to the private Office ant
folded his long thin arms behind hi
back preparatory to listening to tn
lecture that he knew Mr.. Ord had il
store. And this time-well, those L
} d. bonds were worth $4,000 today
and it was known that tomorrow the
might not be worth the paper the
were written on because-but that ha
+; nothing to do with this story
please call up Hughes & Carrawa!
. and tell Mr. Hughes l shall be unabl
. to keep that engagement with him.
will talk with him later on the phon
Now, Smithers, this is the third tim
this has appened-securities have di
appeared in this same way during Sc
eral days until the market interest
them has abated. It's an old gag an
won't work again. Now, who do yC
think is at the bottom of this?"
Smithers fidgeted nervously ar
looked out of the window at the blar
wall of another building. Really, M
Ord, l haven't formed an opinion"
said, rather mincingly.
Haven't, eh? Well, l have" thu
dered his employer, fixing the chi
clerk with hard stare.
Smithers jumped nervously. Il
deed, sir!" he said.
Eyes, indeed, Mr.. Smithers. I'm G
ing to ferret this mystery out befo
2 o'clock. See! This Office is t
worst managed affair in the city
New York, and you are the most
efficient chief clerk 1 ever employe
- Got that?"
"Yes, sir"
"See that row of books on the shelf
Mr.. Ord pointed his ruler at narrC
shelf laden with cloth bound copies
Conan Doyle's books.
. Smithers bowed respectfully.
Detective stories, every one of e
I've read 'em ALL" said Mr.. Ord.
shall solve the mystery of the
appearance of those securities by
same methods as those employed
that noted detective" went on
Ord, forgetting in his excitement
II compare his watch with the timepi'
n on the wall. His searching glaI
II fell on an advertising blotter that
on his desk. 1t had become mixed
EnM his personal mall and he had not to
ed it in the waste paper basket III
now. He threw it in and crossed
hands on his plump waistcoat.
"Do you wear plasters, Mr. Smi
W ers?" he asked coolly.
~ The chief clerk stared at this I
-~r n,Noctfo, frad On a ahrr1ntlv FIR