Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1911-06-14
J0HtS0NS VEL VT ICE CREAM

The train was on time, and by half
past 8 o'clock Billy and Sanderson
were breakfasting in a restaurant near
the station. 5..
After breakfast they walked five
blocks to the Hotel Donovan, and there
the browning misfortune descended
upon Sanderson, as he thought, not
knowing that much worse was in store
for him. His feet were barely upon
the threshold of the hotel when he saw
directly in his path the stock form and
iron visage of a former acquaintance,
Michael Wortley, formerly the chief
of detectives for the Maine Central
railroad and now attached to the Hos
tel Donovan in the same capacity.
There was no other man on earth that
Sanderson would not rather have seen.
Wortley merely waved his hand.
There were guests within yard Of
him who noticed nothing, but Sander.
son saw and understood and vanished,
He evaporated like wisp Of the vapor
Of morning 20 silently that even clever
Billy did not know that anything was
happening. Filled with rage and bitter.
ness, at odds with the universe and
protesting against the injustice of the
cosmic law, Sanderson walked across
to the Hotel Clifford, and it seemed to
him that he walked with q limp and
feebly. He felt that he was growing
old. H
ITO be done this way by a kid" he
groaned, "and then to run fiat against
Mike Wortley! It amt right. I've got
no right to have such luck as that"
These expressions he repeated in his
room as he walked back and forth,
nervously chewing the end Of a black
cigar. Surely for Mr.. Sanderson the
world had fallen into state of rank
decay. There was neither sweetness
nor promise in it any more.
Suddenly the door resounded to q
humping summons. Merely by instinct
Sanderson glanced to the window.
There was no fire escape.
"Who's there?'' he demanded.
"Only me- answered serene voice,
"Just Billy
Sanderson put his hand to his brow
for a moment. Then he flung open the
door. In strobe Billy and Mike Wort.
ley.
ITS in his grip" said Billy.
Whats in my. grip?" cried Sander
son. H.
"Oh, just few diamonds" respond
ed Billy; nothing much, as we figure
'em in New York.
"Wortley," exclaimed Sanderson,
this amt so. never took anything
of this kid. give you my word for
that"
Keep cool, Harry" responded the
detective as he opened Sanderson's
travelling bag. lis this it?" he added
to Billy, and put into the boys hands
cheap nickeled alarm clock.
With rapid but steady fingers Billy
unscrewed the clocks legs and the
other projections that held the thing
together. Then he pulled out the
works In the usual way, but the ma
chinery was in sad state of disarray.
In the midst Of the wreck reposed the
diamond brooch 1856 u =. .l:;7,3sl =
"You see, Mr.. Sanderson," said Billy,
II knew what you were after just as
soon as you showed up. l don't want
to be disrespectful, but-but you look
1t, you know. There's an eager, hun
cry eye in your head, Mr.. Sanderson.
I've seen lots like you. And then when
you stood all that CUFF about my aunt
OF course knew you must be cunning
for me. 49,
Sand knew you'd get the goods too.
You're clever man, that's what you
are, and the odds against me were too
big. told you the straight truth
when said that I'd been losing sleep
for a week. There was no mortal
chance that could keep awake, and
II didn't the diamonds were yours.
There was no use hiding 'em in any
ordinary way. there was nobody that
I could give 'em to. 1 was hard pushed.
But at last my peppers rested on that
clock in your grip, which was over
hauling at the time-you being In the
smoker burning tobacco and having
golden dreams. Nobody uses an alarm
clock on a sleeper, says I, and this
thing Is broken anyhow. Moreover,
Mr.. Sanderson will stick to me so long
as he hasn't found the diamonds 1t
will be easier to rob him than to pre-
vent him from robbing me-,
$50 l dug the inwards out of the
clock and chucked them through the