The Tomahawk., 1925-08-20
MYSTERY
OF THE MISSING
SHIRT
By A. E. SWOYER
70 by Short Story Pub. Coz

ness, and our hero had not the price
Of regular meal no mysterious MUIR
ders nor cfewless robberies sought his
mighty brain for solution. The truth
must be told-the peerless Shomes
was on his uppers!
Great days, these, Fatson!" he said,
carefully emptying the ashes from his
pipe into bit Of paper, and dexterous-
ly rolling II into a cigarette. Great
daysl No work for me no annals for
you to chronicle Cat so much per
chronic) for posterity! 1t seems as If
the pleasures Of a neat murder no
longer appeal to the strong-arm man /;
we are becoming race Of mollycod-
dles!" A tear for moment dimmed
the eagle eye of Shomes, trickled
gently down his classic nose and lost
itself In the stubble of his two weeks
beard
Education has done It," replied his
friend. 1.-The real brainy criminal has
learned that it Is easier and more gen.
teel to start bank than to break into
one; while the monetary results are
the same. But, cheer up, Shomes,
nothing can keep a good man down
but a tombstone or a cash register!"
"You are right, Fatson! And even
now feel that in exactly Ave minutes;
by yonder clock, client, the victim
Of dark and awful crime, will
come"
A popdarouS EpooEipo Of tho door
interrupted him. Rising, hastily, he
set the clock ahead five minutes.
'Thus Is the power of deduction vim
dicaed! Right to the minute! Fat
son, open the door. 1t is our client |!
(Or, perhaps, the landlord for last
January's rent" he muttered. aside.
"'Tis we'll were not seen!)
Before the faithful Fatson could
reach the door, it opened, and tall
man, with a huge and shaggy beard,
entered and sank heavily into a chair;
the latter, not built for heavy sinking.
collapsed. The strange visitor con-
tinued until stopped by the floor.
aha" said Shomes. II see that
you are the victim Of a slight acct
dent You wonder how know? These
things are easy to the trained mind !!
Fatson, you remember the interesting
little problem of the Emerald Frank
furter, in which this power enabled
me to trace a clue the dull wits Of
the police had not even seen"
The stranger, who, framed amid the
~ hpnlyan chain hoI
been listening, open mouthed, now
rose. mr.. Shomes," said he, you are
the man I need! Something mysteri-
Gus and dreadful threatens me! am
q marked man! Last evening" the
trembling tones Of this strong man
made even the callous Fatson SILVER
"last evening, as an evidence Of this
power, the very shirt was stolen from
my back. You, alone, can save mel"
"This Is, indeed, a mystery, a case
after my own heart. can see in it
the hand of that master criminal, Des-
perate Desmond, who has thwarted me
for years. Our lives are all in dan
ger! But come, tell me the details"
"They are few enough. In the first
place, my name Is Dalrymple. I run
doughnut foundry, and am fairly well
to do. Last evening I dressed care
fully to 90 to the club; I remember
my undershirt particularly. 1t was of
the knitted kind I always wear, but
new. I spent an hour at the club, and
on retiring found the shirt was gone
My outer shirt. vest, and coat were
intact"
Him. said Shomea you must
have been robbed Of this-er-under-
garment. then, either in your home,
at the club, or between the two
places"
Marvellous" CALCULATED Fatson.
Shomes, with the remarkable agil-
ity he always showed when on a clew,
whipped out a pocket rule and meas
ured the distance between Dalrymple's
eyes. Swiftly he entered the results
In q large ledger. "'Tis, indeed. Des-
mond's workw he muttered. I'VE
must be quick! Mr.. Dalrymple, may
I have sample of your whiskers? It
Is important! Thanks" Shipping off
q generous portion of the guests lace
curtains, he turned his back, stuffed
them into his pipe and began smoking
vigorously.
Again turning to his guest, he shot
the question. "Have you dined? No?
Goodi Then we will accompany you
you must not be alonew
Dashing to the table, he seized a
celluloid paper cutter and placed 1t
In his pocket. This Is a desperate
case-we must 60 armed" he gritted,
with a sinister scowl. "Fatson, call
taxi. And" he Kissed, in a tone so
low that Dalrymple could not catch
the words. don't get that gink on the
corner, you lunkheadl Remember. we
hung him up last week."
Quickly Disgusting himself, by turn
. Ing up his coat collar, the great de-
tective led Fatson and Dalrymple to
the door.
In three-Quarters Of an hour the
speeding taxi landed the party at a
famous restaurant two blocks away.