The day was fast approaching when it would be necessary for him to leave
the home of Mr. Crow. He could no longer encroach upon the hospitality
and good nature of the marshal--especially as he had declined the
proffered appointment to become deputy town marshal. Together they had
discussed every possible side to the abduction mystery and had laid the
groundwork for a systematic attempt at a solution. There was nothing
more for them to do. True to his promise, Bonner had put the case in the
hands of one of the greatest detectives in the land, together with every
known point in the girl's history. Tinkletown was not to provide the
solution, although it contained the mystery. On that point there could
be no doubt; so, Mr. Bonner was reluctantly compelled to admit to
himself that he had no plausible excuse for staying on. The great
detective from New York had come to town, gathered all of the facts
under cover of strictest secrecy, run down every possible shadow of a
clew in Boggs City, and had returned to the metropolis, there to begin
the search twenty-one years back.
"Four weeks," Bonner was saying to her reflectively, as they came
homeward from their last visit to the abandoned mill on Turnip Creek. It
was a bright, warm February morning, suggestive of spring and fraught
with the fragrance of something far sweeter. "Four weeks of idleness and
joy to me--almost a lifetime in the waste of years.
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