Sam had slim faith in George Golda calling at the police station toclaim the medal, but he believed it possible to locate him by diligentand discreet inquiry. With that idea he beckoned Smith into a lobby ofan adjacent building, which at that early hour was untenanted, andproduced the medal from his vest pocket. Handing it to Smith, he saidguardedly, "I found it in the City Park this morning."
"Sure I can't rade Frinch at all, at all!" said Smith, examining thebronze.
"It's a Garibaldi medal. I can trust you with it?"
"Phwat d'yees mane?" Smith responded with a snap.
"This," and Sam added confidentially in a low voice, "circulate amongthe shanties and scow dwellers below the North Pacific mill. Show themedal, prudently, mind, but never let it pass out of your hands."
"I want!" responded Smith, thrusting it in his inside coat pocket. "Beit raysponsible for yees hurt?"
"Of that--well, no matter--I fear where the fellow who lost the bronzelives--there will be found the little one." Sam had spoken in a voiceso soft and low and grave that it startled Smith.
During the pause that followed, he looked at Sam in steadfast amaze.
"Do yees belave it?" he finally asked.
"I do!"
"Sure, yees do be after me own hart. I tould thim some thaivin'blackguard----"
"Hush!" Sam interrupted, "not so loud. If a fellow by the name ofGeorge Golda claims it"----
"George Golda!" repeated Smith.
"Yes; if George Golda claims it bring him to me. If he will not come,track him, and let me know where he lives as soon as possible. Do itquietly."
"Sure, I will that. D'yees think he's the wan?" whispered Smith,intensely interested.
"We shall see," replied Sam. "But don't part with the bronze. You willremember?"
"I will, be me soul, I will, and be the token ave it, I'll"--and Smithspat on his hands and made other significant manifestations quiteunderstandable to descendants of a fighting nation.
Immediately thereafter Sam continued on to Simms' office, and there,closeted with the detective, related his experience.
Twenty minutes later, a quiet, unassuming, seedy-looking mancarelessly lounged about in the vicinity of the Plaza fountain, and nomatter what position he occupied, or where he loitered, express No.346 and its driver never escaped from his sight.
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 15
