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a friend of Howard Van Cleft," he continued. "Your three friends have met their deaths at the hand of a cunning conspirator. Last night, white I talked with you on the telephone, young Van Cleft was receiving advice over another wire from a person who pretended to be William Grimsby--advising him to hush the matter up and drop the investigation. But--Captain Cronin the famous detective--has received a tip that the number of victims would be increased very soon--frankly, now: do you want to be the fourth?" Grimsby's face changed to ashen gray, as he timidly clutched Shirley's sleeve. "Then cooperate with me. You understand now the nature of this villain's work: to rob and assassinate his victim in the company of a girl, so that this would endeavor to hush the scandal, without reporting it to the police. His progress is unchecked, and afterwards he would have untold opportunity for continuing a demand for hush money on the surviving relatives. May I count on you to help?" "You may count on me to leave the city within the next two hours." "Good! But I want to have you disappear so quietly that this cunning unknown will not know of it. He is watching your house now, without a doubt." Grimsby strode to the window, with his characteristic limp, and drew the heavy curtains aside, to peer out nervously. "No one is in sight." "The man is as unseen in his work as a germ. But he is not unheard: he uses the telephone to locate his victims, that is why I advised you to let your instrument ring unanswered." "I'll do what I can, if I can keep out of more danger. An old man craves life more than a young one. I fought through the Civil War and brought a medal from Congress and this wounded knee out of it, Mr. Shirley. I didn't fear anything then, but times have changed!" "Here is my plan, then," continued Shirley, his lips twitching with sub-strata amusement, "I want to impersonate you, when you leave, so that this man tries to send me after the other three. Don't interrupt, let me finish--You will say that it is impossible to deceive any one at close range. Surely, it does sound melodramatic, like a lurid tale of a paper back novel. But I have studied the photographs of your friends. You and I bear the closest resemblance of any in the group. Your weight is about the same as mine--your shoulders are a trifle stooped and you walk with a curious drag of your left foot. Your hair is white but thick: the contour of our
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