rison bars in murderer's row.

Cold perspiration stood out on his brow as he read in staring headlines:

"J. ANSON ARDMORE'S SON BELIEVED MURDERED."

"Believed?" He caught at that single word as a camel in a desert snaps
at a straw. So they were not sure.

Hastily he read the column through, then dropped limply into a chair.

"Oh! What a shock!" he breathed.

He was vastly relieved. The article stated that the car belonging to the
millionaire's son had been found by a laborer employed on the estate as
he came to his work very early in the morning. The car, which was badly
smashed up, bore the mark of a bullet in a rear tire and one in the
lower part of the body. It was believed that the young man, being
pursued by bandits and having attempted to escape, had had his car
riddled by bullets and had been thrown into the ditch.

"There are grave reasons for supposing," the article went on to state,
"since no trace of the young man has yet been found, that he has been
either kidnapped for ransom or, having been killed by a stray bullet,
has been buried somewhere in the forest preserve.

"Bands of armed men are searching the woods and every available police
officer and detective has been put on the case. A reward of $5,000 has
been offered by the father for any information which may lead to the
discovery of the whereabouts of his son."

"Whew!" exclaimed Curlie, mopping his brow. "What a rumpus!"

Suddenly he sat up straight. "Doesn't say one word about that wireless
apparatus in the car. How about that?"

He sat with wrinkled brow for a moment.

"Ah!" he slapped his knee, "I have it! The laborer of course came
directly to his master. The shrewd old millionaire, guessing that his
son had been breaking radio laws, had all of that equipment removed
before the public was let in on the deal. He bribed the laborer to
secrecy on that point and there you are."

Again his brow wrinkled. "Five thousand dollars!" he whispered. "That's
a lot of money. I could supply some valuable information which might
entitle me to the five thousand. Question is, do I want to risk it? The
thing that's happened is about this, far as I can figure it out: Our
young amateur radio friend, when his auto turned turtle, hiked off into
the woods. For a time he stayed there. Then, when nothing happened for
some time, he came sneaking back. When he found I'd taken his number
plate and some parts of his radio equipment, he guessed right away that