THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Bridge all night. Well, what's the news from the good ship Ajax?"
Camden lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Punk, if you want to know. The Irishman turned up at Suez. Not one man in ten thousand would have got out of the hole I put him in. I warned you in Venice."
"You were probably off on your old trick—champagne. Camden, while you're at work for me you cut out that or I'll drop you."
Camden's eyes narrowed. It might have been the smoke of his cigarette. "When you called me up in June and gave me that photograph, I kept away from the stuff. Believe it or not. I combed New York with a fine-tooth comb. Knowing that she went to the movies, I patronized them until my eyes began to fail. Never saw her. I hunted up all the school-teachers who knew her. Not a crumb. I tried the branch post-office, with barren results. Finally I happened to think of the school commissioners. That was the last chance. Here luck was with me. She was not sure that she would teach in the fall term. I told them I was a lawyer and that there was a small legacy. They gave me her new address. When I got there she was gone. She had gone that afternoon. The landlady didn't know where she had gone. Anyhow, she wasn't coming back. I asked to see the room she had vacated. Here I was detective. On the floor of that room I found a crumpled ship's label—the Ajax. I left. Later I learned that the Ajax was making a tour of the world and
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