A quick search revealed the fact that nothing else had been taken by the ghostly marauder. Even the ten thousand dollar bill had been left on the bedside table where Val had dropped it after a due examination the night before. Perhaps the burglar had not seen the bill—he had worked with a flashlight, probably, or perhaps no light at all.
They found the marks of a jimmy on the catch of the airshaft window—a living room window only about twelve feet above the street and easy of access to an active man—or easier if there were two men.
By the time the search was completed Val’s headache had gone. His eye was brighter than it had been for many a day. He was interested. Life was beginning to pick up again—there were things happening. At breakfast he conducted one of his usual one-sided conversations with his man.
“Eddie,” he queried, “copper colored hair is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“For them as likes copper colored hair, sir.”
“When you meet the best looking girl in all the world and points adjacent, Eddie, and she carries mystery written all over her—with an appearance of wealth which she belies by accepting two dollars and thirteen cents for two dozen books, and when you take
