The Mystery Megapack

summons, the smiling little Jap came in a few minutes later with a tray containing the requisite ingredients for high balls. Also he brought, tucked under his arm, the afternoon edition of the Chicago newspapers. There were four, for Mr. Clackworthy took them all and read them, from first pages to last; not even did he skip the want ads. It was not infrequently that he garnered from a chance item a bit of valuable information for his “prospect list,” or even the nucleus of an idea that, under the chemistry of his mental processes, could be turned to handsome profit.
    After sipping his high ball, the master confidence man picked up his newspapers and began a brief but nonetheless thorough survey of the printed columns. For almost an hour he was so occupied, when he reached page three of The News, the last of the daily publications to reach his attention. Without any comment to The Early Bird who, from the chair by the window was watching eagerly for any signs of a captured idea that might launch them upon a fresh adventure, Mr. Clackworthy put clown the paper and lighted a fresh cigar.
    Silently, absently, he smoked, meditatively and without haste; his eyelids slightly lowered; now and then he touched his long, shapely fingers to the close-cropped Vandyke beard. Presently, he stirred and reached for the decanter to mix himself another high ball.
    “Join me, James, and drink to the success of our latest pilgrimage in the quest of some yet unknown but carelessly tended surplus of this world’s goods,” he invited.
    “Whatcha mean, boss?” demanded The Early Bird. “Ain’tcha got the goof picked out and numbered yet?”
    “To speak in the metaphor of the shearer, my dear James,” answered Mr. Clackworthy with a laugh, “we have, I think, a sharp pair of shears, but there yet remains to be found—the lamb. However, since we have the assurance of that high authority, Mr. P. T. Barnum, now deceased, that one is born every minute, I think we need entertain no fears on that score.”
    “Spill it!”
    But the master confidence man kept his own counsel as he proceeded, between sips of his second drink, to work out various details of his yet rather embryonic scheme. After some minutes he again glanced at the third page of The News and then, stepping to a bookcase, he took down an atlas of the world. He turned to the map of Pennsylvania and, as The Early Bird watched him in a mounting fever of curiosity, gave studied attention to it.
    “Adventure!” remarked Mr. Clackworthy. “The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! Captain Kidd’s treasure chest of pirated booty buried beneath ten feet of sand on the deserted isle! Capital!”
    “Them two high balls has skyrocketed to your head, ain’t they?” demanded The Early Bird with considerable asperity. “Hanged if that chin music don’t sound like you was goin’ in for this free verse stuff. Ain’t no sense to that lingo you’re spielin’. Cut out the verbal ring-around-the-rosy an’ get down to biz.”
    Mr. Clackworthy took a gold pencil from his vest-pocket and pressed the point of it against the dot which the Pennsylvania map makers had labeled “ALSCHOOLA” and which, from the capitals, it could be judged was a county seat. Reference to the population list, alphabetically arranged in the back of the atlas, told him that Alschoola had been censused at ten thousand souls.
    “If you want to make yourself useful, James,” he said, “you might start packing. We go to Alschoola, Pennsylvania, tonight; to be more exact, we start tonight. Seeing that it is some distance from the route of the through New York trains, I hazard the guess that we will arrive about day after tomorrow.”
    The Early Bird blinked.
    “Is that on the level, boss?” he demanded. “Are we grabbin’ a rattler for this burg that is pronounced with a sneeze?”
    “Never more serious in my life,” affirmed Mr. Clackworthy. It was to be seen that he was generating a high-voltaged enthusiasm for this new scheme, whatever it might be.
    “Play the record, boss; lemme in on the know.”
    Mr. Clackworthy shook his head teasingly; it always amused him to see The Early Bird tortured on the rack of curiosity.
    “Perhaps our liquid refreshment, James, sharpened my wits a bit; but on page three of yonder paper you will find our lead. Suppose you look it over and tell me what you think of it.”
    The other leaped from his chair and grabbed the copy of The News, but in vain did his eyes