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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Voice in the Fog"

"Not a line. I've been living in gambling joints,
but no sign of him. He gambled in th' ol' days; some time 'r other
he'll wander in somewhere an' try t' copper th' king. No sign of him
round Crawford's ol' place. But I'll get him; it's a hunch. By-by!"
Later, the detective was conducted into the Maharajah's reception-room.
The prince, in his soft drawling English (far more erudite and polished
than Haggerty's, if not so direct), explained the situation, omitting
no detail. He would give two thousand five hundred for the recovery of
the stones.
"At what are they valued?"
"By your customs appraisers, forty thousand. To me they are priceless."
"Six t' ten carats? Why, they're worth more than that."
The prince smiled. "That was for the public."
"I'll take a look int' your bedroom," said Haggerty, rising.
"Oh, no; that is not at all necessary," protested the prince.
"How d' you suppose I'm going t' find out who done it, or how it was
done, then?" demanded Haggerty, bewildered.
A swift oriental gesture.
The hotel manager soothed Haggerty by explaining that the prince's
caste would not permit an alien to touch anything in the bedroom while
it contained the prince's belongings.


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