Читать книгу Hands Up! онлайн

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I strolled across with him, loafed for an hour or so about his door, merely acclimatising myself, letting the air of the place lull me, but still with that sense of waiting.

"Say! I forgot to give you your mail," said Scotty. "Something for you," and he handed me a fat packet that he had discovered.

It was a bundle of Old Country papers from a New York agency. I opened them easily—thinking how cute I had been to write, before I went up to the extra gang, for Glasgow, Liverpool, Manchester, London papers, all together, and not to write for those only on and after the date of my encounter with the black-mailing tramp, but for a full month before that date.

It was, of course, only the Glasgow Herald I troubled about now. I was the boy to cover my tracks, I thought. I was a "cute" individual. I opened the Herald of the day after that trouble with the lurcher. I glanced it through. No—no "Horrible Discovery."

I glanced through the next day's. No, nothing. I looked through the Heralds for the whole week. Nothing! Nothing at all about the body behind the bushes.