Chapter Four
Never confide your secrets to paper; it is like throwing a stone in the air; and if you know who throws the stone, you do not know where it may fall.
—Pedro Calderon de la Barca (1600-1681), Spanish dramatist
The carnival continued in an uproar as full daylight emerged. Those that had been roused by the earlier altercation were still confused about what had occurred and why, and those who awakened later were even more upset. They kept coming to Yount's wagon and interrupting the agents in their work. Artie finally sought out Mathias Durant, brought him to the wagon, then in his sternest and most official voice, informed the carnival workers that their employer had absconded and was wanted by the government. He told them that Durant was now in charge and that no one was to leave the carnival grounds without permission from Durant or the agents.
Quite a bit of grumbling followed but no one seemed willing to raise too much of a fuss when the government was involved. Mathias was given permission to tell the people some of what had occurred; especially that Yount and Lasko were involved in the kidnappings. He was to ask people for any information they might have relevant to the case. He was also told that when the Wanderer pulled out for California in the next day or so, the Durants were welcome to come along. The other carnival people would have to fend for themselves.
Erika came to the wagon to help sort through the mess. She remained there when, after going through all of Yount's papers, and finding a couple more not very helpful pieces of correspondence from the professor, Jim and Artemus rode into town to the telegraph office. A wire was transmitted informing Washington that they had rescued the girls from Colorado, all were safe; details would follow. The girls' families would be notified today and they knew that Richmond would immediately contact Senator Russell.
Another message went to San Francisco Police Department to ask them to seek out a Professor Mayfield, as well as be on the lookout for Yount, Lasko, and Valerian, who were presumed to be heading that direction. The agents then had breakfast, after which they went to the jail to talk to Viola and Fred. Viola was not helpful at all when they brought her into the sheriff's office. She either said nothing to their questions or cursed them. Fred was another matter.
Fred Detloff swore up and down that he had been an unwilling participant in the whole business. Viola wanted to help her brother and she wanted the money Cecil promised. "I tried my best to talk Viola into letting those poor girls go," he attested. "I made sure they was well took care of too. I swear!"
Fred knew only that they were delivering the girls to San Francisco. As soon as one more had been picked up, the wagon was going to separate from the carnival, with Yount joining them, to head further west as swiftly as possible—which wasn't going to be too swift considering the type of conveyance they were using and the fact that they would continue to have to remain hidden. Viola had told him some professor wanted these girls, but even she did not seem to know why. Fred had never heard the name and did not recognize "Mayfield" when Artie mentioned it.
When Fred was returned to his cell—which he had requested be separate from his wife—Viola screeched imprecations and threats, seeming to know that her husband was the weaker link. The five roustabouts in the third cell were not immediately questioned. The agents suspected that the men had responded to "Hey Rube," the traditional circus and carnival call for help, out of habit and loyalty, not because they were particularly protecting Yount, Lasko, and Valerian.
With Sheriff Broome, Jim and Artie went to the sheriff's house, where, as they expected, most of the girls were still sleeping. Mrs. Broome marveled how neighbors had cooperated in providing the girls with baths, fresh clothes, and good food. They had also offered beds, but it seemed the girls wanted to stay together on what might be their last night. Their common peril had bonded them into good friends. All were upstairs in the room that had belonged to the Broomes' two daughters, since married and in their own homes.
"It's a little crowded," Mrs. Broome laughed, "but they don't seem to mind."
Nancy Kendrick was the one girl who had risen and come downstairs. She now looked much more like the girl in the photograph they had seen, even if her dress was a little large for her slim frame. Her hair was washed and brushed, falling over her shoulders, all the grime gone from her face and hands. The agents were going to allow her to have her breakfast in peace, but she urged them to stay and talk to her.
"I know how important it is for you to get information as soon as possible. Don't forget, my uncle is a sheriff. I was fortunate in that I was captive for the least amount of time, but I completely understand what the others have endured. Even for my few days it was pure… hell." She seemed loathe to pronounce that word, but also appeared to recognize that it might be the only one to truly describe the situation.
As she hungrily devoured the flapjacks and eggs Mrs. Broome served, Nancy told them how she had met, and been completely charmed by, the trapeze artist Valerian. "He asked questions about the area, said he might consider settling in such a place, and wanted to know how I spent my leisure time. I told him how I liked to go riding by myself." Nancy shook her head slightly. "I know now that was the most foolish thing I could have said!"
"Valerian is indeed a very charming and handsome man," Artie smiled. "You weren't the only girl to be taken in."
"So I learned. In any case, I took my usual ride and was very surprised and flattered when I saw Valerian approaching on a horse. I stopped to talk to him, and two other men jumped out, pulled me from my horse, tied and gagged me. I was taken to the wagon, which was nearby. I admit that at the time, I was quite curious as to why Valerian asked so many details about where I rode, but I was also quite thrilled by his attention. I know now he wanted to find the best spot to ambush me!"
"Nancy," Jim said quietly, "did you hear anything that would indicate why you were kidnapped and where they were taking you?"
She swallowed the food in her mouth. "Not really. Mrs. Detloff mentioned San Francisco once or twice, but we were not sure what that meant. I tried to ask Mr. Detloff, but his wife was always nearby."
"Fred Detloff claimed he tried to help you girls." Artie commented.
"Oh, he did! He was very kind compared to his wife. He was obviously quite under her thumb. She ran the whole business. We were forced to sleep in the wagon, of course, with only a bucket for our needs. In the morning, we were taken out, one at a time, and fed. Same thing happened in the evening. Mr. Detloff tried to convince his wife we should be fed three times a day but she said it was too much trouble." Nancy sighed, a haunted expression in her eyes. "Those were the times when we all felt we were headed toward our doom and that was why she was not worried about keeping us healthy!"
One by one, the other girls appeared at the table, and their stories were similar to Nancy's. Another also had been captured while out riding—after she too had told the captivating Valerian all about her habit of riding and where. A third was taken when she walked to the schoolhouse where she assisted the current teacher. Yet another when she was delivering food to a poor family in her area, something she did regularly at the behest of her mother. All their stories were similar: they were flattered and taken in when the performer singled them out for attention.
Roseanna Russell was the only variant. She had left the hotel on her errand, and a man had called to her from a nearby carriage. His mother was ill inside, he said. Could she help him? Roseanna had thought nothing of it. The carriage—which she later learned was rented—looked very respectable and so did the man, Cecil Yount. As soon as she reached the open door, she had been seized and pulled inside, like Nancy gagged and bound, then kept out of sight.
"No one was on the street. I had noticed that when I left the hotel. Except for the shoeshine boy who was very busy shining some shoes someone had left with him."
"As we figured, a crime of opportunity," Artie murmured.
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Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est.
[A pleasurable companion on a journey is as good as a carriage.]
—Maxims, Syrus (Publilius Syrus; c. 1st century BC), Roman (Syrian born) mimographer
Convinced the girls were in good hands and would be reunited with their parents, Jim and Artemus returned to the carnival grounds. Some order had been restored. Mathias and Erika had told the remaining carnies what they knew of the situation, and those people had held a meeting. They were unsure of the legalities, but this carnival was their life, their income. They voted to continue on and elected one of the barkers, apparently very respected, to be their leader. They would decide on their future while keeping the dates that Yount had already scheduled.
Erika and Mathias were urged to stay with them, but the Durants preferred to accept the offer of the safe and swift passage on the Wanderer. They had expected to reach California in a couple of months, shortly before Erika's due date, but now they could be in their new home well before their child arrived.
The trek to meet the Wanderer was relatively fast and simple as the railroad tracks passed by Double Creek within about two miles. Mathias and Erika were settled in the spare compartment, their goods stored in the stable-lab car, and the train headed west. At periodic stops for fuel and water, and twice to visit nearby towns for supplies, telegraph messages were sent to check on progress in locating the fugitives as well as this Professor Mayfield. No news was forthcoming. The professor had not been located at any of the nearby schools nor anywhere else in the area. Yount, Lasko, and Valerian simply vanished.
The trip was otherwise uneventful, and quite enjoyable with the guests aboard. Artie was able to show off his culinary talents, which Erika paid great heed to, and the four of them played cards in the evening. Occasionally the train crew joined them, if that pair were not busy tending to their duties, or preferred to hit their bunks early.
When the Wanderer rolled down out of the Sierra into the central valley of California, the train halted at the Sacramento depot, where Mathias' equally husky brother was waiting with a wagon to take them to their new home. After all their goods were loaded on the wagon, many hugs were exchanged, along with a promise from the agents that once the case was cleared up, they would make another stop in the capital city in order to visit. Erika reminded Artie that she still had a lot to learn as far as cooking was concerned. Behind her, Mathias nodded enthusiastically.
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Though a good deal is too strange to be believed, nothing is too strange to have happened.
—Thomas Hardy (1840-1928), English novelist and poet
The agents had their horses saddled and ready when the Wanderer came to a full stop at the San Francisco rail yards. Throwing open the side door and dropping the ramp, they immediately headed out toward police headquarters, knowing that being on horseback would be infinitely faster than a hack trying to make its way through the sometimes heavy city traffic. Upon reaching the building, they went directly to the office of their friend Lieutenant Lloyd Morris.
Morris wasted no time in bringing them up to date. "Professor Nestor Mayfield has not been found. No one named Mayfield at all. I have sent enquiries to Santa Clara County, Monterey, and Santa Cruz Counties…all down the coast… as well as north to Marin, Solano, Sonoma. In fact, to the Oregon border."
Artie shook his head. "And that's all we have to go on. We scoured through Yount's wagon. That name appears twice in letters postmarked San Francisco—which does not necessarily mean he resides here."
"But somewhere close by," Jim murmured, drawing nods from the other two. "He must be using another name in this area. We have to find him. The girls kidnapped here on the coast are certainly in his custody."
"That definitely seems to be the case," Lloyd nodded. "By the way, mostly out of curiosity, I checked through missing persons reports in the city over the last year or so, thinking that perhaps other girls are missing that we did not connect. I found just three women under twenty. One was found dead, another was verified as having eloped with her boyfriend. The third hasn't been located, but she was a young prostitute and doesn't seem to match all the other girls."
"No," Jim agreed. "When I had my conversation with Gus Lasko, he mentioned that the girls needed to be 'pure.' We have no notion what the means, other than chaste girls often bring more money in the white slave trade."
"We've been checking that too," Morris stated. "As far as we've been able to determine, no transactions involving young girls, or even the ships suspected to deal in them, have occurred in the last several months. That's something we try to keep a close watch on along the waterfront."
"Just like the girls in Colorado," Artie said, "the ones in California, Washington, and Oregon, were picked up over a lengthy period of time. They had to be kept captive during that time—and would have been hidden in that wagon all the way to California. Lasko told Jim that a dozen were required. Mayfield—whoever he is—apparently does not have that dozen yet, without the Colorado girls."
"Chances are," Jim added grimly, "that if Yount and Lasko made it to San Francisco, they are in contact with Mayfield and will soon set out to retake six young women from somewhere. We have to find Mayfield before that happens."
Morris could only shake his head. "I've instructed foot patrolmen to keep an eye out for abnormal activity, such as seeing anyone carrying food supplies into an unusual area, like old warehouses. Presumably these captive girls are being fed."
For a long minute, none of the three men spoke, their expressions somber, even a little angry at the frustration they were experiencing. Then the lieutenant leaned forward, tapping a folder of papers on his desk.
"When I was searching for possible missing girls in the city, I came across something else. Over the last year to eighteen months, a number of men have gone missing. Men of various ages, but all of them derelicts—drunks, bums, beggars. Primarily they were reported by some acquaintance that noticed they weren't in their usual spots—begging on a corner, selling matches outside a restaurant, or just in their favorite saloon."
"I don't suppose a lot of effort was made to find them," Artie put in wryly.
Morris sighed heavily. "No, you are right. With as much as we have to do in this city to keep law and order, looking for vagrants and floaters is very low on the list, especially when they could have tumbled off the dock in the drunken stupor. In fact, one was later found floating in the bay. Oddly, even though the body was in bad shape after being in the water so long, the doc who took a look said it appeared to have been operated on."
"Really? For what?" Artie asked.
"He wasn't positive. Organs were missing but that could have been due to fish predation. He didn't spend a lot of time on it, apparently. Just scribbled a few notes in the file."
Jim shook his head doubtfully. "Can't see how that would be related to our case."
"That's what I thought," Morris concurred.
They talked with the policeman a little while longer before departing with the stated intention of doing some searching on their own for Nestor Mayfield. Morris was not insulted. He knew that the police had their sources, but Jim West and Artemus Gordon also had theirs. He would send word to the train if anything new came up. He reminded them that they were invited to Morris's home for supper before they left San Francisco. They would want to see how his little daughter had grown, and meet the newest member of the Morris family, newborn Zachary.
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Two weary Secret Service agents returned to the Wanderer late that night. The day had been spent walking or riding all over the city, meeting people from all walks of life. That included a bookie who kept an "office" in the alley next to a Barbary Coast saloon as well as the well-set up madam on that same Barbary Coast in her luxurious suite on the top floor of her house. They also tracked down a lawyer known to have the knack of slipping bribes to officials in order to get a client exonerated or a permit approved. They bought drinks, twice purchased meals, handed out silver coins, and above all, talked.
All to no avail.
"I don't believe it," Artie complained as he stripped off his jacket. "Somebody has to know something!"
Jim hung his hat on the rack and shed his jacket before going to the cupboard to pull out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. "You'd think so. Artie, I could not detect anything that indicted any person was lying to us."
Artie sighed heavily as he accepted the glass of amber liquid. "I know. No one ever heard of Nestor Mayfield. No one knows Cecil Yount or Gus Lasko or anyone named Valerian. We should have tried to find out his real name from the carnies."
"Yeah. He seemed to be a minor player, the one who lured the girls into revealing helpful information. But he is involved." Jim held up his glass in a salute and took a swallow. "What next?"
Matching the salute and swallow, Artie shrugged. "I'm not sure. You know, I keep thinking of those men who went missing. I'm thinking we should cover all bets and do some digging there. It'll be fresh ground because we know the police didn't do much."
"I agree. Artie, why don't you do that tomorrow? I'll continue in the same direction we were going today. We didn't hit everyone. This 'professor' could still be a man of science, even if none of the schools know him. I'd like to ask a few doctors."
"Excellent idea. Don't know why we didn't think of that earlier." Artie polished off his drink. "I'm for bed. It's been a very long day."
Jim saluted him again and emptied his glass. "Hear, hear. My pillow is calling!"
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Artemus reached the section of the city known as the Barbary Coast around midmorning. They had been here yesterday but had not spent all that much time in the sordid area, intuitively sensing that this "Professor" was not one of the usual denizens of the coast. The people they had talked to were their usual informants and a couple of owners of establishments—with absolutely no luck.
He had gone to Lloyd Morris's office to retrieve the file folder with the information about the men who had gone missing, along with the names of the persons who reported them missing. A few of the names were familiar, and Artie sought them out at their usual hangouts. After the first couple, he began to think he was on the proverbial wild goose chase. The men who reported their comrades as having vanished had no knowledge other than "Willy" or "Snake-eyes" had not appeared at their normal haunts.
The third man he located was a former sailor, one of the last Sidney ducks, with a peg-leg and a badly scarred face. He told Artie that his pal "Jonesy" and him had been walking to their digs one foggy night when a big black carriage pulled up alongside them, with a man inside calling them over. Peg-Leg Al was not interested, wanting only to get to their shared room and beds. Jonesy was, however, so both stepped out into the street.
All they really heard was a voice, because the area was dark and the coach did not have any lighting. A man's voice said that if they would go with him, they would have all the food to eat and all the drink to drink they could ever want. Al had tried to find out what was up, but Jonesy was all for it. He climbed inside, urging his friend to follow, but Peg-Leg had demurred.
"Somethin' fishy was up, Mr. Gordon. Somethin' real fishy. No one invites folks like us to their homes. 'Specially not folks with big fancy carriages like that."
"I don't suppose you saw anything to identify the coach—writing or an insignia on the door? The driver?"
"Naw. Like I said, it was pitch black out here. Fog was really thick that night, an' no moon. Couple days later I hollered down Ernie, the bear what walks this beat, and tol' him about Jonesy. 'Course you know nothing else come of it."
Artie nodded, evincing some sympathy for the loss of a friend. "I know. I'm going to see what I can do about it, Al, but I'm not promising anything. We're looking for some young girls who also disappeared."
"Working gals?"
Artie smiled, shaking his head. "No. Girls that were taken from their families."
"Oh, dat's terrible. Terrible. You think Jonesy being missin' might have somethin' to do wit' dat?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
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Perseverance and audacity generally win.
—Dorothee DeLuzy (1747-1830), French actress
Jim's morning did not go quite as well as his partner's initially. He went to the public library to find the city directory, spending time to copy down a dozen names of doctors in a relatively small area of the city. He then visited those doctors at their offices, one by one. One by one, they told him they had never heard of Nestor Mayfield, as a professor, a doctor, or even a patient. Not even as an acquaintance.
He had visited four and was heading for the fifth when he noticed a tobacconist on the street he was traversing. Remembering he was low on cigarillos, Jim dismounted in front of the establishment, entering to buy a box of his favorite brand. He was putting that box in his saddlebag when he heard his name called.
"Jim? Jim West!"
Turning, Jim looked toward the source of that voice and smiled broadly. He held out his hand as he walked to the man now standing on the sidewalk. "Paul Hynes! It's been a while!"
They shook hands, and the other man nodded. "It has. Close to a year now. How have you been?" He was in his late forties, with a mane of graying blond hair and clear blue eyes, clean-shaven. Some had advised Dr. Paul Hynes that if he ever wanted to be taken seriously has a physician he needed to grow some facial hair for a dignified appearance. Hynes had steadfastly refused. He was still known as one of the finest surgeons in the city; as well, he had been used regularly by law enforcement as an expert witness. That was how the agents met him. They had become good friends during the length of a trial.
"Pretty well. Actually, I was probably going to be looking you up, if not today, then tomorrow."
"Oh? You're not ill?"
"No," Jim laughed.
"Then you want some legal-type medical advice."
"Not that either. We are on a tough case and looking for a man named Nestor Mayfield, possibly using the title of Professor. Ring any bells?"
"No," Hynes responded, frowning as he shook his head. "However, I did make the acquaintance of a Professor Newbold Mayhugh.'
Jim rubbed his chin. "That's close to Mayfield, isn't it? What can you tell me about him?"
"Jim, I was heading for Molly's across the street there. I had an early call to check on a patient, and I haven't had breakfast. Why don't you come along for a cup of coffee and I'll tell you about Newbold Mayhugh. Might be the oddest character I've ever met."
The two men waited for a freight wagon to lumber by, then crossed the street to the café, which was a small place owned by an Irish couple who served excellent food. Jim and Artemus had eaten here more than once, and he quickly learned that so had the doctor when Mrs. O'Byrne greeted both of them by name. Once seated at a corner table, the doctor ordered a hearty breakfast while Jim settled for a cinnamon bun to go along with the coffee Mrs. O'Byrne poured immediately.
Jim quickly related his reasons for talking to physicians regarding the missing girls. "Tell me about this odd character, Paul."
The physician nodded. "I'll have to give you a little background first. When I first entered the university, I thought I wanted to be a scientist, a researcher, so I took classes that ended up putting me in the laboratory of a brilliant and well-known, well-respected professor whose specialty was aging."
"Aging?" Jim frowned. "You mean why people age?"
"More or less. Also, he was investigating whether anything could be done to stop the aging process, or reverse it—kind of looking for a scientific fountain of youth. Oh, he studied other health-related topics as well, but aging was his passion—even as he grew older. I found I shared that passion for a while, and we became good friends despite our age difference. We spent a great deal of time away from the lab discussing theories and possibilities.
"Finally, we decided to write a half-tongue-in-cheek paper about how one could reverse or halt the aging process. We did not think that any journal would accept it, but one did. Over the next several years, it sparked a number of lively discussions, even debates. Almost everyone realized what it was—non serious, and mostly improbably and impossible."
Hynes paused as Mrs. O'Byrne brought their orders, and the silence continued as he poured maple syrup on his pancakes and arranged his bacon and eggs just so. Jim took advantage of the hiatus to consume a couple of bites of the warm, buttery, cinnamon-laden bun. Then the doctor took up his narration again.
"I say almost everyone because it appears this Mayhugh read the article and took it quite seriously. Sadly, my professor died a couple of years after that article was published, and by then, although I had enjoyed my time in the lab, I had realized my place in medicine was with patients, not with test tubes, and I had moved on."
"Are you saying this Mayhugh came to you here to talk about the theories you published?"
"Exactly. He showed up at my office and waited until I had seen all my patients, then offered to take me to dinner so we could talk. He seemed… respectable, as well as knowledgeable…at least initially. In the midst of our rather sane discussion, Mayhugh abruptly told me he had been doing experiments based on the article. I was rather appalled to say the least."
"What were some of the theories proffered?"
Hynes sighed. "We wondered if using serums made from the organs of young animals to be injected into older persons would reverse the process. We also talked about young plants and nectar from flowers. As you can tell, it was highly improbable. Even silly."
Jim held his fork still, his eyes on the doctor's face. "This Mayhugh… he was using animals and plants?"
"Seems so. He said he quickly discarded plants, but claimed he had seen some success with animals, using material from young to inject into older animals. I am highly doubtful. I think he was seeing what he wanted to see. Here's the thing, Jim. He wanted me to join him in his research. He said he was embarking on a major project and my expertise was badly needed."
"I don't suppose he detailed this 'major project.'"
"No. By then, I was beginning to realize that the semblance of a sane and intelligent man was a fallacy. He was crazy. I refused of course, tactfully using my work at the hospital and in my clinic as an excuse. He was very disappointed, also saying I would be sorry when fame and fortune came his way."
"Paul, where does this Mayhugh live?"
"You think he might be someone you are seeking?"
"I don't know. We are grasping at any straw we can these days. I would certainly like to talk to him, particularly because his name so closely resembles Mayfield."
"Well, fortunately for you, he contacted me again about four months ago and asked me to visit him. I had not gotten his address the first time. I had some time off and I decided it could be interesting to see what in the world he was up to. His address is down in San Mateo County, Jim, just across the county line. It's an old white farmhouse set a couple hundred yards off the road. You can't miss it—especially if he still has the big black coach that was parked there when I visited."
"What did you find out when you went there?"
"Not much. He had some rats he claimed he had stabilized as far as aging was concerned by injecting them with his serum concocted from the glands of younger mice. They looked like old rats to me. He again asked me to join him and I again declined. I haven't heard from him since." Hynes paused, gazing at Jim in return. "Jim, why would he want to kidnap nearly a dozen young women?"
"That is a very good question, Paul. A very good one indeed."
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"But for to assaye," he seyde, "it nought ne greveth;
For he that nought nassayeth, nought nacheveth."
["But to attempt it," he said, "should not grieve:
for he that attempts nothing will nothing achieve."
I.e., Nothing ventured, nothing gained.]
—Troilus and Criseyde (bk. V, st. 112), Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400), English poet
Jim returned to the Wanderer long enough to give his horse a good graining, and to leave his partner a message. He had hoped Artie would have returned by now, but the crew reported he had not been seen since the pair departed the Wanderer earlier in the day. Therefore, he placed the lengthy note on the desk, and asked Cobb and Kelly to be sure that Mr. Gordon saw it when he did return.
"Who knows, I might be back before he shows up. I just want to be sure he knows where I am."
After adding a few items to the inside pockets of his corduroy jacket, Jim saddled up again and headed south from the city. At a brisk pace, he reached the southern county line in about an hour, and as Paul Hynes had said, soon trotted by a large white farmhouse—where a black coach was resting near what was probably a stable toward the rear.
He continued by, casually gazing around, but taking an extra good look at the building and its surroundings. A few trees were between the house and the road, along with numerous untended bushes, including roses. He knew he could probably approach the house unseen on foot. Now he needed to find a place to safely place Blackjack for the duration.
Such a site was located about a quarter mile up the road, after a sharp turn. Off to one side was a grove of trees within which was a small clearing alongside a narrow swift-flowing stream. Jim was able to fasten ropes to trees to give the horse access to the water and some freedom of movement, while being pretty much out of sight from the road behind trees and brush.
Once the horse was secure, Jim made his way back toward the house, staying as far away from the road as possible, and using vegetation as a cover, especially when the roof of the house came into view. He did not want to be spotted from an upstairs window. As he grew nearer, he realized those upstairs windows were covered from the inside with what appeared to be heavy paper. He drew a sharp breath upon realizing what this could potentially signify: someone hidden on that second floor!
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Artemus returned to the Wanderer about an hour after Jim had departed, although he did not realize this until he spoke to Orrin Cobb and then read the note on the desk. Jim explained that he had encountered Dr. Paul Hynes, who had told him about Professor Newbold Mayhugh, living in San Mateo County, possessing some odd ideas about aging and prevention. He thought it was worth checking out.
Artie frowned in annoyance as he realized Jim had neglected to provide any further information on the whereabouts of this Mayhugh, other than "San Mateo County," which was a fairly expansive space, not to mention mountainous and covered with forests where it had not yet been settled. Unknowingly copying his partner, Artemus loaded some extra supplies in his pockets, as well as in his saddlebags. He then set out to find Paul Hynes.
