Guy Garrick HTML version

1. The Stolen Motor
"You are aware, I suppose, Marshall, that there have been considerably over a
million dollars' worth of automobiles stolen in this city during the past few
months?" asked Guy Garrick one night when I had dropped into his office.
"I wasn't aware of the exact extent of the thefts, though of course I knew of their
existence," I replied. "What's the matter?"
"If you can wait a few moments," he went on, "I think I can promise you a most
interesting case--the first big case I've had to test my new knowledge of crime
science since I returned from abroad. Have you time for it?"
"Time for it?" I echoed. "Garrick, I'd make time for it, if necessary."
We sat for several moments, in silence, waiting.
I picked up an evening paper. I had already read it, but I looked through it again,
to kill time, even reading the society notes.
"By Jove, Garrick," I exclaimed as my eye travelled over the page, "newspaper
pictures don't usually flatter people, but just look at those eyes! You can fairly see
them dance even in the halftone."
The picture which had attracted my attention was of Miss Violet Winslow, an
heiress to a moderate fortune, a debutante well known in New York and at
Tuxedo that season.
As Garrick looked over my shoulder his mere tone set me wondering.
"She IS stunning," he agreed simply. "Half the younger set are crazy over her."
The buzzer on his door recalled us to the case in hand.