saucy. Just as it should be.
Whether the girl was blonde or brunette, Chet didn't care. Her eyes didn't
provide the answer; they were a hazel-gray that could have gone with either
type. When Chet saw those eyes, they held him. He tried to say something, so the
girl would speak again in that tone that made the word contralto mean something.
Observing that Chet didn't know what to say, the girl said it for him.
"I'm Joan Merrick," she announced, by way of introduction, "and you're Chet
Conroy. I've been reading about you, half the morning. You were front-page news
yesterday, but you only had a single column. Now you've doubled your space and
you carry into the want ads."
Chet gave a feeble grin. The mention of the want ads produced it. He was
wanted all right, but somehow the humor of the thing took all the worry from
him.
"So I'm in the want ads," said Chet. "I'd be in the comics next."
"You're there already," declared Joan, "judging by the picture on the front
page. Only it doesn't look like you, or maybe I should say you don't look like
it."
She handed Chet the newspaper. The picture was an old one taken five years
ago for the year book at Chet's engineering school. Joan was right; he didn't
match the photograph.
"Lost and found," remarked the girl. "That's really your department, Mr.
Conroy. Lost last night, found this morning, only we aren't advertising our half
of the story."
Chet took another look from the window and asked:
"How did I get here?"
"You were a tow job," replied Joan. "You came along instead of a couple of
doors that are still owing us, before we can give Mr. Thorneau an appraisal of
what's left of his deluxe coupe. But we won't include you in the list. When
people leave people lying around in wrecked cars, that's their business, not
ours."
So that was it!
OUT of a very black cloud, things straightened for Chet. He remembered The
Shadow steering him down the slope; after that, everything had been very vague.
No wonder the newspaper talked of a man hunt that had ended in a mysterious
disappearance.
The Shadow had put Chet in the one place where nobody would look for him:
the wrecked car that had marked the starting place of the search. From then on,
The Shadow had left Chet in the hands of fate and Merrick's Junkyard, for from
the window Chet could see a big sign that named his present location.
Inasmuch as the spirit of the junkyard happened to be Joan Merrick, Chet
gave the girl another inquiring gaze.
"What should I do next?" he said. "Give myself up?"
"If everybody who works here did," replied Joan, very calmly, "we might not
have anybody left to run the place. Sorting junk is better than cracking rock,
which means that if you want a job, we have one for you. Provided that you
prefer this place to a penitentiary. Some people do."
"I'll take the job."
