Neither Bob nor I went home that night, but slept in the Laguna Street apartment.
Bob went down to the corner grocer’s to get what we needed for breakfast in the morning, and he brought a morning paper back with him.
I cooked breakfast while he divided his attention between Ledwich’s front door and the newspaper.
“Hey!” he called suddenly, “look here!”
I ran out of the kitchen with a handful of bacon.
“What is it?”
“Listen! ‘Park murder mystery!’ ” he read.
“Early this morning the body of an unidentified man was found near a driveway in Golden Gate Park. His neck had been broken, according to the police; who say that the absence of any considerable bruises on the body, as well as the orderly condition of the clothes and the ground nearby, show that he did not come to his death through falling, or being struck by an automobile. It is believed that he was killed and then carried to the Park in an automobile, to be left there.”
“Boyd!” I said.
“I bet you!” Bob agreed.