“Right,” I replied. “I’ll probably be out of town when you get back. You can reach me through the agency if you want to get in touch with me. I’m going to wire Ashcraft to come up—in your name.”
After Richmond had hung up, I called the city jail and asked the captain if John Ryan, alias Fred Rooney, alias Jamocha, was still there.
“No. Federal officers left for Leavenworth with him and two other prisoners yesterday morning.”
Up in the library again, I told O’Gar hurriedly:
“I’m catching the evening train south, betting my marbles that the job was made in Tijuana. I’m wiring Ashcraft to come up. I want to get him away from the Mexican town for a day or two, and if he’s up here you can keep an eye on him. I’ll give you a description of him, and you can pick him up at Vance Richmond’s office. He’ll probably connect there first thing.”
Half an hour of the little time I had left I spent writing and sending three telegrams. The first was to Ashcraft.
Mrs. Ashcraft is dead. Can you come immediately?
The other two were in code. One went to the Continental Detective Agency’s Kansas City branch, asking that an operative be sent to Leavenworth to question Jamocha. The other requested the Los Angeles branch to have a man meet me in San Diego the next day.
Then I dashed out to my rooms for a bagful of clean clothes, and went to sleep riding south again.