P. O. Drawer 789

Telephones—Store: 760 - 764
Main Office: 763 - 743

EACH FOR ALL

Prince Rupert

Fishermen's Co-operative Aggsoriation
PRODUCERS OF QUALITY FISH

ALL FOR EACH

Fish Dock Dept.—Phone 681 - 682
Fish Oil Dept——Phone 749

“Did she ever have many visitors?” in-
quired Silverstein.

“Ouite a few. Both men and women.
They usually came at night.”

“Know any of their names?”

The caretaker shook his head.

“Did this Camille girl run a_ black
Pontiac sedan?”

“Come to think of it she did,” the man
recalled. “I remember now—she got it
a couple of months before she pulled out.
Two or three times I seen men riding
around in it. Seemed like she loaned it
out a lot.”

“Know anything about these men...
what they did. . . what they looked like ice

The caretaker’s brow clouded. “I don’t
know nothing about °em. Wouldn't know
‘em if I saw them again in my soup.”

“Where” Carey persisted, “did she park
her car? I mean, what garage did she
use?”

Again the man was unable to offer any
enlightenment.

As they left, Carey phoned headquarters
to check up with the post office and ascer-
tain, if possible, Lucy Camille’s new ad-
dress.

No garageman in the vicinity recalled
either the big Pontiac or the small attrac-
tive, brunette owner. With a feeling of
growing frustration they entered a garage
on 75th Avenue. This time they were
more successful. “Pretty nifty piece of
goods,” the overalled proprietor grinned.
“Sure, | remember her. She squared her
bill about three months ago and I haven't
seen her since.”

“Did she always drive the car herself?”
Silverstein’s eyes narrowed.

For a second the garageman hesitated.

COW BAY

When in Town Visit the

SMILES CAFE

“THE HOME OF BETTER FOODS”

Prince Rupert, B. C.

“No,” he admitted. “A couple of mugs
used the car different times. She said it
would be O. Kk. to let them take it.”

“Go on,” urged Silverstein. “What's on
your mind?”

GARAGEMAN IDENTIFIES BANDIT

Looking furtively about him the man
lowered his voice. “I didn’t like the looks
of them. They looked like a couple of
thugs to me.”

“What were their names?”

“She didn’t use no names. She just
brought them around and told me to lend
them the car.”

“This look like one of them?’ Carey
flashed a police mug of “Dopey” Marino.

“God!” The man grabbed the photo
and studied it intently. “Sure, that’s one
of them. That’s the guy that used to come
around most often.”

When they returned to Carey’s office
word awaited them that detectives sent
out to round up Marino at his Harlem
address had been unsuccessful. He'd
skipped out some time before and his
present whereabouts were a mystery. On
top of this came the welcome news that
Lucy Camille had moved to an address
on 114th Street.

Hurrying to the address the officers
learned that while Lucy lived there she
hadn’t been seen around for the last week
or so. Again they haunted the neighbour-
hood for the garage that had housed her
Pontiac. A grease-smeared mechanic at
a nearby filling station recalled the big
Pontiac. “A couple of guys called for
it just after dark a couple of nights ago,”
he informed them, “but it ain’t been back
since. [eastways I’ve never seen it.”

McLEAN'S SHIPYARDS
and MARINE WAYS

BOAT BUILDING
Painting

Prince Rupert, British Columbia

Again Carey flashed the photo of
Marino.

“Yep!” the man gave it only a cursory
glance. “That's the guy who took the
car. There was something odd about him,
about his eyes, I mean. I’d know him
anywhere.”

“This other man—what did he look
like ?” insisted Silverstein.

“You've got me there,” the mechanic
shook his head. “I never even got a decent
squint at him. He was hunched back on

the other side of the car.”

Stepping into the office Silverstein
dialled headquarters. “Send a couple of
men out right away.” He gave the address.
“Tell them to watch this place night and
day. If anyone calls about a black Pontiac,
Licence No. 108297, one of them is to
call the office while the other tails the
party.”

Placing another plainclothesman on
watch at the Camille apartment, Carey
hopped into the car. “Seems like Attwell
guessed right,’ he smiled grimly. “He
figured it wasn’t a stolen car at all. I’ve
an all-fired hunch that this girl is hand
in glove with Marino. If we can get our
hands on her we'll learn something.”
Silverstein nodded. “Meanwhile it looks
like she’s got wise and taken a powder.
There’s another angle,” he continued with
furrowed forehead. “ ‘Dopey’ Marino’s a
hop-head. He'll have to get his shot of
dope somewhere or go haywire. How
about clamping a watch on all the hot
spots in Harlem where dope’s peddled ?”

When, a couple of days later, Carey
answered his telephone his face broke into
a smile. “Sure—bring her right in,” he

Repairing
SEAL COVE |

Page Seventy-nine