The activities of these were well
reported, you may be sure. Public interest was at once focused
reassuringly on the chances of finding the annoying malefactor to-day or
to-morrow; there no longer existed a doubt that he would be found. The
weight of dread was lifted, and in the reaction people made light of the
inconveniences and fun of the menacing messages that now came in by the
dozen.
[Illustration: "Let Eldridge do his best."]
It was necessary to take extraordinary precautions against thieves and
fire; the people took them. It was needful to slacken business in order
that the congestion of the rush hour might not again prove tragic;
business was slackened. People were willing to undergo many things,
because, after all, they were but temporary. The madman of the Catskills
would sooner or later be found; his pernicious activities brought to a
conclusion. The country to be searched was tremendous, of course, but the
search was thorough.
The public delivered itself joyously to a debauch of rumors and of
"extras". The insistent alarms of danger, trickling in slowly from the
outside world, dried up in the warmth of optimism. Only the more
thoughtful, to a few of whom these warnings came, coupled them with
Monsieur X's repeated threats, and walked uncertain and in humility.
Percy Darrow did not interest himself in the search, nor did he desert his
post in the wireless office.
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