“DENVER, June 12.—Elwyn C. Bellford, a prominent lawyer, is
mysteriously missing from his home since three days ago, and all
efforts to locate him have been in vain. Mr. Bellford is a well-known
citizen of the highest standing, and has enjoyed a large and lucrative
law practice. He is married and owns a fine home and the most extensive
private library in the State. On the day of his disappearance, he drew
quite a large sum of money from his bank. No one can be found who saw
him after he left the bank. Mr. Bellford was a man of singularly quiet
and domestic tastes, and seemed to find his happiness in his home and
profession. If any clue at all exists to his strange disappearance, it
may be found in the fact that for some months he has been deeply
absorbed in an important law case in connection with the Q. Y. and Z.
Railroad Company. It is feared that overwork may have affected his
mind. Every effort is being made to discover the whereabouts of the
missing man.”
“It seems to me you are not altogether uncynical, Mr. Bolder,” I said,
after I had read the despatch. “This has the sound, to me, of a genuine
case. Why should this man, prosperous, happily married, and respected,
choose suddenly to abandon everything? I know that these lapses of
memory do occur, and that men do find themselves adrift without a name,
a history or a home.”
“Oh, gammon and jalap!” said Mr. Bolder. “It’s larks they’re after.
There’s too much education nowadays. Men know about aphasia, and they
use it for an excuse. The women are wise, too. When it’s all over they
look you in the eye, as scientific as you please, and say: ‘He
hypnotized me.’”
Thus Mr. Bolder diverted, but did not aid, me with his comments and
philosophy.
We arrived in New York about ten at night. I rode in a cab to a hotel,
and I wrote my name “Edward Pinkhammer” in the register. As I did so I
felt pervade me a splendid, wild, intoxicating buoyancy—a sense of
unlimited freedom, of newly attained possibilities. I was just born
into the world. The old fetters—whatever they had been—were stricken
from my hands and feet. The future lay before me a clear road such as
an infant enters, and I could set out upon it equipped with a man’s
learning and experience.
I thought the hotel clerk looked at me five seconds too long. I had no
baggage.
“The Druggists’ Convention,” I said. “My trunk has somehow failed to
arrive.” I drew out a roll of money.
“Ah!” said he, showing an auriferous tooth, “we have quite a number of
the Western delegates stopping here.” He struck a bell for the boy.