Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10
inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out
over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would
be lighter than hair--if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch.
Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a
prominent dimple on left cheek--may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key.
Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes
chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if
jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a
moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When
dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a
chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking
strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time.
Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only--plays piano
constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to
thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and
throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably
smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of
his original writing.
With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive,
to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well
as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from
New York to the Isthmus of Panama.
He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of
the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic
return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet
accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the
lawbreakers of the world.
Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not
at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had
eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to
guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of
the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited
admirably his temperament and his desires.
He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path
where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink
of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield.
At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the
western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the
yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru,
before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed
the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with
the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield
had stayed a week and again departed.
Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue
of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length
in the harbor of Buenos Ayres.
An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion
Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said:
"Well, Bub!"
He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow
complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley
laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly:
"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?"