Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931

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Mr. Hewes Wasn’t Grasping, but He Figured Gems Worth $450,000 to a Maharajah Might Be Valuable to Him Also

The warden looked with an undisguised expression of curiosity in his eyes at the young man who sat in the chair opposite him. It was not often that he had men of the upper classes, men who belonged definitely under the classification of gentlemen, either incoming or outgoing. He had seen and talked to this young man just a year ago when he had first come into the prison to serve a sentence for embezzlement: he had encountered him only once or twice during that year. To-day he was signing the papers which would release him.

Prison leaves its mark on most men, but it does not as a rule make such a startling change in a man as it had in this instance. Jim Garth had come into prison ruddy, tanned from an athletic life, a clear, humorous light in his eyes. His hair had been black and wavy, and worn rather long. His face had been unlined and carefree.

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