"But if I had the ring that she gave me--her token--well, you see?" goes on Waddy. "I must have it. So I must find Bruzinski." "Yes, that's your play," I agrees. "Where did he hail from?" "Why, from somewhere in Pennsylvania," says Waddy; "some weird little place that I never could remember the name of." "Huh!" says I. "Quite a sizable state, you know. You couldn't ramble through it in an afternoon pagin' Joe Bruzinski." "I suppose one couldn't," says Waddy. "But there must be some way of locating him. Couldn't I telegraph to the War Department?" "You could," says I, "and about a year from next Yom Kippur you might get a notice that your wire had been received and placed on file. Why, they're still revisin' casualty lists from the summer of 1918. If you're in any hurry about gettin' in touch with Mr. Bruzinski----" "Hurry!" gasps Waddy. "Why, I must find him by tonight." "That's goin' to call for speed," says I. "I don't see how you could--Say, now! I just thought of something. We might tickle Uncle Sam in the W. R. I. B." "Beg pardon!" says Waddy, gawpin'. "War Risk Insurance Bureau," I explains. "That is, if Miss Callahan's still there. Used to be one of our stenogs until she went into war work. Last I knew she was still at it, had charge of one of the filing cases. They handle soldier's insurance there, you know, and if Bruzinski's kept his up----" "By George!" breaks in Waddy. "Of course. Do you know, I never thought of that." "No, you wouldn't," says I "May not work, at that. But we can try. She's a reg'lar person, Miss Callahan." Anyway, she knew right where to put her fingers on Joe Bruzinski's card and shoots us back his mailin' address by lunch time. It's Coffee Creek, Pa. "What an absurd place to live in!" says Waddy. "And how on earth can we ever find it." "Eh?" says I. "We?" "But I couldn't possibly get there by myself," says Waddy. "I've never been west of Philadelphia. Oh, yes, I've traveled a lot abroad, but that's different. One hires a courier. Really, I should be lost out of New York. Besides, you know Mr. Robert said you were to--oh, there he is now. I say, Bob, isn't Torchy to stay with me until I find Bruzinski?" "Absolutely," says Mr. Robert, throwin' a grin over his shoulder at me as he slips by. "Maybe he thinks that's a life sentence," says I. "Chuck me that Pathfinder from the case behind you, will you? Now let's see. Here we are, page 937--Coffee Creek, Pa. Inhabitants 1,500. Flag station on the Lackawanna below Wilkes-Barre. That's in the Susquehanna valley. Must be a coal town. Chicago limited wouldn't stop there. But we can probably catch a jitney or something from Wilkes-Barre. Just got time to make the 1:15, too. Come on. Lunch on train."