The young man seemed to hesitate.

“I suppose,” he said at length, with a sort of resigned smile, “I’ll have to make a clean breast of it.”

“You can hardly expect us to do much, otherwise,” encouraged Garrick dryly.  “Besides, you can depend on us to keep anything you say confidential.”

“Why,” he began, “the fact is that I had started out for a mild little sort of celebration, apropos of nothing at all in particular, beginning with dinner at the Mephistopheles Restaurant, with a friend of mine.  You know the place, perhaps—­ just on the edge of the automobile district and the white lights.”

“Yes,” encouraged Garrick, “near what ought to be named ’Crime Square.’  Whom were you with?”

“Well, Angus Forbes and I were going to dine together, and then later we were to meet several fellows who used to belong to the same upperclass club with us at Princeton.  We were going to do a little slumming.  No ladies, you understand,” he added hastily.

Garrick smiled.

“It may not have been pure sociology,” pursued Warrington, good-humouredly noticing the smile, “but it wasn’t as bad as some of the newspapers might make it out if they got hold of it, anyhow.  I may as well admit, I suppose, that Angus has been going the pace pretty lively since we graduated.  I don’t object to a little flyer now and then, myself, but I guess I’m not up to his class yet.  But that doesn’t make any difference.  The slumming party never came off.”

“How?” prompted Garrick again.

“Angus and I had a very good dinner at the Mephistopheles—­they have a great cabaret there—­and by and by the fellows began to drop in to join us.  When I went out to look for the car, which I was going to drive myself, it was gone.”

“Where did you leave it?” asked McBirney, as if bringing out the evidence.

“In the parking space half a block below the restaurant.  A chauffeur standing near the curb told me that a man in a cap and goggles—­”

“Another amateur detective,” cut in McBirney parenthetically.

“—­had come out of the restaurant, or seemed to do so, had spun the engine, climbed in, and rode off—­just like that!”

“What did you do then?” asked Garrick.  “Did you fellows go anywhere?”

“Oh, Forbes wanted to play the wheel, and went around to a place on Forty-eighth Street.  I was all upset about the loss of the car, got in touch with the insurance company, who turned me over to McBirney here, and the rest of the fellows went down to the Club.”

“There was no trace of the car in the city?” asked Garrick, of the detective.

“I was coming to that,” replied McBirney.  “There was at least a rumour.  You see, I happen to know several of the police on fixed posts up there, and one of them has told me that he noticed a car, which might or might not have been Mr. Warrington’s, pull up, about the time his car must have disappeared, at a place in Forty-seventh Street which is reputed to be a sort of poolroom for women.”