“All except the markers,” I corrected.

“That was just a lucky chance,” he returned.  “Still, it throws an interesting sidelight on the case.”

“It doesn’t add much in my estimation to the character of Forbes,” I ventured, voicing my own suspicions.

The telephone bell rang before Garrick had a chance to reply.  Evidently in their haste they had not had time to cut the wires or to spread the news, yet, of the raid.  Someone who knew nothing of what had happened was calling up.

Garrick quickly unhooked the receiver, with a hasty motion to us to remain silent.

“Hello,” we heard him answer.  “Yes, this is it.  Who is this?”

He had disguised his voice.  We waited anxiously and watched his face to gather what response he received.

“The deuce!” he exclaimed, with his hand over the transmitter so that his voice would not be heard at the other end.

“What’s the matter?” I asked eagerly.

“Whoever he was,” replied Garrick, “he was too keen for me.  He caught on.  There must have been some password or form that they used which we don’t know, for he hung up the receiver almost as soon as he heard me.”

Garrick waited a minute or two.  Then he whistled into, the transmitter.  It was done apparently to see whether there was anyone listening.  But there was no answer.  The man was gone.

“Operator, operator!” Guy was calling, insistently moving the hook up and down rapidly.  “Yes—­I want Central.  Central, can you tell me what number that was which just called up?”

We all waited anxiously to learn whether the girl could find out or not.

“Bleecker seven—­one—­eight—­o?  Thank you very much.  Give me information, please.”

Again we waited as Garrick tried to trace the call out.

“Hello!  What is the street address of Bleecker seven—­one—­eight—­ o?  Three hundred West Sixth.  Thank you.  A garage?  Good-bye.”

“A garage?” echoed Dillon, his ears almost going up as he realized the importance of the news.

“Yes,” cried Garrick, himself excited.  “Tom, call a cab.  Let us hustle down there as quickly as we can.”

“One of those garages on the lower West Side,” I heard Dillon say as I left.  “Perhaps they did work for the gambling joint—­sent drunks home, got rid of tough customers and all that.  You know already that there are some pretty tough places down there.  This is bully.  I shouldn’t be surprised if it gave us a line on the stealing of Warrington’s car at last.”

I found a cab and Dillon and Garrick joined me in it.

“I tried to get McBirney,” said Garrick as we prepared to start on our new quest, “but he was out, and the night operator at his place didn’t seem to know where he was.  But if they can locate him, I imagine he’ll be around at least shortly after we get there.  I left the address.”

Dillon had issued his final orders to his raiders about guarding the raided gambling joint and stationing a man at the door.  A moment later we were off, threading our way through the crowd which in spite of the late hour still lingered to gape at the place.