“Any word from Warrington?” I asked.

“Yes, he’s getting along finely,” answered Guy mechanically, as if his thoughts were far away from Warrington.  “Queer about Forbes,” he murmured, then cut himself short.  “And, oh,” he added, “I forgot to tell you that speaking about Forbes reminds me that Herman has been running out a clew on the Rena Taylor case.  He has been all over the country up there, he reports to Dillon, and he says he thinks the car was seen making for Pennsylvania.

“They have a peculiar license law there, you know—­at least he says so—­that enables one to conceal a car pretty well.  Much good that does us.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “you can always depend on a man like Herman to come along with something like that—–­”

Just then the “master station” detectaphone connected with the telephone in the garage began to talk and I cut myself short.  We seemed now at last about to learn something really important.  It was a new voice that said, “Hello!”

“Evidently the Boss has come in without making any noise,” remarked Guy.  “I certainly heard no one through the other instrument.  I fancy he was waiting for it to get dark before coming around.  Listen.”

It was a long distance call from the man they called Chief.  Where he was we had no means of finding out, but we soon found out where he was going.

“Hello, Boss,” we heard come out of the detectaphone box.

“Hello, Chief.  You surely got us nearly pinched last night.  What was the trouble?”

“Oh, nothing much.  Somehow or other they must have got on to us.  I guess it was when I called up the joint on Forty-eighth Street.  Three men surprised me, but fortunately I was ready.  If they hadn’t stopped at the door before they opened it, they might have got me.  I put ’em all out with that gun, though.  Say, I want you to help me on a little job that I am planning.

“Yes?  Is it a safe one?  Don’t you think we’d better keep quiet for a little while?”

“But this won’t keep quiet.  Listen.  You know I told you about writing that letter regarding Warrington to Miss Winslow, when I was so sore over the report that he was going to close up the Forty-eighth Street joint, right on top of finding that Rena Taylor had the ‘goods’ on the Forty-seventh Street place?  Well, I was a fool.  You said so, and I was,”

“You were—­that’s right.”

“I know it, but I was mad.  I hadn’t got all I wanted out of those places.  Well, anyhow, I want that letter back—­that’s all.  It’s bad to have evidence like that lying around.  Why, if they ever get a real handwriting expert they might get wise to something from that handwriting, I’m afraid.  I must have been crazy to do it that way.”

“What became of the letter?”

“She took it to that fellow Garrick and I happen to know that Warrington that night, after leaving Garrick, went to his apartment and put something into the safe he has there.  Oh, Warrington has it, all right.  What I want to do is to get that letter back while he is laid up near Tuxedo.  It isn’t much of a safe, I understand.  I think a can opener would do the job.  We can make the thing look like a regular robbery by a couple of yeggs.  Are you on?”