“Hello, Turk!  It’s about time you were showing up.  Where the devil have you been?” exclaimed he, wrathfully.

“I’ll tell y’ all about it w’en I gits me tires pumped full agin.  Come on, come on; it’s private—­strictly private, an’ nobody’s nex’ but me.”  When there was a chance to talk without being overheard by the three discomfited gentlemen in the rear, Turk managed to give his master a bit of surprising news.

“That guy was Courant, that’s who he was.  He’s been right on your heels since yesterday, an’ I just gits nex’ to it.  He follers you up to th’ house back yonder an’ there’s w’ere I loses him.  Seems like he hung aroun’ the porch er porticker, er whatever it is over here, watchin’ you w’en you wuz inside.  I don’t know his game, but he’s th’ guy.  An’ I know w’ere he is now.”

“The dickens you do!  You infernal little scoundrel, take me there at once.  Good Lord, Turk, I’ve got to catch him.  These people will laugh at me for a month if I don’t.  Are you sure he is Courant?  How do you know?  Where is he?” cried Phil, excited and impatient.

“You ain’t near bein’ keen.  He doubled on you, that’s w’at he done.  W’en you chased him off on that side street he just leaps over th’ garden wall an’ back he comes into a yard.  I comes up, late as usual, just in time t’ see him calmly prance up some doorsteps an’ ring th’ bell.  Wile th’ gang an’ you wuz lookin’ fer him in th’ gutters an’ waste paper boxes, he stan’s up there an’ grins complackently.  Then th’ door opens an’ he slides in like a fox.”

“Where is the house?  We must search it from top to bottom.”

“Can’t do that, Mr. Quentin.  How are you goin’ to search that house without a warrant?  An’ w’at are you goin’ to find w’en you do search it?  He’s no common thief.  He’s in a game that we don’t know nothin’ about, an’ he’s got cards up his sleeve clear to th’ elbow.  Th’ people in that house is his friends, an’ he’s safe, so w’at’s th’ use?  I’ve got th’ joint spotted an’ he don’t know I am nex’.  It’s a point in our favor.  There wuz a woman opened the door, so she’s in th’ game, too.  Let’s lay low, Mr. Quentin, an’ take it cool.”

“But what in thunder was he doing behind those palms?  That wasn’t a very sensible bit of detective work, was it?”

“Most detectives is asses.  He was hidin’ there just to earn his money.  To-morrow he could go to th’ juke an’ tell him how slick he’d been in hearin’ w’at you said to th’ young lady w’en you thought nobody was listenin’.  Was he hid near a window?’

“Just below one—­almost against the casing.”

“Easy sailin’.  He figgered out that some time durin’ th’ night you an’ her would set in that window an’ there you are.  See?  But I wonder w’at he’ll say to th’ juke to-morrow?”

“I hate to give this job up,” growled Phil.  “But I must get back to the hotel.  The villain cut me with a knife.”

By this time they were in front of the Garrison home, and in an undertone he bade Turk walk on and wait for him at the corner below.