The sinister mark
curiosity and brought up every reserve of his fighting Irish instincts.
He swore to himself that he would solve this enigma, that he would find
out every detail of this strange situation, if it took "till Kingdom
Come."
His feeling was greatly enhanced by the personality of the man who
was hurrying by his side. No one who had ever been admitted, in any
degree, to Donald Morris's confidence had failed to feel his remarkable
charm. Peter had seen him in an hour of great stress, when every mere
conventionality had been swept away, and a very real personal desire to
be of service was the result of this glimpse of the actual man.
These thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of the young
detective as they hurried along the streets. They had not far to
go, as the garage in question was east of Sixth Avenue, in one of
the cross streets, just above Washington Square. Morris led the way
unhesitatingly.
"There it is," he said as they turned the corner. "Hammond's Garage. I
knew it began with an H. Miss Blake has used this garage exclusively
for some time. They'll be sure to know----"
"Let's go a bit easy," said Clancy, with his hand on Donald's arm. "We
don't want to get up more excitement than is absolutely necessary.
Suppose you leave it to me."
Morris nodded a ready acquiescence, and promptly abandoning his place
as leader, followed Peter into the little office, beside the big door
of the garage.
"Good morning," said Peter, pleasantly, to a heavily built man, who
turned his swivel chair away from his desk at their approach and
regarded them with the calm of a man whose business came to him without
strenuous effort. "Is this Mr. Hammond?" Peter continued.
"It is," said the man, shifting a large, unlighted cigar to the
opposite corner of his mouth.
"My name's Clancy," Peter went on. "I just dropped in on an errand for
Miss Blake--Ninety-nine Waverly Place, you know." He wished to make
sure that this was the right garage and waited for the affirmative nod
which immediately followed. "Miss Blake wants to know," he continued,
smoothly, "why you didn't send the taxi for her yesterday at five."
Mr. Hammond's composure was slightly shaken. He frowned and ponderously
swung about to the desk. He opened a large book which lay upon it and
ran his finger down the entries of a page dated May twenty-eighth.
Frowning still more, he shook his head and called loudly--
"Joe!"
Immediately an overalled mechanic, with a long smear of black grease on
his nose, appeared at the door.
"Yep."
"Did you get a call for Ninety-nine Waverly any time yesterday
afternoon?"
"I did not."
"You're sure?"
"I am that." There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in the tone.
Donald Morris looked quickly at Clancy, but Clancy was entirely
occupied with the two garage men.
"Well, that's funny," said Peter, with a puzzled frown. "Miss Blake was
very much annoyed when your taxi didn't come, and she had to get one
from--where was it now? She told me, but I can't remember. What's the
name of another public garage near here?"
"I don't think there is any decent one anywhere near here except
mine, but there's a cab stand at the Lafayette. Maybe she got it from
there. It would be the nearest place. Anyhow, Mr.--Mr. Clancy, you can
bet we didn't get the call, or we'd'a' been on the job. We've been
drivin' Miss Blake for a couple of years or more and we're always very
particular, anyway. Let's see----" Hammond again referred to his book.
"We took Ninety-nine Waverly to the theatre Saturday evening at seven
forty-five, but we didn't have a call to get her after the performance
that night.... No. The last is May twenty-seventh at seven forty-five.
Nothing after that." He glanced at the mechanic who was waiting at
the door. "All right, Joe," with a nod of dismissal, and the man
disappeared.
"I can't explain it," Hammond turned to Peter, "only we didn't get the
call, and I wisht you'd tell Miss Blake so. Joe's been here for a long
time and he's very careful. Never knew him to make a mistake. Them
darned telephone operators might have given her the wrong number and
somebody thought they'd play a joke by sayin' they'd come for her. I
can't think how else----"
"Well, it's a mistake, then," said Peter, pleasantly, "and I'll tell
Miss Blake--when I see her. Sorry to have troubled you," and with an
apologetic wave of the hand, he took Donald Morris by the arm and led
him, disappointed and perplexed, into the street.
"Cheer up," said Peter, as he turned him eastward. "Don't get
discouraged. We've only just begun. This may be a long chase and, as I
said, we'll have to trust a good deal to luck. I'm not disappointed a
whole lot, as I had a kind of a hunch that the cab might not have come
from a place where Miss Blake was well known. We'll try the Lafayette,
since it's so near, and if we don't find anything there, I'll get my
partner, O'Malley, on the 'phone and we'll comb the city for that cab."
"Like looking for a needle in a haystack," muttered Morris, wearily.
"Oh, not so bad as that," said Peter. "We've got that sort of thing
pretty well systematized. It may take a little time, but we're bound
to find a cab, unless they left on foot, with only hand luggage, and
that's hardly probable, is it?"
"No, it doesn't seem probable," Morris said, after a pause. "And they
couldn't get an expressman on Sunday, of course.... Miss Blake expected
to spend the summer in town ... and she was here Saturday night,
late.... She wouldn't have sent her trunks beforehand.... It was a
sudden resolution...."
They were making their way eastward at a rapid rate, and in a
few minutes they reached University Place and the pleasant old
Lafayette.... He and Mary had dined there several times, Morris
remembered with an inward groan, in some secluded corner where the
lights were dim. Always she had avoided attracting attention, never
seeking the public eye, except upon the stage. Unlike most actresses,
she had even been averse to being photographed. He could remember only
a few portraits which had been taken at the beginning of her career.
Her face would be familiar to those who had seen her on the stage, but
to few others. The thought troubled him now, since it would add to the
difficulty of tracing her.
Clancy had left him upon the sidewalk at the entrance of the hotel.
Running up the steps, the detective had exchanged a few words with
the doorman. After that he had spoken to several of the taxi drivers
lined up along the curb. Suddenly he turned, and beckoning excitedly to
Morris, took a few rapid steps in his direction.
"The luck of the Irish!" Peter exclaimed, joyfully, as the two young
men met. "You can't beat it! I've found the man."
"No!" cried Morris, eagerly.
"Yes!" said Peter with emphasis. "The next to the last man on the line,
the one I just spoke to, took a lady and a trunk from Ninety-nine
Waverly Place a little after five yesterday afternoon. Come on, and
we'll get the rest!"
CHAPTER IX
WHAT THE CABMAN KNEW
"One lady?" questioned Morris, excitedly, catching Peter by the arm as
they hurried toward the taxi, the driver of which stood, expectant, by
its open door.
"Only one," said Peter, in a low voice, "and I don't know yet which
one, but we'll soon find out."
He motioned Morris to get into the cab, and spoke familiarly to the
chauffeur: "Drive us over to the Square, old top, and line up along
somewhere where it's quiet. We want to have a little talk with you. And
you can keep your metre ticking, so that'll be O. K.," he added, with a
grin.
The driver, a big, strong young fellow, grinned pleasantly in response
and jumped to his wheel. In a moment they drew up in a quiet spot on
the old Square.
"This do?" asked the taxi man, turning in his place and speaking
through the open front of the cab.
"Fine," answered Peter, who was seated directly behind him. He leaned
forward and spoke in a friendly, confidential manner. "We want to find
out something about the lady you took from over there," he pointed in
the direction of Waverly Place, "yesterday afternoon. She went away
without leaving any address, and something has happened which makes it
necessary for her friends to locate her at once, see?"
The driver nodded his comprehension.
"I want to be sure it's the lady we're looking for. It's an apartment
house, you know," Peter explained, rapidly, "so perhaps you'll describe
her to us."
"Well," said the driver, hesitatingly, "I don't know as I can tell
you so much what she looked like. She was dressed plain, in something
dark, though blue or black or what, I couldn't be so sure. She come
hurrying along around the corner, but I was part way down the line, so
I wasn't much interested, though she did seem to be lookin' for a taxi.
She sorta gave the once-over to the two guys that was ahead of me, and
then she stepped right up, quick, to my cab, and she says, lookin' at
me sharp through her veil, 'Could you carry a heavy trunk down three
flights of stairs by yourself?' she says. It was kinda unexpected,
'cause they usually gets you to the place and then springs it. 'I'll
make it worth your while if you can manage it alone,' she says,
flashing a five at me. 'It's this, over and above the fare,' she says,
kinda nervous and excited like. 'You're on, lady,' I says. 'Lead me to
that trunk!' I says, just like that. So she told me Ninety-nine Waverly
Place, and I took her there and carried down the trunk, and, be gobs,
it was heavy enough, and maybe worth the money at that."
Morris was listening eagerly to every word. He could keep silence no
longer.
"But the lady!" he said, excitedly. "Tell us more about her. Was she
very tall and slender and beautiful?"
Clancy touched his arm. He was afraid that the chauffeur, if given a
clear description, would think he had seen what Morris so evidently
wished him to have seen.
"You describe her in your own way, Bill," he interposed, addressing the
driver, "but tell us everything you noticed about her. How about it,
was she tall?"
"How'd you know my name was Bill?" asked the driver, irrelevantly, with
a grin, and without waiting for a reply, he went on, "I don't think
the lady was so very tall; at least not so you'd notice it particular,
but she was sorta thin, and she kinda stooped a little. She had on a
thick veil, so I didn't see her face hardly any when she come up to me
on the street--only her eyes, and they was big and kinda--burning." He
hesitated a little. Evidently his powers of description were not often
put to the test.
"Well," said Peter, as the man paused, "you went up to the apartment
with her to get the trunk. I think you said you carried it down three
flights of stairs. That would have made it the floor next to the top
one, wouldn't it?"
"No," said the cab driver, shaking his head, "it was the top floor,
and thankful I was there wasn't any more of 'em."
"Did you see any one else in the apartment?" asked Peter, carefully
restraining his impatience.
"Not a soul," answered the man, "and I don't think there was anybody
else there. It was awful quiet. I didn't see anybody and I didn't hear
anybody moving around."
"Did you notice anything unusual about the apartment?" asked Peter.
"Was it--what you'd call--tidy--when you were there?"
"I don't know," said Bill, scratching his head. "I ain't much of a hand
at noticing things, I'm afraid. Places is apt to be a bit upset when
people are going away. I didn't think anything about that. I only just
went into the back room to get the trunk--and----" A sudden thought
seemed to strike him--"now I come to think of it, I did get just a
little peek at the lady's face as I was coming along the hall with the