“Could you come down to the Hotel Windermere? I don’t suppose it’s very much, but I’d like to talk with one of you. I could come to your house, though, if you prefer.” There was no reason why Chick should not accept the invitation. “No,” he said. “I’ll come down. I’m afraid I can’t reach the hotel before three, though.” “Oh, that’s all right; there’s no particular hurry.” The detective replaced the receiver, saw to a few matters which demanded his attention, and then, after some twenty-five or thirty minutes, scribbled a brief message to his chief, and left it on the latter’s desk—the usual information, telling where he had gone, and why. Chick had never accustomed himself to riding in motor cars when it was unnecessary; therefore, he set out briskly for the nearest subway station. “The chief seems very interested in Crawford,” he thought, as he walked along. “We might as well get in touch with him as soon as we can.” He reached the Windermere a little after three, and found Crawford waiting for him in the lobby. The bearded man seemed to be troubled about something, but his face brightened when Chick appeared. He led the way to one of the rooms which opened off the lobby. It proved to be deserted. “It’s nothing very important,” Crawford explained, when they had seated themselves in a quiet, remote corner, “but I’m just a little troubled about my partner, Stone. He left the hotel immediately after breakfast this morning, and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He said he would be back in time for lunch, but he hasn’t turned up yet.” He glanced at Chick for a moment. “Of course. I’m not going to worry much about that,” he went on, “but in case he doesn’t appear by dinner time, I just wanted to know what to do. This New York of yours is a very bewildering place to a man who hasn’t been in it for twenty-five or thirty years, and I would be at a loss to know how to proceed.” “Oh, that’s easy enough,” Chick said quietly. “If he doesn’t show up by night, and you don’t get a message, the best thing to do would be to ring up police headquarters and give a description of him. If anything had happened, they would be in a position to let you know sooner than any one else. They have the whole thing at their finger’s ends down there, and handle ordinary cases with routine dispatch. You mustn’t have any anxiety about Mr. Stone, though. He’s surely able to take care of himself. He may have fallen in with some old friends, or made a new one.” “It does sound foolish, and I suppose you’re right,” Crawford admitted. “This place has got me scared, though. I have been used to solitude for a good many years, and the only crowds I’ve known have been those about the bars in mining camps. There must be a frightful number of accidents here every day.” He turned slightly in his chair and looked out through a near-by window into the traffic-filled street.