“Confound it, this is a pretty mess,” he told himself. “I can’t be sure about Chick any more. I’ll have to ’fess up to the chief—if I can get hold of him.” The housekeeper was once more summoned, and from her Patsy learned that the chief had not been there either the night before or that morning. “He’s still at the Windermere, I suppose,” the housekeeper suggested. “Let’s hope he is,” Patsy answered, and returned to the phone. He gave the number of the Hotel Windermere, and was promptly connected. “Is Mr. Mortimer—Mr. Thomas Mortimer—there?” he inquired anxiously. “One moment, please.” He kept the receiver to his ear for a few seconds, and then the clerk’s voice sounded again. “Hello?” it said. “Mr. Mortimer isn’t in at present. He went out with a friend immediately after breakfast. He’s been gone about two hours now.” Patsy could have kicked himself at that moment. “Have you any idea where he has gone?” “No, I haven’t. He went out with another of our guests, though, and——” The assistant caught eagerly at that clew. “Was it Mr. Crawford?” he asked. “Yes, that’s the gentleman. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Mr. Mortimer doesn’t seem to have left any word. Will you leave a message for him?” Patsy thought for a moment. “No, I believe not,” he said, after a pause. “I’ll telephone later on, or drop around there.” He replaced the receiver and leaned back disappointedly. “Worse and more of it,” he mused. “First, Chick slips out of my reach, and now the chief is off somewhere. This is certainly my unlucky morning. Of course, Chick didn’t suppose I had anything of importance to report, and that’s why he let me sleep. Now time is flying. Follansbee has got Stone in his clutches for some beastly purpose of his own, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s up to the chief to decide that, and I can’t reach him.” He had not dictated a message for Carter because the matter was too confidential for that; besides, he expected to present himself at the hotel before long and wait for his chief, if the latter had not yet returned. First, though, he must dress and snatch a bite of breakfast. His dressing and shaving occupied only about twenty minutes in all—with a cold plunge thrown in—and when he reached the dining room, he found the housekeeper waiting for him. His coming seemed to be a signal, for she vanished at once into the regions behind, but soon returned bearing a tray. Patsy was a favorite of hers, and she was doing him the honor of serving him in person. “Mr. Chick said to let you sleep,” she declared, nodding her gray head. “Heaven only knows when you came in last night. I was awake until twelve.” Patsy grinned. “You missed me by a minute or two,” he answered, as he attacked his breakfast.