He chose to follow that line rather than to question the young interne, since the latter course might have aroused suspicion, and his questions might be reported to Follansbee. It involved some delay, but that could hardly be avoided, and the sight of Stone, though weak and ill, had reassured Patsy somewhat. At any rate, he knew now that the man was not dead, and there seemed to be no reason to believe that a few hours’ further delay, if it came to that, would have very serious consequences. Apparently Doctor Follansbee was playing an unusual game, and one that could not be brought to a conclusion at once. Patsy had no doubt that the head of St. Swithin’s had planned this move from the beginning. Stone had probably been taken to the big hospital the night before merely as a temporary expedient, and to lend an appearance of regularity to the proceedings. Now he was being removed to some place where Follansbee would find himself less hampered in his dealings with him. The crowd had quickly melted away, and the young interne and the hospital attendants had reëntered the big building while Patsy stood staring after the vanishing ambulance. Now he strode away and returned to his own car. Entering it, he drove a few blocks and stopped in front of a telephone pay station. After a little delay he obtained the number of the license bureau, and asked for the name of the institution owning the designated machine. It was two or three minutes before he received a reply, but when it came, it told him all that he needed to know for the time being. “Nineteen-nineteen license, number five hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and thirteen, New York, is issued in the name of Miss Worth’s Private Hospital for Convalescents, fifteen thousand Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn,” he was told. Patsy thanked his informant, to whom he had been obliged to give his name in order to obtain the desired information. When he had reached the street again he paused before entering the runabout. “Now, it’s up to me to make another stab at an interview with the chief,” he thought. “If I don’t catch him this time, I’ll begin to think I’m the victim of a jinx.” He entered the little car and headed back to the Hotel Windermere. There he received another slap. Nick had been in and left, but the clerk questioned Patsy as the detective had suggested, and satisfied himself of his identity. The young assistant learned in this way that his chief had revealed himself to the clerk, and had left word that he was going back home. He swallowed his disappointment as best he could, and felt sure that the trail must be nearing its end. He had no doubt that he would find his chief when he reached the house. But Fate took the next trick away from him also. CHAPTER XL. THE PRIVATE HOSPITAL.