“None too good. She’s pretty fly, I reckon, if the whole truth were told. We have been thinking of asking her to move out. That tells the story.” “Quite right,” Chick replied. “Do you know where Jim Dacey lives?” “Not exactly,” said Carson. “But you can easily find out.” “How so?” “Go out and question Tony Hogan. He has a taxicab stand around the corner. He has frequently taken Dacey home from here. He can tell you more about the man and just where he lives.” “Thanks,” said Chick approvingly. “Not a word about this to others, mind you.” “Trust me, Carter. I’m dumb.” “You haven’t seen Dacey this evening?” “No, not since yesterday.” There was a very good reason for it. Leaving his limousine in the side street in charge of his chauffeur, Martin Moran, who was a bird of the same shady feather, Jim Dacey had entered the side door of the house when he went up to Kate Crandall’s apartments. Chick thanked Carson again and repaired to the street. He soon found the man he was seeking, a shrewd, keen-eyed Irishman, who already knew Chick by sight and reputation. Hogan needed only a hint from the detective, moreover, to cut loose and tell all that he knew about Dacey. But Chick soon found that Hogan could add but little definite information to that already obtained, which of itself was quite sufficient to convince Chick that he was on the right track. This was further confirmed by the fact that Dacey dwelt in a somewhat isolated place, that was less than a mile from the Darling residence, where he employed only a deaf housekeeper and the chauffeur already mentioned. Chick paused only briefly to determine what course he would take. “Nick and Patsy can look after things here,” he said to himself. “They will not need me. There is a bare possibility, on the other hand, that Darling is in the clutches of this bunch of blacklegs, as Nick suspects, and that he is confined at the Dacey place. I’ll go out there and look it over, at all events, and communicate later with Nick.” Then, turning to the cabman, he said abruptly: “Take me out there, Hogan, and drop me a couple of hundred yards from the place. I’ll decide later whether I have further use for you.” “That’s good enough for me, Mr. Carter,” Hogan said readily. “Tumble in, sir.” Less than half an hour brought them to their destination, a crossroad from which could be seen, in the near distance, quite an old wooden dwelling half hidden amid the trees flanking one side of the narrower road. It could be discerned only dimly in the starlight, though some lighted lower windows could be plainly seen through the trees. It was the only dwelling in the immediate locality, and Chick came to a quick conclusion. “Drive on about a quarter mile, Hogan, and wait till I come,” he directed. “I cannot say just how long you may have to wait.” “My time is yours, Mr. Carter,” said Hogan. “You’ll find me there when you come.” “Good enough,” said Chick. “You’ll get all that’s coming to you.”