“Gee whiz!” thought Patsy, immensely tickled for more reasons than one. “Where did he get next to that? She’s a bird with wilted plumage. He looks all right, but she certainly has her load. There must be something doing, or he wouldn’t be heading out this way with her. But where did he gather her in? That’s what puzzles me.” Their eyes met a moment later, but no observable sign passed between the two. A momentary twinkle in Chick’s eyes, however, gave Patsy the only needed cue. Nick Carter’s anticipations were speedily verified when Chick, visiting Larry Trent in his prison cell that afternoon, told the convict what had befallen his sister, and of the other crimes of which Margate was guilty. Resenting the wrong done the girl, Trent informed Chick that his sister had known Margate only under the name of Matt Gaffney; that the latter had lodged in the same house with her, and that they had been quite friendly, also that Margate could be found almost every evening in a red disguise in a saloon and restaurant run by one Phil Brady, in a red-light section of the city. Chick thus obtained enough information as he thought would serve his purpose, and eight o’clock that evening found him watching Brady’s establishment from the opposite side of the street. Half an hour brought no results, however, and Chick then sauntered into the saloon and bought a drink, carelessly asking the bartender: “Seen Gaffney this evening?” “Not yet,” was the reply. “But he’ll soon show up. There’s a skirt waiting for him in the last booth.” Chick took a look at her with the aid of the bar mirror. “She’s a new one to me,” he said indifferently. “She ain’t new around here,” grinned the bartender. “That’s Nell Breen.” Chick turned away without another question and repaired to his former vantage point across the street. Ten minutes later he saw Margate enter the saloon and talk a few moments with the woman, buying a drink for both. Margate then came out, hastening to a limousine that had stopped at a near corner. He talked earnestly with the driver and one passenger for a short time and then hurried away. The limousine departed in the opposite direction. Chick made one of his characteristic clever moves. He scribbled a few words on a blank card with a lead pencil, then hurried to the booth in which Nell Breen was sipping a Martini and waiting for pork chops. “Here, Nell, read that,” he whispered impressively, slipping her the card. “Andy sent me in with it.” The woman looked up suspiciously, then read the card: “NELL: This fellow is all right. Bring him along. I have a use for him. Hastily, ANDY.” “Who gave you this?” Nell demanded, gazing again, but less suspiciously. Chick had taken a chance that she was to rejoin Margate later, or would know where to find him.