Slowly retracing his steps, however, Patsy lingered for several moments here and there, still hoping to discover his quarry. A taxicab was approaching from Sixth Avenue. It stopped suddenly at a store on the same side as Patsy, and some thirty feet from where he then was standing. A man sprang out, quickly followed by another--and Patsy then felt a thrill shoot up his spine. “Holy smoke! that’s Chick in disguise, as sure as I’m knee-high to a grasshopper,” he said to himself, while he watched both men hurry into the store. “I know that disguise as well as I know his own face,” Patsy went on mentally. “He was on Bart Bailey’s track, and it now is a hundred to one that he has some job on the rascal. The other must be Bailey himself. Great guns! I’m getting wiser every minute. Now it’s a thousand to one that Goulard went into that store, or why has Bailey gone in there? Gee! the boot may be on the other leg. This may be a job to get the best of Chick. That may be Goulard’s hurried mission from the department store.” Patsy had reasoned it out correctly, in spite of his meager information of the actual circumstances. Bart Bailey had, as a matter of fact, sent Goulard a message in response to the code telegram, and had informed him of his designs. Patsy was not slow in acting upon his suspicion, nevertheless though he took care not to interfere with whatever Chick might have up his sleeve. He sauntered by the store, glancing up at the sign and through the window. He passed just in time to see Nolan turn back after locking the door, and then vanish with Chick down the rear stairway. “That don’t look good to me,” thought Patsy, brows knitting. “Why did he lock that door? Chick evidently knew it and stood for it. He must know what he’s doing, therefore, but he may slip a cog in some way. I’ll not butt in, but I’ll be hanged if I don’t do a bit of nosing around on my own hook.” Patsy sauntered by the store again, and now saw plainly that it was unoccupied. He then moved on and crossed the street to survey the two upper floors. “Some one lives up there,” he muttered. “It may be the gink I saw in the store, or some one else employed there. I’ll not risk asking any questions. Gee! I might get next in that way.” Patsy was hit with another idea. He had discovered an open alley leading to the rear of the building. He also had discovered a stonemason at work in the alley, engaged in pointing up portions of the brick wall of the next building. He was at work with a bucket of mortar and a trowel. Patsy made a short detour and presently paused at the entrance to the alley. “Hist!” he called quietly. The mason turned quickly, a ruddy young Irishman, and Patsy signed for him to come out and follow him. They met a few rods away a moment later, out of view from the windows above the suspected store. “What d’ye want?” questioned the Irishman curiously.