Chick continued to wait and watch. Twice he telephoned home to communicate with Nick or Patsy, but neither of them had returned, and he decided to continue playing a lone hand. That afternoon waned and early evening came, and Chick could see from the street that the windows of suite 710 were brightly lighted. He felt reasonably sure that neither of its occupants had departed. Returning to the hotel office about seven o’clock, he heard the ringing of the telephone bell, and then the voice of the clerk addressing a hallboy, just approaching from a side corridor. “It’s 710,” called the clerk. “A taxi is wanted.” “Mullen is at the side door, sir,” replied the hallboy. “Good enough! Tell him to wait there.” “All right, sir.” Chick Carter had pricked up his ears, and his eyes were glowing more brightly. “A taxi, eh?” he muttered, heading for the side door. “By the rats, in 710, eh? By Jove, here’s my chance. It’s Mullen for mine.” CHAPTER VII. PLAYING A LONE HAND. Patsy Garvan, following the instructions Nick Carter had given him, did not ring a bull’s-eye until four o’clock that afternoon. He then rounded up the hackman he had been seeking. Patsy recognized his face and discovered him standing beside his carriage in front of a hotel in Forty-fourth Street. “You’re the very man I want,” said he, confronting him. “Have a look at this.” Patsy displayed the detective badge under the lap of his vest. Sharply watching the hackman’s ruddy face, however, he saw at a glance that his hearer felt no alarm, or consternation, as would have been the case if he was guilty of anything wrong. His countenance took on a look of mild surprise, nevertheless, and he surprised Patsy, also, by saying, with a sort of gruff heartiness: “You don’t need to show me that, Garvan.” “Ah, you know me, then?” said Patsy. “Sure. There are mighty few dicks I don’t know by sight. None in your class, Garvan, as far as that goes.” “Thanks,” smiled Patsy. “What’s your name?” “Pat Mulligan.” “A namesake of mine, eh?” “I reckon so,” grinned Mulligan. “What d’ye want? I know you have not started a spiel with me for nothing.” “This is between us, mind you.” “That goes.” “You took a couple from a house in Fifth Avenue at seven o’clock this morning.” “Sure. Where the stiff was being taken away.” “That’s the place. What do you know about the couple?” “Nothing,” said Mulligan, but a curious gleam lighted his eyes. “I went there on a telephone order.” “Where did you take them?” “Grand Central Terminal. They had no luggage, so I did not go in with them. That was the last I saw of them.” “Did you see the undertaker’s wagon again?” “Not after it left the house,” said Mulligan. “I supposed it was heading for the station baggage room. I know nothing more about it.” “I believe you, Mulligan,” said Patsy. “You know something, nevertheless, that you have not told me. I can read that in your eyes.”