"Who--Carlis?" Blaine spoke almost absently, as if the portentous scene of two hours before had already almost slipped from his memory. "Oh, he won't get away, and I'm not afraid of him! I let him go for the same reason that I didn't have Mallowe arrested this morning--for the same reason why I haven't stopped Paddington's philandering with the French girl, Fifine: because a link is still missing in the chain; the shell, the exterior of the whole conspiracy is in the hollow of my hand, but I can't find the chink, the crevice into which to insert my lever and split it apart, lay the whole dastardly scheme irrefutably open to the light of day. I want to complete my case: in other words, Guy--I want to win!" "And you will, sir; you've never failed yet! Only I--I don't have any luck!" The young man's haggard face grew wistful. "I want Emily Brunell; I need her--and I seem farther from finding her than ever!" "I didn't know that was your job!" the detective objected, with a brusqueness which was not unkind. "I told you I'd take care of that, in my own way. I thought I assigned you to the task of finding out who fired at you, from the darkened window of your own room, when you were in Brunell's house across the street; also I wanted a line on those two mysterious boarders of Mrs. Quinlan's." "Nothing doing on either count, sir," Morrow returned, ruefully. "I can't get a glimpse of them, or a line on either of them; and as for who tried to plug me--well, there isn't an iota of evidence, that I can discover, beyond the bare fact. I didn't come to report, for there's nothing to say, except that I'm sticking at it, and if I don't get a sight of those two before long I'm going to burn a red sulphur light some fine night, and yell 'fire!' I bet that'll bring the old codger out, for all his rheumatism!" "Not a bad idea," Blaine commented, adding dryly: "What did you come for, then, Guy?" "To find out if you had any news you were willing to tell me yet, sir--of Emily?" "Yes." The detective's slow smile was quizzical. "The most significant news in the world." "You've discovered their destination--hers and her father's?" the young operative cried eagerly. "You traced their taxi, of course!" "No." "Then what is it?" "Just that, Guy--that I haven't been able to trace the taxicab in which they left their house. Think it over. Report to me when you've got anything definite to tell me." With a curt nod Blaine dismissed him, but he glanced after the dejected, retreating figure with a very kindly, affectionate light in his fatherly eyes. It was dusk when he was aroused from a deep study of his carefully annotated resume of the case by the excited jangle of the telephone bell, to hear Guy Morrow's no less excited but joyous voice at the other end of the wire.