Fay braced himself for five blocks of cobbled streets upon the surface of which ragged children played ball and dodged death. He stepped down from the taxi as it came to a gliding stop before the ornate entrance to the great dock. “Mind waiting?” The driver glanced at the taxi-meter. “You’ve paid me for a couple of hours.” “Stay right here. Ill be back in ten minutes.” Chester Fay found two English detectives covering the dock. With them was a Secret Service operative of slight acquaintance. “Hello!” he said, drawing this man to one side. “Say, Gardner,” he whispered, “who would know down here what happened last night when the _Carpathia’s_ passengers came down the planks? I want to trace a man who took a Gray taxi. The man is--” “Putney Steph--Stephney.” “Yes.” Fay raised his brows. The matter was evidently out. “Has he been found?” Fay shook his head. He recalled that Sir Arthur Hilton had not given instructions to make public the matter of the finding of the body on the railroad train at Poughkeepsie. “Not found yet, eh?” Gardner said. “Well, I did all I could. Come over here. That’s right. Now we can talk. That British team are listening-in.” “What did you find?” “Stephney came down the plank, showed his passports, went into a slot-booth, lugged his bag and a leather case out toward the street and there hailed a Gray taxi. That much is settled. The taxi was driven by a chauffeur with reddish-brown hair. His nose was slightly turned up. He had on a yellow coat and leather leggins. He’d been waiting around the dock for over three hours.” “Must have expected him!” “Looks that way, Chester. He had plenty of fares offered him. You see, them Gray taxies are all the fashion now. They’re gettin’ the business.” “You were here at the time the passenger arrived?” “No. I got my information from old Harry, who watched the express wagons and taxies. He’s positive about the red-haired chauffeur. Said he was a bold trick!” “He’s right. Good-by!” Fay left the Government operative and darted for a telephone booth. Into the slot of this he dropped a nickel and obtained, after a brief wait, Mr. George Mott’s secretary. “This is Chester Fay!” he said briskly. “Say, get about ten of the Gray Brotherhood rounded up right away and cover these assignments. Got it?” he added, drawing the door shut with caution. “Yes--yes! They’ll do. Cover Poughkeepsie and a corpse found there this morning on top of a New York Central freight-car. Cover the morgue. Have them see the Army surgeon who made the autopsy on the lungs. Have them connect with the coroner and the railroad detectives who found the body.” Fay paused and mopped his brow with his sleeve. It was hot in the booth.