“Yes, there’s more!” he snapped. “Cover James Ponsardin of the _Messenger_. Put him to bed and get him up in the morning. Find him and keep the boys tailing him till I call them off. That’s all ... no, send Rake to the corner of the block where the Gray Taxi Company has its garage. Tell him I’ll meet him there in fifteen minutes!” * * * * * It was eleven minutes later when Fay requested the driver of the taxi to deposit him on the northeastern corner of the block around which Gray taxies to the number of a score or more were scattered. Fay handed over a second bill with a polite bow. “I’m going to visit your boss,” he said with a quick smile. “I’ll pump her in private for that write-up of mine. It ought to go big in our Western syndicate.” The driver twisted his wrist and studied the time. He set the meter to the off position. “Good-by!” he said, leaning over and releasing the emergency brake. “I’m much obliged!” Fay turned and stared into the broad Irish face of the ex-convict he had expected to meet. “Ah, Rake--on time!” “Sure, Chester! I was just watchin’ you and that wild-looking driver. They’re gettin’ all the high-class business.” “Come on! Follow me and keep your eyes open. We’re going to look a little lady over. Miss Elsie, the manager, is under suspicion.” Fay led the way along the sidewalk and threaded his steps through a group of young men outside the Gray Taxi Garage. He eyed each one for possible red hair and turned-up nose. He entered the doorway, dodged a fast-flying taxi which was coming out on second speed, then knocked upon the ground glass of a door marked _Private--Keep Out--This Means You!_ A slip of a girl answered the knock. She glanced from Fay’s face to the peering countenance of Rake. “Well?” she asked. “I’m looking for a Miss Elsie De Groot,” said Fay, thrusting his foot forward. “I’m a newspaper man. I--want to write her up for a Western syndicate. It ought to bring some business.” The girl toyed with a pencil which she jabbed like a bayonet into a raven-hued turban. “I’ll see,” she said, turning and gliding through an inner door. Presently her elfin face gladdened the opening as Fay half advanced into the outer office. “Come in, please. Miss De Groot will see you.” Chester Fay removed his cap, crushed it between his fingers and stepped briskly forward. He paused before the edge of a rug. Across this rug sat a girl. She swiveled in a businesslike chair and threw one neat ankle over the other. She glanced impatiently upward. “We’d like to see you alone,” Fay said as he noted a mop of reddish hair and a freckled nose which seemed to be pressed up by an unseen finger. “Alone,” he added, swinging upon the stenographer and jerking his chin toward the door. “Why, certainly!” The girl slipped out and closed the door. Fay left Rake’s side and moved up close to a littered desk which bore some resemblance to order.