“That’s easily fixed. Larry can see to the car this afternoon.” “Good. Now here’s another thing. I’ll tell you frankly that I’m afraid of Vining. He’s a gifted criminal, and I’m not at all sure that he’s not playing with us. Anyhow, I thought it best to tell him about my diggings near you. I told him that they were usually occupied by a little lady friend, now on tour, and suggested that he call for me there, as I would be in that neighborhood. I did that for this reason. I thought that if anything went wrong at the last minute, I could get Larry here on the telephone, and he could get in touch with you at once, as you’ll be just around the corner waiting with your car. Then you could come in and we could capture Vining anyhow, if it came to that. We might be able to get some information out of him. I know enough about him to hold him all right.” “That means that you stay in from six o’clock on, Larry,” I observed, “no matter how many ladies in distress come to the door.” Larry squirmed and Moore looked at me inquiringly. “What’s all that?” he demanded. So, with a keen enjoyment of Larry’s speaking countenance, I told Moore the story of Mrs. Fawcette’s unconventional visit, winding up with the news of the luncheon that day given for Natalie. Moore was silent for a while after I had finished my yarn, and the gravity of his expression made me vaguely uneasy. “What do you think of it?” I demanded at last. “Clayton, I think it’s bad,” he answered, finally. “In the first place, I hate the thought of that girl trailing with that bunch, especially after what you have told me about her”—he gave me a fleeting grin—“but the Mrs. Fawcette proposition is worse—I mean, searching your place. It looks as if they know all about us.” “Well, if Mrs. Fawcette is in the gang, along with Ivanovitch and Vining and these others we’ve run across, why, it would be easy enough for them to trace me through my car license number, supposing that bloodthirsty driver of theirs got the number and was well enough, after the smash, to tell his rescuers about it.” I broke off and stared at Moore in amazement. “Then they could trace me and send Mrs. Fawcette to search my rooms. But, great Scott, that’s too much of a coincidence, Moore. We’ve got nothing to connect Mrs. Fawcette and Ivanovitch with Vining; not a thing. They don’t even belong to the same stratum of society.” Moore shrugged his shoulders. “Well, as far as that goes, it doesn’t really affect the main issue much. To-night’s the night, and we’ve got to locate that gang. It’s too late to turn back now anyway, even if we wanted to—which I don’t. How about it?” “I’m with you, of course,” I answered. “But I hate letting you get into the hands of that bunch all alone.”