"When she got that far the black-haired one turned around sudden, and we made believe to be counting the bags. The old lady happened to call the black-haired one and little red-hair had a chance to finish: 'Tell the driver of T7011 that you brought me to this address.' "That's all. Slipped me a couple of dollars she did, but I would have come for nothing. A peach!" Greg experienced a complete revulsion of feeling. Gone were all his hard and angry thoughts. She had sent him word; she was all right! "Good work!" he cried. "I'll give you another two myself if you'll let me." The driver was not unwilling. Poor Hickey, who had been looking forward to a "second helping" at Bessie's table and a good sleep, was turned around and bidden to drive to the Stickney Arms for all the flivver was worth. On the way Greg debated how to establish communications with his little friend. What he had seen himself, and what the chauffeur had told him, suggested that she was under the closest surveillance, and it behooved him to be careful in approaching her. Suddenly an idea occurred to him that made him chuckle and slap his knee. He had Hickey stop at a druggist's where he purchased a sheet of showy note-paper and an envelope, and on the counter indited this note: "The young man with the blue tie noticed by the young lady with the silver-fox furs on the steps of the Hotel Meriden this morning desires to make her better acquaintance. Read the personal column in the Sphere to-morrow." The Stickney Arms proved to be a towering structure in what might be called the Jerry-Gothic style, the "Gothic" having been manufactured in a terra-cotta kiln on Staten Island. It was, notwithstanding, a very fine place of its kind, with a truly royal red carpet down the sumptuous corridor from front door to elevators, and in attendance four young Apollos wearing blue uniforms with gold cords across their breasts. One was to open the door, one to answer the telephone, one to run the elevator and one just to stand around and look ornamental. The last boy had a peculiarly knowing look, and to him Greg addressed himself. Before saying anything he made a suggestive movement with his hand, to which the boy instinctively responded. A dollar bill changed hands like lightning. The blue-clad one assumed a responsive air. "Little girl with dark red hair," said Greg, "black suit, little green hat, big soft fur around her neck; travels with two Spanish-looking ladies; do you know her?" The boy nodded. "Sub-let a furnished apartment on the eighth floor. Moved in this morning." "What name?" asked Greg. "Soak-oat-er, or somepin like that." "Slip her this," said Greg, showing his letter. "Only into her hands, see?" The boy pocketed the letter. "I get you, boss."