Reaching the outskirts of town they chose the less frequented streets. Concealed though it was, that square-ended box was of a curiously suggestive size and shape, and both chauffeur and passenger were nervous. However no one seemed to notice them; or if they did, the cab had passed out of reach before action could be taken. One suspects that taxi-cabs often race through the streets at night with queer burdens. The address given them was in one of the more important streets of the Park Slope district away on the other side of the borough. A garage was maintained in connection, and it was with fervent relief that they rolled inside and the door was closed behind them. They were received by a younger replica of the clayey-faced man, who exhibited a studied imitation of his father's professional manner. Everything was made easy for them here: though nothing was said about it, they were evidently expected. But it cost Greg a pretty penny. They returned to New York. At the bridge entrance they were stopped, and a policeman stuck his head inside the cab. But there was nothing in the least suspicious about the fashionable young gentleman riding there, and the officer apologized. He declined to state what he was looking for. Perhaps he was afraid of ridicule. Greg had Hickey drive him to the office of the _Sphere_ newspaper where, in plenty of time for the morning edition, he inserted two advertisements in the personal column. The first read: "Boy: Pick T7011 to win. Look in the place you know of. Greg." These few simple words were the result of a long process of selection and elimination on the way back to town. Greg assured himself that the girl would understand, but that no one else in the world could. The second advertisement read: "Red Head: Meet me Southwest corner Twenty-third and Fifth Ten A.M. Green Tie." This of course was merely camouflage for the benefit of any one who might have intercepted the note that Greg had sent up at the Stickney Arms. "Home, James," said Greg to Hickey. "We'll celebrate our success by treating ourselves to a whole night's sleep." "Thank God for that," said Hickey. "I'm ready for it." CHAPTER IX THE FLIVVER AS A POST-OFFICE Shortly before ten next morning Hickey was despatched in the flivver to the Stickney Arms. Small probability of any delicately nurtured ladies venturing out before that hour. Hickey's instructions were detailed and explicit.