“Fifty-three, Six-twenty-six speaking! Who is this?” “V-sixty-nine,” replied his young wife happily. “Are you all right?” “Yes. Is M. H. 2479 there?” “He is here.” “Very well. An hour ago I saw Togrul Khan in a limousine and chased him in a taxi. His car got away in the fog but it was possible to make out the number. An empty Cadillac limousine bearing that number is now waiting outside the 44th Street entrance to the Hotel Astor. The doorman will hold it until I finish telephoning. Tell M. H. 2479 to send men to cover this matter——” “Victor!” “Be careful! Yes, what is it?” “I beg you not to stir in this affair until I can join you——” “Hurry then. It’s just across the street from Westover Court——” His voice ceased; she heard another voice, faintly, and an exclamation from her husband; then his hurried voice over the wire: “The doorman just sent word to hurry. The car number is N. Y. _015 F 0379_! I’ve got to run! Good-b——” He left the booth at the end of Peacock Alley, ran down the marble steps to the left and out to the snowy sidewalk, passing on his way a young girl swathed to the eyes in chinchilla who was hurrying into the hotel. As he came to where the limousine was standing, he saw that it was still empty although the door stood open and the engine was running. Around the chauffeur stood the gold laced doorman, the gorgeously uniformed carriage porter and a mounted policeman. “Hey!” said the latter when he saw Cleves,—“what’s the matter here? What are you holding up this car for?” Cleves beckoned him, whispered, then turned to the doorman. “Why did you send for me? Was the chauffeur trying to pull out?” “Yes, sir. A lady come hurrying out an’ she jumps in, and the shawfur he starts her humming——” “A lady! Where did she go?” “It was that young lady in chinchilla fur. The one you just met when you run out. Yessir! Why, as soon as I held up the car and called this here cop, she opens the door and out she jumps and beats it into the hotel again——” “Hold that car, Officer!” interrupted Cleves. “Keep it standing here and arrest anybody who gets into it! I’ll be back again——” He turned and hurried into the hotel, traversed Peacock Alley scanning every woman he passed, searching for a slim shape swathed in chinchilla. There were no chinchilla wraps in Peacock Alley; none in the dining-room where people already were beginning to gather and the orchestra was now playing; no young girl in chinchilla in the waiting room, or in the north dining-room. Then, suddenly, far across the crowded lobby, he saw a slender, bare-headed girl in a chinchilla cloak turn hurriedly away from the room-clerk’s desk, holding a key in her white gloved hand. Before he could take two steps in her direction she had disappeared in the crowd.