“Chicago is a great town,” he remarked. “Bet your life!” exclaimed Martin. “I used to do janitor work in the Guggenheimer Building,” confided Nick. “Is that so?” “Sure. You know anything about Chicago?” “Well, rather. I’ve lived there about all my life.” “Then you know the Guggenheimer Building, corner State and Madison Streets?” “Like a book. Been in it more times than I can count.” The detective wanted to laugh. There was no such building in Chicago. “Do you remember the orang-outang, carved out of marble, that they’ve got over the door of the Guggenheimer Building?” Nick went on. “You bet. Seen it a hundred times.” “Gosh!” exclaimed Nick. “It seems like meeting old friends to run across a man who remembers that orang-outang.” At the end of the five miles there was a little town called Herkimer, and here the party stopped for breakfast. When they got down from the machine and went into the hotel, they took their satchels with them. Nick got outside of his meal and returned to the Red Spider several minutes before the rest of the party had finished and left the table. The detective knew very well that Chick and Patsy wouldn’t bring their machine up to the place while the Red Spider was in evidence, but he wanted some assurance that his assistants were following. He got what he wanted, for Patsy appeared in the road, back at a point where it made a turn in the woods, and gave his hat a wave. Patsy then disappeared, and Nick felt much easier in his mind. “It’s a cinch,” thought Nick, “that not one of this outfit of supposed Chicago men knows anything about Chicago. “And another thing, Martin never had the Red Spider for two years, or he’d know how to run it. “But what did the Chicago chief of police mean by that message he sent to the police department in Latimer?” Nick was exceedingly thoughtful for a few moments. “I’d like to pinch the entire outfit, and make them prove that they’re what they say they are,” he said to himself, finally, and gave a look down the road, as though he would summon Chick and Patsy. But Chick and Patsy were not in sight. If Nick could have known what Martin and his two friends were talking about in the hotel, however, it is safe to assume that he would have made the effort of his life to arrest the three men before they had gone another mile further. “I don’t like the looks of that driver of yours, Clancy,” one of Martin’s pals was saying. “He’s all right, I tell you, Spark,” averred Clancy. “Didn’t I spot him while trying to sneak a wallet in my room? I’ve got the fellow right under my thumb, and he knows it.” “He looks to me as though he’s playing a part. Don’t you think so, Cricket?” “He looks all right to me,” replied Cricket. “We ought to get rid of him,” persisted Spark. “What’s got you on the run, old man?” queried Clancy. “Give it up; but I’ve got a feeling that there’s trouble ahead. And look here--I’ll bet I can prove to you that this Jones, as he calls himself, is crooked.”