“Yes, by Jove, I have noticed that,” said the clerk quickly. “It is 44120, New York. I’m almost sure of it.” “Good on your head,” said Patsy. “That will help some, all right.” “Glad of it. Sorry I cannot do more for you.” “You can do a trifle more--keep all this to yourself,” said Patsy, with a smile. “You can bank on that, Garvan,” nodded the clerk. “So long!” Patsy already had turned from the desk and was hurrying out of the house. Ten minutes later he entered a public garage, where, in a New York license book, he found that the car bearing the number mentioned was owned by Andrew J. Duffy, No.---- Amsterdam Avenue, New York City. “Gee whiz, Danny, that’s going some,” Patsy declared triumphantly, when he returned to the waiting car. “Going some is right, Patsy, for fair,” Danny Maloney readily agreed. “It’s going to beat the band. Where next?” “Hike me out to Amsterdam Avenue, and drop me a block from Duffy’s house,” Patsy directed, with increasing zest. “I’m to see what more I can learn.” “Have you put the chief wise?” “You bet! I phoned him from the garage.” “Are you to make any arrests?” “Not yet,” said Patsy. “We must first make sure of finding the Madden kid. Kate Crandall is tricky, in spite of the fact that we have picked up her trail so quickly. She could not figure, you know, upon Nick’s hearing and recognizing her voice when she telephoned to Madden, or supposed she was doing so. The chief played dead lucky in that, for it put him wise at once when Clara Randall’s name and conduct were stated. She knows where Amy Madden is, all right, but the kid may not be in the Duffy house, possibly not within miles of it. We must plan to clinch the whole business before arresting any one, or we might make a bad mess of it.” “Sure thing,” said Danny. “I see the point.” Twenty minutes served to land Patsy at his destination. He sprang from the car a block south of the Duffy place, still in disguise, and then directed Danny to return home with the car. “I have no further use for it, and the chief may need it,” he added, lingering for a moment. “I’m to be guided by what I discover.” Sauntering into a corner grocery store near which they had stopped, Patsy inquired where Duffy lived, merely to pave the way for further questions. He then learned, without incurring suspicion that Duffy was a dabbler in stocks, that he had no other business, that he had a wife and one son, Margaret and Jimmie, the latter a lad of ten years, also that the youngster had fiery-red hair. “The danger hue. He’s in the peril zone, all right,” thought Patsy, sauntering out. “This is good enough for me. I’ll now find out who is in the Duffy house, if possible, and then I’ll phone the chief another pointer.” Instead of approaching it from in front, however, Patsy walked round the square and viewed the rear of the dwelling.