If she were kidnapped, it must have been on the street in broad daylight. Such things had happened. It would not be the first disappearance of the kind.
Quickly Kennedy called up Deputy O'Connor. It was only too true. Burke had reported that she had disappeared and the police, especially those at the stations and ferries and in the suburbs had been notified to look for her. All this seemed to have taken place in those hours when the mysterious telephone calls had sent us on the wrong trail.
Kennedy said nothing, but I could see that he was doing some keen thinking.
Just then the telephone rang again. It was from the man whom we had left at the Prince Edward Albert. Senora de Moche had gone out and driven rapidly to the Grand Central. He had not been able to find out what ticket she bought, but the train was just leaving.
Kennedy paced up and down, muttering to himself. "Whitney first—then Lockwood—and Alfonso. The Senora takes a train. Suppose the first message were true? Gas and oil for a trip."
He seized the telephone book and hastily turned the pages over. At last his finger rested on a name in the suburban section. I read: "Whitney, Stuart. Res. 174-J Rockledge."
Quickly he gave central the number, then shoved the receiver again into the telescribe.
"Hello, is Mr. Whitney there?" I heard later as he placed the record again in the phonograph for repetition.
"No—who is this?"
"His head clerk. Tell him I must see him. Kennedy has been to the office and—"