“Yes,” said Clancy, “and that somebody is Judge Pembroke!”
“It never ain’t!”
“He lives at the corner of Second Avenue and Cerro Gordo Street. As soon as I discovered that, I came right back to the garage. Can’t you see what is going on, Jimmie?”
Clancy paced the floor of the little room nervously while he talked.
“I know somethin’ of what’s goin’ on, pard,” returned Fortune, “because I was right in the middle o’ the excitement. I can’t see ahead very far, though, and that’s allers been the trouble with me. How does the business stack up to you?”
“Why, Hibbard was the judge’s driver. He must have known a good deal about the judge’s affairs, and probably could have traveled all around his residence blindfolded. Hibbard has some reason for wanting to be at the judge’s house to-night. What it is we don’t know, but the business looks black. The fact that Hibbard got this rascal, Long Tom, to help him, gives the whole thing a criminal appearance.”
“Who put Hibbard up to get that note away from you?”
“Never mind that, now. We——”
“It was old Rocks, and I’ll bet a bushel of pesos. That must have been what them two was chinnin’ about in the plaza. But Hibbard didn’t get the note,” and Fortune laughed gleefully, “because I was here in place o’ you! By glory, them fellows got hocused good!”
“We’ve got to do something to help the judge, Jimmie, and time is limited. Long Tom and Hibbard have stolen a car and gone to Second Avenue and Cerro Gordo Street. How long since Hibbard left with the machine?”