The man gave Phil a stare, then gestured with his whip.
“For a ride in the park,” the man stated. “Where else would she want to take a carriage?”
Nodding to prove he’d learned something, Phil started along Central Park South. Impressed with the very sudden notion that Arlene might really be the banshee, Phil thought of turning back and asking the hansom driver what else the girl had been wearing besides lilacs. It struck Phil then that Arlene certainly wouldn’t take to sylvan costumery until she reached her favorite pool.
Wondering about that pool and its allure, Phil went west instead of east. Failing to see the name of the Hotel Sans Souci, he paused to make inquiry. Phil was right in front of a hotel called the Parkside House, when he witnessed what seemed a trifling incident.
A man with a large suitcase was coming from the doorway brushing away a bellboy who offered to carry the bag to a waiting cab. Poor policy on the man’s part, for of a sudden, his burden became too heavy, and he sagged toward the sidewalk. Phil caught him as the bag clattered, steadied the fellow and looked at his thin, peaked face.
“Very sorry,” the man muttered. He gave Phil a look with gray eyes that were watery, but appealing. “I guess - guess I was just a bit dizzy.”
“Blind staggers,” diagnosed Phil. “Ease your head back. I’ll get you into the cab.”
There was something about the man’s long face that was vaguely familiar to Phil. Drawn though they were, those features had a trace of the aristocratic. As Phil helped the fellow to the cab, the man fumbled in his pocket and a wallet fell out, spilling some loose papers. Phil recovered them and in the light of the marquee, saw both a calling card and an addressed envelope that bore the man’s name.
That name was Winslow Ames.
The door man now was giving Phil a hand with Mr. Ames. In his turn, Ames put away the wallet and its papers, to bring out a smaller envelope that contained a railroad ticket.