"Ah—here we are," exclaimed Billy, as he ran his finger triumphantly down the "B" list. "Barr, Luther—that's our man, eh? Ivory importer, offices No. 42 Wall Street—home, White Plains."
"White Plains, that's where Lathrop's folks live," exclaimed Harry. "That's where he first became associated with the Golden Eagle."
"And turned out to be a good partner," added Frank.
"A jim dandy," agreed Billy. "I tell you boys, I've got a good nose for news and if there isn't some sort of a story back of Mr. Luther Barr and Lathrop's letter I'll eat my hat without sauce."
Any acceptance of the young reporter's generous offer was interrupted by a sudden noise in the usually quiet street.
"I tell you the fare's a dollar!" the boys heard an angry voice declaim.
"'Tain't nothing of the kind or I'm a lubber—fifty cents is all I'll pay. I'll be horn-swoggled if you get a cent more, yer deep-sea pirate," was the indignant phrased reply.
Something in the voice was strangely familiar but the "horn-swoggled" settled it.
"Ben Stubbs," gasped all the boys simultaneously and rushed out of the garage to the street.
Here they found a stoutly-built, crisp-bearded man with a face tanned to what Billy called a "weathered oak finish," arguing loudly with a taxicab chauffeur. The man was obdurate over his fare and just at, the boys came on the scene was suggesting that his equally determined passenger get back in the cab and take a ride to the police station.