“Certainly,” said Nick. “Incidentally, too, when in that locality, drop into the Carleton and see what you can learn about Clara Randall. She probably is known there by no other name. Find out how long she has been there and who has been visiting her.
“It is several months since we foiled her game against Cyrus Darling, and she evidently has thought it wise to use a fictitious name, her own having become somewhat notorious. Go ahead, Patsy, and let me hear from you.[Pg 19]”
Patsy Garvan needed no additional instructions. Half an hour later, after brief calls at three of the precinct stations, where he left such directions as the circumstances required, Patsy sprang from the touring car a few doors from the Lexington Avenue apartment house, in which Clara Randall was said to have been quartered.
Entering in disguise, Patsy confided his identity and mission to the office clerk, who hurriedly responded to his inquiries after Nick Carter’s name had been mentioned.
As Nick had predicted, however, Clara Randall had vacated her apartments one week before, and her whereabouts was not known.
“How long has she been living here?” Patsy inquired.
“Nearly four months.”
“Alone?”
“Save when she had visitors,” smiled the clerk significantly.
“Give it to me straight,” said Patsy impressively. “Who has been calling on her?”