“You can do a trifle more—keep all this to yourself,” said Patsy, with a smile.
“You can bank on that, Garvan,” nodded the clerk. “So long!”
Patsy already had turned from the desk and was hurry[Pg 20]ing out of the house. Ten minutes later he entered a public garage, where, in a New York license book, he found that the car bearing the number mentioned was owned by Andrew J. Duffy, No.—— Amsterdam Avenue, New York City.
“Gee whiz, Danny, that’s going some,” Patsy declared triumphantly, when he returned to the waiting car.
“Going some is right, Patsy, for fair,” Danny Maloney readily agreed. “It’s going to beat the band. Where next?”
“Hike me out to Amsterdam Avenue, and drop me a block from Duffy’s house,” Patsy directed, with increasing zest. “I’m to see what more I can learn.”
“Have you put the chief wise?”
“You bet! I phoned him from the garage.”
“Are you to make any arrests?”
“Not yet,” said Patsy. “We must first make sure of finding the Madden kid. Kate Crandall is tricky, in spite of the fact that we have picked up her trail so quickly. She could not figure, you know, upon Nick’s hearing and recognizing her voice when she telephoned to Madden, or supposed she was doing so. The chief played dead lucky in that, for it put him wise at once when Clara Randall’s name and conduct were stated. She knows where Amy Madden is, all right, but the kid may not be in the Duffy house, possibly not within miles of it. We must plan to clinch the whole business before arresting any one, or we might make a bad mess of it.”