Nick Carter had not returned.
No word had been received from Patsy Garvan.
It then was nearly six o’clock.
Chick rang for Danny Maloney and the touring car, then telephoned to police headquarters.
More than an hour later, just as the dusk of evening was deepening to darkness, Chick alighted from the car with two plain-clothes men in a rural road amid the wooded hills of Westchester County, and cautiously approached a fine old wooden residence half hidden among trees in the near distance.
The three detectives still were outside of the private grounds, when, emerging from some shrubbery flanking one side of the extensive estate, a quick, athletic figure hurried toward them.
“Great Scott!” Chick quietly exclaimed. “Is it you, Patsy?”
“You bet, Chick, and I’m mighty glad you have showed up,” said Patsy expressively.
“Something doing, eh?”
“Surest thing you know.[Pg 35]”