Minerva had started off again, with the detective after her.
Ten minutes brought her to a subway station, where she took a downtown train.
Alighting at Forty-second Street, she walked briskly away and soon brought up opposite a restaurant and concert hall having a somewhat unenviable reputation. There she paused in a doorway to gaze over at the lighted windows.
“She’s looking for some one, or waiting for some one to show up,” thought Chick, after briefly watching her. “I may get a line on the party before her, by Jove, in case he already has arrived. She cannot see from over there.”
Minerva still was lingering in the doorway.
Leaving the corner on which he had paused to watch her, Chick sauntered into the place and bought a drink at the bar.
Beyond the barroom, through a broad entrance adorned with potted palms, was a large concert hall filled with numerous tables and with curtained booths flanking the side walls.
Patrons of the place were seated at many of the tables, eating, drinking, and smoking. A score of waiters were hurrying to and fro. In the rear of the hall an orchestra was playing popular airs. The noise and stir were incessant.
Gazing into the broad mirror back of the bar, Chick suddenly made a discovery—a woman seated alone in one of the nearest booths.
The curtains were partly drawn, and Chick would not have discovered her save for the angle afforded by the mirror.