It was late in the afternoon. The dusk had begun to gather, and lamps were gleaming in some of the store windows.
Daylight still found its way into the business office of Nick Carter’s residence, however, when he hung up his telephone receiver and placed the instrument on his desk. His only companion was his chief assistant, and the faces of both were unusually grave.
"Who was it?" Chick inquired, when Nick turned in his swivel chair.
"A man who said his name is Frank Steel," Nick replied. "He is employed in a Lexington Avenue provision store. He wanted to know whether Patsy had returned with his motor cycle."
"By gracious, that beats hearing nothing from Patsy," Chick cried, with countenance lighting. "It gives us a hint, at least, at what has occurred to him. What more did he say? Could he give you any definite information?"
"Some very suggestive information," Nick replied. "I begin to scent the rat in the meal. I can tell you in a nutshell."
Nick then proceeded to do so. Steel had, in fact, become quite anxious concerning Patsy’s prolonged absence, and he had told Nick all that had transpired in the provision store that day, also informing him of Patsy’s interest in the occupant of the opposite flat, and all about the man who had called there.
"By Jove, there is only one way of sizing that up," said Chick, after listening intently. "We know that old Mr. Mantell did not go there. The man who called, then, must have been Goulard."
"Undoubtedly."
"And Patsy must have recognized him."