Chick’s countenance had lighted. Through this process of reasoning he had deduced the one fact, the one crafty subterfuge, that had made the robbery possible under all of the other known circumstances.
It told Chick, too, how easily confederates of the substitute rascal could have been concealed in the car, and how easily Nick could have been held up and overcome under such unexpected adverse conditions.
“But what has become of Cady?” Chick next asked himself. “He was supposed to be in Philadelphia, of course, in order to make this run. By Jove, I have it! Got him dead to rights, eh? I’ll see about that. I’ll set another ball rolling in this game—one that may knock out a ten-strike.”
Chick sprang up with the last and hastened down to the hotel office. Entering a telephone booth and closing the door, he called up the central exchange and learned that he could quickly get a clear wire to Philadelphia.
“I want the police headquarters,” said he. “The officer in charge.”
Chick had waited only seven minutes, when the operator rang him up and announced:
“All ready.”
“Hello!” Chick called. “Police headquarters, Philadelphia?”
“Yes.”
Distance did not serve to soften the strong, sonorous voice. The wire carried the sound perfectly. The voice was a familiar one to the detective, that of an old friend in police circles, and Chick laughed audibly.