“Yes.”
“Perhaps you’ll do as well, then. Are you busy just now?”
“No.”
“Could you come down to the Hotel Windermere? I don’t suppose it’s very much, but I’d like to talk with one of you. I could come to your house, though, if you prefer.”
There was no reason why Chick should not accept the invitation.
“No,” he said. “I’ll come down. I’m afraid I can’t reach the hotel before three, though.”
“Oh, that’s all right; there’s no particular hurry.”
The detective replaced the receiver, saw to a few matters which demanded his attention, and then, after some twenty-five or thirty minutes, scribbled a brief message to his chief, and left it on the latter’s desk—the usual information, telling where he had gone, and why.
Chick had never accustomed himself to riding in motor cars when it was unnecessary; therefore, he set out briskly for the nearest subway station.