He little dreamed that the subject they had found interesting was himself, and that the object of their conversation had been the devising of ways and means for taking his life.
The future, however, was to reveal it all to him, and, although he did not suspect anything at that moment there were others who did.
The bell boy had been right.
Chick had indeed run for a passing car and boarded it after emerging from the Windermere, and that explained his sudden disappearance from the street.
He had been so full of his discovery, and so anxious to escape from the hotel before Doctor Follansbee could see him and connect him with Crawford, that he had run a certain risk in dodging through the traffic and flinging himself on a moving trolley.
When he reached home a few minutes later, he found dinner waiting for him, and his chief and some of the others at the table.
“Hello, Chick!” was the greeting his chief gave him. “So you’re back at last, are you? I got your message. Have you been with Crawford all this time?”
The young detective seated himself hastily, gave an account of the afternoon’s program and then wound up with the startling information that he had heard Doctor Follansbee asking for Stone. At the mention of the specialist’s name, Carter’s lithe body stiffened, and he darted a quick glance at Chick.
“Follansbee and Stone!” he repeated. “That combination looks bad. I don’t like it.”