“To Providence.”
“To a hotel?”
“I’ll bring you the note he left for Mr. Carter.”
She hurried into the celebrated detective’s study and presently returned with a slip of paper. On it the chief assistant had explained his errand, and said that he hoped to be back by night, but would be running about most of the day. He added that he would try to keep in touch with the Sound Hotel, and could be reached there if he was wanted.
The information did not sound promising, but Patsy was obliged to make the best of it. Putting on a bath robe and slippers, he ran to the chief’s study and attempted to reach Chick on the long-distance telephone. As he had anticipated, he had not yet arrived at the hotel. He left a message asking that he be called as soon as possible; but after he had done so, he decided that he could not wait for that. There were too many uncertainties, and the delay might prove serious.
“Confound it, this is a pretty mess,” he told himself. “I can’t be sure about Chick any more. I’ll have to ’fess up to the chief—if I can get hold of him.”
The housekeeper was once more summoned, and from her Patsy learned that the chief had not been there either the night before or that morning.
“He’s still at the Windermere, I suppose,” the housekeeper suggested.
“Let’s hope he is,” Patsy answered, and returned to the phone. He gave the number of the Hotel Windermere, and was promptly connected.
“Is Mr. Mortimer—Mr. Thomas Mortimer—there?” he inquired anxiously.