The butler hesitated—and fell.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DETECTIVE’S “HALFWAY HOUSE.”
Chick had been in favor of cutting off all communication with the detective’s residence in New York. It was not because he himself felt any great need of a holiday, but rather because he had an exaggerated notion that his chief was badly in need of a change.
Nick, however, had vetoed this suggestion, and left things largely to his butler’s discretion. The butler had been in his service for years, and had shown himself by no means a fool.
“If anything big develops,” Nick had told him, “do not hesitate to telegraph for me, or have me called on the long distance—if there isn’t time to write. I don’t want to miss an important case.”
The butler remembered these words now—and forgot that he did not even know the caller’s name. Carried away by the man’s air of authority, he blurted out the desired information.
“Mr. Carter is staying at the Buck’s Head Inn, Little Saranac Lake, sir,” he said.
“Many thanks! That’s all I need. I’m sure Mr. Carter will respond at once when he hears what’s in the wind,” Gordon declared importantly, and having made a note of the address, thanked the butler again, and returned to the waiting taxi.