Later he had returned to the detective’s house, and so had Chick; then there had come a telephone message to the latter from Nick sending the young detective out of town for at least twenty-four, if not forty-eight, hours.
That unexpected turn of affairs had caused Gordon great satisfaction when Chick gloomily confided the news to him.
“The chief seems to think that fellow Gordon has doubled back, and is hiding not far from New Pelham,” the assistant informed “Gillespie.” “He still hopes he’ll turn up at your place, and is going to wait there all of to-morrow, if not longer, but he wants me to get busy, and see if I can locate Gordon independently. It seems unnecessary to me, but what he says goes. The worst of it is, though, I’ve got my orders to pull up stakes at once.”
Of course, Gordon did not know that this was all a put-up job. Nick, by seeming to play into the rascal’s hands, had worked out this scheme, in order to get Chick out of the way, so that Gordon would not feel compelled to take strong measures to accomplish the same object.
As a result, Green Eye had slept alone at Nick’s house that night—except for the servants—and now, after a good breakfast, looked forward to a day of undisturbed peace and freedom to do whatever circumstances might require.
First, however, it was necessary for him to absent himself temporarily, in order to make up as Nick once more. Therefore, he made a flying trip to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, and there disguised himself, returning as fast as the taxi could carry him.
When he reëntered the detective’s residence, it was in the character of the owner.
“Has any one called up or been to see me?” he asked the butler.
“No, sir,” was the reply, a welcome one to the scoundrel, for it meant that none of his victims had yet sought the detective.
He did not have long to wait, however, for hardly more than half an hour later the butler entered the study, and presented a card, which bore the name of ex-Senator William Deane Phelps.