"I think there were some notations made by Miss Carew just before she left," said she.
"Bring it," snapped Updyke, abstractedly. Then as the girl turned to go he called her back.
"I'm sorry to have been cross with you, little woman, but you'll forgive me I know. This is a bad case, and every moment is precious. Hurry back with the report," said he, smiling into her alert blue eyes.
On her return he seized the record eagerly, and the girl bent over his shoulder and pointed out three memorandums, which he carefully read.
The addendum was in the handwriting of Miss Carew, and read as follows:
6-12-1919—has built shack on the ocean side of South Bay, opposite Smith Point. Two rooms, stove, kitchenette—goes there during summer months—at week-ends—place is made comfortable for duck shooting in late fall. Double bed—5-15-1920—Joined the Indian Head Social Club, near Jamesport, East of Riverhead. Membership composed almost entirely of divorcees, both men and women. Single men and pretty women, eligible. Golf club—card games—liquor lockers—thirty suites—baths—swimming pool—indoor athletics—free and easy—no questions asked—no interference. Open all year—once known as The Mad House, then Herman's Road House. Herman still owns it, but has modernized the place and bids for better clients under the guise of a social country club.
"Get Riverhead, and ask for George Carver, head clerk at the White House," said Updyke to the girl beside him. "Glad to note that some one is on the job around here," he added gruffly.
In less than three minutes the connection was made, but even to the man at the helm, minutes seemed hours—such was his mental strain.
"Hello, George—this is Updyke—Yes—fine, thank you—do you know William Parkins?—only by sight—eh?—he belongs to Indian Head Social Club—find out if he is over there—call me back quickly—thanks—hurry boy!"