"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Indiman, but I want that man with you. Charged with larceny of a package consigned to Oceanic Express Company. I've been waiting for him all night."
"By all means, officer," and the three of us got out.
"I managed it pretty well, I think," continued Brownson. "Searched every nook and corner of the stable where Grenelli and Day lived, and finally I found the parcel. It answered precisely to the description, and I sent it down by Officer Smith to the RUSSIA not more than an hour ago."
"To the RUSSIA! Why she sailed yesterday afternoon at four o'clock."
"Slight accident to her low-pressure cylinder," explained Brownson. "She was delayed for several hours and was to sail early this morning. I beg your pardon—why, excuse me, Mr. Indiman—"
There was a public telephone in the corner shop, and Indiman dashed into the booth, upsetting Officer Brownson into the gutter as he rushed past him. The clerk at the pier of the Cis-Atlantic Company answered that the RUSSIA had sailed a little before seven, and must be in the lower bay by this time. Impossible to reach her, as the morning was densely foggy and she carried no wireless apparatus. An indescribable expression came into the man Grenelli's face as he realized what this new turn of the kaleidoscope meant. But Indiman and I involuntarily looked the other way.
Officer Smith had returned from his mission, and apparently his superior was not pleased with its outcome.
"Block on the Elevated!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "Always some excuse. Then you missed the Russia?"
"She had just been pulled into the stream when I reached the pier."
"Where's the package?"