Gregory studied the dates on which the jewels had been purchased and those on which they had been located in this country for a few moments in silence. Then:
"Get me copies of the passenger lists of every steamer that has docked here in the past year," he directed. "Of course it's possible that these things might have been landed at Boston or Philadelphia, but New York's the most likely port."
When the lists had been secured Gregory stuffed them into his suit case and started for the door.
"Where you going?" inquired McMahon, the man in charge of the New York office.
"Up to the Adirondacks for a few days," Gregory replied.
"What's the idea? Think the stuff is being brought over by airplane and landed inland? Liners don't dock upstate, you know."
"No," said Gregory, "but that's where I'm going to dock until I can digest this stuff," and he tapped his suit case. "Somewhere in this bunch of booklets there's a clue to this case and it's up to me to spot it. Good-by."
Five days later when he sauntered back into the New York office the suit case was surprisingly light. Apparently every one of the passenger lists had vanished. As a matter of fact, they had been boiled down to three names which were carefully inscribed in Joe's notebook.
"Did you pick up any jewels in the Catskills?" was the question that greeted him when he entered.
"Wasn't in the Catskills," he growled. "Went up to a camp in the Adirondacks—colder'n blazes. Any more stuff turn up?"