"Certainly," said Alyce, "er—that is—until Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" inquired Joe. "What's coming off Tuesday?"
"Mrs. Dodge will arrive on the Atlantic," was the reply, "and I'll have to be with her for three days at least."
"Three days—" commenced Gregory, and halted himself. It wasn't wise to show too much interest. But that night he called the chief on long distance and inquired if there had been any recent reports of suspicious jewel sales abroad. "Yes," came the voice from Washington, "pearls again. Loose ones, this time. And your three weeks' grace is up at noon Saturday." The click that followed as the receiver hung up was finality itself.
The same procedure, altered in a few minor details, was followed when Mrs. Dodge landed. Again she was searched to the skin; again her luggage was gone over with microscopic care, and again nothing was found.
This time she stayed at the Knickerbocker, but Alyce was with her as usual.
Deprived of his usual company and left to his own devices, Gregory took a long walk up the Drive and tried to thrash out the problem.
"Comes over on a different boat almost every trip," he thought, "so that eliminates collusion with any of the crew. Doesn't stay at the same hotel two times running, so there's nothing there. Has the same maid and always returns—"
Then it was that motorists on Riverside Drive were treated to the sight of a young and extremely prepossessing man, dressed in the height of fashion, throwing his hat in the air and uttering a yell that could be heard for blocks. After which he disappeared hurriedly in the direction of the nearest drug store.
A hasty search through the phone book gave him the number he wanted—the offices of the Black Star line.