avay qvick und sell you dot blue vase. Goodbye, Mr. Eckstein."

And B. Cohn hung up.

Instantly Peck called Prospect 3249 and asked for Herman Joost. Mr.
Joost's mother answered. She was desolated because Herman was not at
home, but vouchsafed the information that he was dining at the country
club. Which country club? She did not know. So Peck procured from the
hotel clerk a list of the country clubs in and around San Francisco and
started calling them up. At eight o'clock he was still being informed
that Mr. Juice was not a member, that Mr. Luce wasn't in, that Mr. Coos
had been dead three months and that Mr. Boos had played but eight holes
when he received a telegram calling him back to New York. At the other
clubs Mr. Joust was unknown.

"Licked," murmured Bill Peck, "but never let it be said that I didn't go
down fighting. I'm going to heave a brick through that show window, grab
the vase and run with it."

He engaged a taxicab and instructed the driver to wait for him at the
corner of Geary and Stockton Streets. Also, he borrowed from the
chauffeur a ball peen hammer. When he reached the art shop of B. Cohn,
however, a policeman was standing in the doorway, violating the general
orders of a policeman on duty by surreptitiously smoking a cigar.

"He'll nab me if I crack that window," the desperate Peck decided, and
continued on down the street, crossed to the other side and came back.
It was now dark and over the art shop B. Cohn's name burned in small
red, white and blue electric lights.