"Yes," said Granice, discouraged. "And even if I hadn't been, I know
the garage was just opposite Leffler's over there." He pointed
across the street to a tumble-down stable with a blotched sign on
which the words "Livery and Boarding" were still faintly
discernible.

The young man dashed across to the opposite pavement. "Well, that's
something--may get a clue there. Leffler's--same name there, anyhow.
You remember that name?"

"Yes--distinctly."

Granice had felt a return of confidence since he had enlisted the
interest of the _Explorer's_ "smartest" reporter. If there were
moments when he hardly believed his own story, there were others
when it seemed impossible that every one should not believe it; and
young Peter McCarren, peering, listening, questioning, jotting down
notes, inspired him with an exquisite sense of security. McCarren
had fastened on the case at once, "like a leech," as he phrased
it--jumped at it, thrilled to it, and settled down to "draw the last
drop of fact from it, and had not let go till he had." No one else
had treated Granice in that way--even Allonby's detective had not
taken a single note. And though a week had elapsed since the visit
of that authorized official, nothing had been heard from the
District Attorney's office: Allonby had apparently dropped the
matter again. But McCarren wasn't going to drop it--not he! He
positively hung on Granice's footsteps. They had spent the greater
part of the previous day together, and now they were off again,
running down clues.