Again we waited as Garrick tried to trace the call out.

"Hello! What is the street address of Bleecker seven--one--eight--
o? Three hundred West Sixth. Thank you. A garage? Good-bye."

"A garage?" echoed Dillon, his ears almost going up as he realized
the importance of the news.

"Yes," cried Garrick, himself excited. "Tom, call a cab. Let us
hustle down there as quickly as we can."

"One of those garages on the lower West Side," I heard Dillon say
as I left. "Perhaps they did work for the gambling joint--sent
drunks home, got rid of tough customers and all that. You know
already that there are some pretty tough places down there. This
is bully. I shouldn't be surprised if it gave us a line on the
stealing of Warrington's car at last."

I found a cab and Dillon and Garrick joined me in it.

"I tried to get McBirney," said Garrick as we prepared to start on
our new quest, "but he was out, and the night operator at his
place didn't seem to know where he was. But if they can locate
him, I imagine he'll be around at least shortly after we get
there. I left the address."

Dillon had issued his final orders to his raiders about guarding
the raided gambling joint and stationing a man at the door. A
moment later we were off, threading our way through the crowd
which in spite of the late hour still lingered to gape at the