The Captain turned to the door, as the attendant helped Monty
with his overcoat. The waiter from the grill-room approached.
"Excuse me, sir, but the gentleman dropped his handkerchief in
his chair opposite you."

"Thank you, Gordon," he said, as he faced the servant for an
instant. When he turned again, toward the front hall, the
Captain had passed out of view through the front door.

Shirley received a surprise when he reached the pavement on
Forty-fourth Street, for Captain Cronin was not in sight. Two
club men descended the steps of the neighboring house. Others
strolled along toward the Avenue, but not a sign of a vehicle of
any description could be seen, nor was there anything suspicious
in view. Cronin had disappeared as effectually as though he had
taken a passing Zeppelin!

"I'm glad this affair will not bore me," murmured the
criminologist, as he evolved and promptly discarded a dozen vain
theories to explain the disappearance of his companion.

Twenty minutes were wasted along the block, as he waited for some
sight or sign. Then he decided to go on up to Van Cleft's
residence. But, realizing the probability of "shadow" work upon
all who came from the door of the club, after the curious message
on the wire, Shirley did not propose to expose his hand. Walking
leisurely to the Avenue, he hailed a passing hansom. He directed
the driver to carry him to an address on Central Park West. His
shrewdness was not wasted, for as he stepped into the vehicle, he
espied a slinking figure crossing the street diagonally before