one belonged to a professional bondsman named Comstock.

She gave Harvey the man's residence number.

"Go out there first thing in the morning and see if you can find out from
the chauffeur where the machine went tonight. Keep a stiff upper lip, Mr.
Spencer, you have really done splendidly."

Harvey went early next day to the address given him, a residence of the
type called stone-fronted, in a district no longer fashionable. There was
a garage, but no automobile. Harvey made a careful survey of the premises
without gaining ground. He saw another of Mary Randall's aids come,
linger about and go away; but remembering her advice about keeping a
stiff upper lip, he stayed on. He was to be rewarded late in the
afternoon.

A car rumbled into the garage. Its colored driver immediately began
washing it and Harvey sauntered back into the yard. The number on it was
the one printed on his memory.

From somewhere back in his tired brain came the impulse to say,

"I'm a repair man from Gavin's garage. Mr. Comstock told me to come over
and take a look at his car. Said he had it out in the rain last night and
it wasn't working right."

"Yes, sah; that car certainly has been drove last night. Some of the
battery connections got wet." The chauffeur was glib enough.

"Lights and ignition out of order?" Harvey pretended to examine the car,
asking seemingly careless questions and gaining from the negro the
information that the car had gone from the jail with Druce to an obscure
street far out on the northwest side. The man could not give the number
of the house, but said it was one of three in the middle of "a short
little street."

Harvey made the excuse that he must go back to the garage where he was
employed to get his tools, and hurried away.

It was growing dark and a wild, stormy rain-wind was blowing when he
reached the remote neighborhood described for him by the bondsman's
talkative servant. He was gazing at the three forbidding dwellings
standing near the center of the block, trying to make up his mind which
to approach first, when he saw Elsie in her long rain-coat come out of
the middle house, hesitate a moment, then hurry down the steps into the
street.

He slipped into the shadow of a house, his heart thumping.

"Elsie!" he called softly in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

She stopped, startled.

"Is it Harvey?" Elsie peered doubtingly into the darkness, then stepped
trustingly towards him as he replied,