Mr. Birnes sighed as he remembered this; still it
might produce results. Then came another idea.

"Did you happen to look in the cab after the young woman left it?" he
inquired.

"No."

"Had any fares since?"

"No."

Mr. Birnes opened the door of the closed cab and glanced in. Perhaps
there might be a stray glove, a handkerchief, some more definite clew
than this vague description. He scrutinized the inside of the
vehicle carefully; there was nothing. Yes, by Jingo, here _was_
something--a white streak under the edge of the cushion on the seat!
Mr. Birnes' hopeful fingers fished it out. It was a white envelope,
sealed and--_and addressed to him!_

If you are as clever as I imagine you are, you will find this.
My address is No. ---- East Thirty-seventh Street. I shall be
pleased to see you if you will call.
E. VAN CORTLANDT WYNNE.

It was most disconcerting, really.

CHAPTER VII

A WINGED MESSENGER

A snow-white pigeon dropped down out of an azure sky and settled on
a top-most girder of the great Singer Building. For a time it rested
there, with folded pinions, in a din of clanging hammers; and a
workman far out on a delicately balanced beam of steel paused in his
labors to regard the bird with friendly eyes. The pigeon returned
his gaze unafraid.

"Well, old chap, if I had as little trouble getting up here and down
again as you do I wouldn't mind the job," the workman remarked
cheerfully.

The pigeon cooed an answer. The steel worker extended a caressing
hand, whereupon the bird rose swiftly, surely, with white wings
widely stretched, circled once over the vast steel structure, then
darted away to the north. The workman watched the snow-white speck
until it was lost against the blue sky, then returned to his labors.

Some ten minutes later Mr. E. van Cortlandt Wynne, sitting at a desk
in his Thirty-seventh Street house, was aroused from his meditations
by the gentle tinkle of a bell. He glanced up, arose, and went up
the three flights of stairs to the roof. Half a dozen birds rose and
fluttered around him as he opened the trap; one door in their cote at
the rear of the building was closed. Mr. Wynne opened this door,
reached in and detached a strip of tissue paper from the leg of a
snow-white pigeon. He unfolded it eagerly; on it was written: Safe.
I love you. D.

CHAPTER VIII

SOME CONJECTURES

Mr. Gustave Schultze dropped in to see Mr. Latham after luncheo