ed? Practically none. Before morning, that saloon on Wray Street
would unquestionably be deserted, except perhaps by its proprietor, and
Mike would simply deny everything. A search of the place would be
useless, for Hobart would be too sly a fox to leave any trail. Two
possibilities remained; the police might have some record of the fellow,
might know his favourite haunts, even be able to locate his next probable
hiding place. If not, the only hope remaining would seem to be Natalie
Coolidge. She would undoubtedly return to Fairlawn; was probably there
already, and, by shadowing her, the whereabouts of Hobart would surely be
revealed either sooner or later.

But possibly there was a quicker way to learn their purpose than by
thus seeking to find either. If it was the Coolidge fortune which was
at stake, why not endeavour to learn in whose trust it was being held,
and what steps were being taken to safe-guard it? This investigation
ought not to be particularly difficult, even though he possessed no
authority; he could explain the nature of his interest to an attorney,
and be advised how to proceed. Determined to take all three steps the
first thing next day, West rested back comfortably in the chair,
already half asleep. One hand rested in his pocket, and as his fingers
fumbled some object there, he suddenly recalled the knife Sexton had
found in the alley.

He drew the article forth curiously, and looked at it under the glow of
the electric light--it was a small silver handled pen-knife, such as a
lady might carry, a rather strange thing to be discovered in a dirt alley
back of Wray Street. The incongruity struck him forcibly, and he sat up,
wide awake once more, seeking for some mark of identification on the
polished handle. There was none, not an inscription of any kind, but he
noted that the single slender blade did not fit closely down into its
place. He opened it idly to learn the cause--beneath appeared the white
gleam of tightly folded paper.

CHAPTER XX

WHAT THE TELEPHONE TOLD

All West's indifference vanished instantly. He had to pry the paper out,
so closely had it been wedged in beneath the closed knife blade, and it
required a moment in which to straighten it out so that the writing was
discernable. Even then the marks were so faint, and minute, he could not
really decipher them until he made use of a magnifying glass lying on the
desk. A woman's hand, using a pencil, had hastily inscribed the