ve swung from the Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street and turned
toward the east on the up-town side of the thoroughfare.

The snow had ceased falling from out the leaden sky. A roar came to
them of the awakening city which was stirring in its last sleep. A tug
whistled hoarsely somewhere on the East River. Its blare and signal
echoed down the towering canyon. An answering rattle sounded from the
Elevated. A milk wagon churned by. A deep-seagoing hansom-cab, of the
vintage of ten years before, struggled along Madison Avenue as the two
detectives paused on the corner and sought a pathway through the snow
to the opposite side.

"Some night," said the operative, pulling down his derby hat and facing
Drew. "A hell of a night to be out. Good thing we walked, though. My
head is clearing."

"It needed clearing," said the detective. "Some of your deductions were
impossible. Whom do you suppose we're going to meet here?"

"How should I know, Chief?"

"Guess!"

"Harry Nichols."

"Who else?"

"Search me, Chief."

"Who's that over across the street in the shelter of the stoop? See! He
sees us! You ought to know who that is!"

"He looks familiar," admitted Delaney.

"It's O'Toole!"

"That's right, Chief. It is! He tailed the lad in the fur benny from
the drug-store and came here. The lad in the drug-store was Harry
Nichols. The thing works out all right."

"Get over to the other side of the street and tell O'Toole that he can
go home and get some sleep. Tell him to be at the office not later than
eight o'clock--this morning. Get what information you can from him.
This brownstone house with the sign out is our address. I'll wait on
the stoop."

Delaney was over in three minutes. "All right," he said cheerfully.
"O'Toole says that Nichols left the drug-store and walked south. Trail
led to Fred's Old English Chop House where Nichols drank a split of
mineral water and had a chop with a potato. He 'phoned twice before
leaving. O'Toole don't know where to. The booth was soundproof and all
the lad did was to drop coins. He left a piece of paper in the booth.
O'Toole got it. Here it is, Chief."

Drew slanted a torn portion of envelope and studied its surface. He
deciphered a scrawling handwriting into the words, "Loris, Loris,
Gramercy Hill, Attorney Denman of Cedar Street, will consult with him
in morning.... Drew's Detective Agency ... look out."

"Umph!" said Drew, pocketing the scrap of paper with a thoughtful
frown. "T