Patsy Garvan had been waiting and watching about fifteen minutes, the circumstances precluding any further action, when he saw the two men come out of the road house.

They hurried down the steps and entered the motor car. Toby Monk, the chauffeur, also saw them, and ran to resume his seat at the wheel. They were away within half a minute, departing with very significant haste and returning to Madison at a rate of speed precluding pursuit, but leaving Patsy gazing with an ominous frown after the rear red light till it vanished in the distance.

“That does settle it,” he muttered grimly. “I’ve lost track of them for a time, at least, in spite of anything I can do. But I’ve got the number of that car, all right, and I’ll identify them later as sure as there’s juice in a lemon. I can find out, perhaps, by inquiring of some one in the house. The third man may hang out there, however, and I might get in wrong. I think I can turn the trick at that, without incurring suspicion,” he added to himself after a moment’s thought. “I’ll take the chance, by gracious, let come what may.”

Leaving his concealment, he walked out to the driveway, where, having made sure there were no observers, he threw himself on one side in the sand and dirt and ground the palm of his right hand into the gravel, a performance that might cause one to wonder what advantage could be derived.

Patsy knew, however, and he immediately arose and entered the road house. Though the hall still was unoccupied, he could hear the voices of men in the rear rooms, also the clinking of glasses, and he rightly inferred that there was a public bar in one of the rooms. He hastened thither and entered, with a pretense of brushing his soiled garments and with an indignant frown on his face.

“Say!” he exclaimed, approaching a bar on one side of the room. “Who are the ginks that just left here in a buzz wagon?”

Three men were playing cards at a table in one corner, evidently quarry workmen from the near settlement, each with a mug of ale at his elbow. Back of the bar stood a burly man in his shirt sleeves, with a much-bloated and pimply face, the redeeming feature of which was an expression of habitual good nature. He gazed at Patsy and laughed, replying to his impetuous question, but the three card players merely glanced at him.

“Buzz wagon, eh?” he said huskily. “I didn’t know one was here.”

“Well there was.”

“Funny I didn’t hear it.”

“I came near feeling it, all right,” grumbled Patsy, displaying his soiled hand. “It came out to the road as if shot from a gun. It nearly ran over me. I fell down while dodging it, as you see, but I reckon I was lucky to get away with that. You don’t know them, eh?”

“Mebbe ’twas the bloke who rang for the booze, Jim,” suggested one of the players, looking up. “Have you forgotten him, Leary?”

“The man who runs the house,” thought Patsy; then, as if the identity of the visitors was of no great consequence, he said agreeably: “I’ll have a mug of ale. See what these gents will have and get in yourself.”

The invitation was readily accepted by all, and Patsy paid willingly, thus paving the way for further inquiries.

“I’m going to Madison,” he said, in reply to a question. “I came from Ashville on the trolley line. How soon can I hit another?”

“Twelve minutes, if she shows up on time,” said Leary, glancing at a nickel watch. “It might have been the man in the side room. I’ll have a look.”

“Twelve minutes, eh?” said Patsy, more quickly drinking his ale when Leary swaggered out from the bar and into the hall. “That’s not long. I don’t want to miss it.”

He added the last to warrant his following the burly proprietor, who obviously was so void of distrust that Patsy very soon decided that none of these men had had any intercourse with the two visitors and very probably knew neither of them.

“No danger of missing it,” replied Leary, as they approached the side room. “The motorman always stops on the corner and rings his gong. He often picks up a bunch from here.”

“I see,” returned Patsy pleasantly. “I needn’t be in any rush, then.”

“No rush at all.”

“We’ll have time for another drink?”

“Sure thing. Time enough for——Huh, I’m blessed if Kelly wasn’t right! The bloke has gone.”

Leary had knocked on the door, and then opened it. He entered while speaking, Patsy following, and again asking carelessly:

“Didn’t you know the man? Was he a stranger here?”

“Sure he was.” Leary turned and gazed at him. “I didn’t know him from a hole in the wall. He must have known this room was for customers, though, for he nailed it and rang for a drink.”

“He must have been here before, then, or he wouldn’t have known it,” said Patsy.

“That’s right, too.” Leary nodded. “I brought him the booze he ordered, and then he said he wanted to wait for a friend and have a private talk with him. He chucked me a buck for the booze and told me to keep the change. That looked good to me and like more coming, so I told him he could stay as long as he liked, and would not be interrupted.”

“I see,” said Patsy, now sure that Leary was telling him the truth. “His friend came, all right, and they went away together. There were three in the car when——”

“But where’s the booze glass?” cried Leary, who now had turned toward the table. “That ought to be here. They would not steal a whisky glass, unless——”

“Stop a bit!” Patsy interrupted. “It was thrown into the fireplace. Here are pieces of it, and—holy smoke! This cat is dead!”

Patsy had caught sight of it a moment before, and he at first had thought the animal was asleep. A second look, however, evoked the last startling exclamation and brought Leary to his knees near his lifeless pet.

“Good God! What’s the meaning of this?” he growled, with a scowl, convincing Patsy of his sincerity. “Dead as an iron bolt! What’s the meaning of it?”

“Has the cat been sick?” Patsy inquired.

“Sick—no!” cried Leary. “There’s been nothing the matter with him. He was getting a bit old, but was well enough. Poor old Gimblet!” Leary added, with genuine feeling.

“Was he in this room when you were here?” asked Patsy.

“No. He was asleep in the hall.”

“He may have wandered in here.”

“How could he? The door was closed.”

“H’m, is that so?” Patsy murmured, as puzzled as the other and much more suspicious.

“He’s dead, all right, as a smelt.” Leary now turned the animal over. “But I’ll be hanged if I can see why the booze glass was smashed or why the cat should have died. Something must have killed him. Say, you don’t s’pose they gave him poison in that glass, then smashed it, do you?” he added, quickly turning to Patsy. “If I thought that, I’d go after those mongrels with a gun, by thunder, and stick till I got them!”

This possible fate was suggested to Leary by a momentary expression that had passed over Patsy’s face. He had detected a peculiar, shriveled appearance in the fur on the cat’s breast and neck, and it instantly recalled to his mind what his chief had said concerning the man found dead in the Waldmere Chambers two days before.

Patsy concealed his immediate misgivings, however, but pretended to be impressed with Leary’s suggestions.

“That may explain it, Mr. Leary, if they had any reason for wanting to kill the cat,” he replied. “The fellow you saw probably did not do it. More likely the old man was the one who killed him.”

“What old man?” Leary demanded, with a vengeful glare in his eyes.

“The one I saw in the motor car,” said Patsy, now aiming only to identify him, if possible. “He’s quite a stocky man, with gray hair and whiskers. He wore a plaid suit and soft felt hat. His chauffeur was bigger and broader, with dark hair and a pointed beard. I got a look at them when they flew by me.”

“I dunno any such men,” Leary earnestly protested. “The whole business beats me to a frazzle.”

“It does seem a bit strange,” Patsy allowed. “You’ll find out later, perhaps. I reckon I’ll be getting a move on, as I don’t want to miss that car. I’m sorry you have lost the cat. I’ll drop in again, when I’m returning to Ashville.”

“All right, kid,” said Leary, brightening up and following Patsy to the door. “If you see those two blokes again, do me a favor, will you?”

“What’s that, Mr. Leary?”

“Get the truth out of them, if you have to get it with a club.”

“I will,” Patsy promptly assured him. “Take it from me, Mr. Leary, I’ll get it—and all there is to it.”

“Good for you!” Leary shouted after him heartily.

For Patsy already was hastening toward the road leading out to the trolley line, something like a hundred yards away. He had seen plainly that he could learn nothing more at the road house. The negative reports he had obtained, however, together with the startling discovery he had made, convinced him that his mission had not been a futile one.

“Leary’s all right,” he said to himself while walking on rapidly. “He told me all he knows and gave it to me straight. That rendezvous had been agreed upon and the road house selected for a safe place. But who are they and what came off in there? Why was the whisky glass broken and the cat killed? In view of all of the circumstances, by Jove, there’s a mighty strong similarity between that fatality and the killing of Gaston Todd. It becomes doubly important now to trace and identify these rascals, and I reckon I’m in a fair way to accomplish it. All this, moreover, seems to put Doctor Devoll in the background. That is, if I size it all up correctly. I’ll hike back to the Wilton House, by Jove, and report to the chief.”