"Yes--I want Central. Central, can you tell
me what number that was which just called up?"
We all waited anxiously to learn whether the girl could find out
or not.
"Bleecker seven--one--eight--o? Thank you very much. Give me
information, please."
Again we waited as Garrick tried to trace the call out.
"Hello! What is the street address of Bleecker seven--one--eight--
o? Three hundred West Sixth. Thank you. A garage? Good-bye."
"A garage?" echoed Dillon, his ears almost going up as he realized
the importance of the news.
"Yes," cried Garrick, himself excited. "Tom, call a cab. Let us
hustle down there as quickly as we can."
"One of those garages on the lower West Side," I heard Dillon say
as I left. "Perhaps they did work for the gambling joint--sent
drunks home, got rid of tough customers and all that. You know
already that there are some pretty tough places down there. This
is bully. I shouldn't be surprised if it gave us a line on the
stealing of Warrington's car at last.
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