"Cheer up, Tom," he encouraged. "We are on the home stretch now."
"Perhaps--if they don't beat us to the tape," I answered
disconsolately. "What are you going to do next?"
"While you were snatching a little sleep, I was rummaging around
and found a number of letters in a table drawer, up there. One was
a note, evidently to the garage keeper, and signed merely,
'Chief.' I'll wager that the handwriting is the same as that in
the blackmailing letter to Miss Winslow."
"What of it?" I asked, refusing to be comforted. "We haven't got
him and the prospects--"
"No, we haven't got him," interrupted Garrick, "but the note was
just a line to tell the Boss, who seemed to have been up there in
the country at the time, to meet the Chief at 'the Joint,' on
Second Avenue."
I nodded, but before I could speak, he added, "It didn't say any
more, but I think I know the place. It is the old International
Cafe, a regular hang-out for crooks, where they come to gamble
away the proceeds of their crimes in stuss, the great game of the
East Side, now.
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