to be safe in a city comparatively strange—to him. He—”

“Trusted me—yes! We stopped at Figaro’s on Forty-second Street. We had a club sandwich served to us. I sat outside with him because I—I had these clothes on.”

The girl swept her hands over her leggins and short skirt.

“And then?”

“Why, I took him on uptown within six or seven blocks of the Rockingham. He said he would walk the rest of the way. I left him on the curb. He started north.”

“That’s clear,” said Fay. “He started north. Did you see him any more?”

The girl dropped her eyes and studied the design of the office rug. “I did and I didn’t. He got in another cab—I think!”

“What?”

“Yes. There was no reason for him to do that. He had only a few blocks to go in order to reach the hotel.”

“What kind of a cab?”

“One of ours—a Gray taxi.”

“Well, don’t you know who was driving it? Was it following you?”

A puzzled pucker gathered in a little square upon the girl’s white forehead. She reached to the littered desk and lifted a call-sheet. She held this out with shaking fingers.

“I’ve questioned every one of my drivers. No one of them admits taking Mr. Stephney or anyone else to the Rockingham. I didn’t understand it last night; I don’t now. It was certainly a taxi painted like ours that he got in. I thought it so strange.”

“Did this other driver call him?”

“I don’t know. I was turning when I looked up the Avenue. Putney was running from the curb with one hand raised. He jumped on the running-board of the taxi, which disappeared from under an arclight. I didn’t see anything more.”

“Didn’t that strike you as a strange proceeding?”

“Yes, it did! I thought a lot about it. I went over the call-sheet and asked all of the drivers. Two are out yet, but I know where they were at the time.”

“Do you often take representatives of the 

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