ow.
Robert, who have we out there in the office who's not especially busy?
Oh, yes, Torchy. I say, young man! You--Torchy!"

"Calling me, sir?" says I, slidin' out of my chair and into the next
room prompt.

Old Hickory nods.

"Find that man Pettigrew," says he, tossin' over the letter. "He owns
some land we need. There's a map of it, also a memorandum of what
we're willing to pay. Report to-morrow."

"Yes, sir," says I. "Want me to close the deal by noon?"

Maybe they didn't catch the flicker under them bushy eyebrows. But I
did, and I knew he was goin' to back my bluff.

"Any time before five will do," says he. "Wait! You'd better take a
check with you."

If we was lookin' to get any gasps out of that bunch, we had another
guess comin'. They knew Old Hickory's fondness for tradin' on his
reputation, and that he didn't always pull it off. The engineer humps
his eyebrows sarcastic, while Ballinger and the lawyer swaps a quiet
smile.

"Then perhaps we had best stay over and take the deeds back with us,"
says Ballinger.

"Do," snaps Old Hickory. "You can improve the time hunting for your
average New Yorker. Here you are, Torchy."

Say, he's a game old sport, Mr. Ellins. He plays a hundred-to-one shot
like he was puttin' money on a favorite. And he waves me on my way
with never a wink of them keen eyes.

"Gee!" thinks I. "Billed for a masked marvel act, ain't I? Well, that
bein' the case, this is where I get next to Pettigrew or tear something
loose."

Didn't need any seventh-son work to locate him. The 'phone book shows
he lives on Madison Avenue. Seemed simple enough. But this was no
time to risk bein' barred out by a cold-eyed butler. You can't breeze
into them old brownstone fronts on your nerve. What I needed was
credentials. The last place I'd be likely to get 'em would be Mott,
Drew & Mott's, so I goes there first. No, I didn't hypnotize anybody.
I simply wrote out an application for a job on the firm's stationery,
and as they was generous with it I dashes off another note which I
tucks in my pocket. Nothing sleuthy required. Why, say, I could have
walked out with the letter file and the safe combination if I'd wanted
to.

So when I rings the bell up at Mr. Pettigrew's I has something besides
hot air to shove at Perkins. He qualifies in the old fam'ly servant
class right off, for as soon as he lamps the name printed on the
envelope corner he swings the door wide open, an