Vee a full account of my afternoon session with Rupert. She never does
chime in much with our talk. And I judged she was too busy with her
sweater-knittin' to hear a word. But here she is, askin' details.

"Why," says I, "Captain Killam calls it Nunca Secos Key."

"What an odd name!" says Auntie. "And you left him at some hotel, did
you? The--er--"

"Tillington," says I.

"Oh, yes," says Auntie, and resumes her knittin' placid.

Course, there I was, gassin' away merry about what Old Hickory wanted
kept a dead secret. But I usually do tell things to Vee. She ain't
one of the leaky kind. And Auntie don't go out much. Besides, who'd
think of an old girl like that ever bein' interested in such wild
back-number stuff? How foolish!

So I wasn't worryin' any that night, and at quarter of nine next
mornin' I shows up at the hotel to send up a call for Rupert.

"Captain Killam?" says the room clerk with the plastered front hair.
"Why, he left an hour or more ago."

"Yes, I know," says I; "but he was coming back."

"No," says the clerk; "he said he wasn't. Took his bag, too."

"Wha-a-at!" I gasps. "He--he ain't gone for good, has he?"

"So it seems," says the clerk, and steps back to continue his chat with
the snub-nosed young lady at the 'phone exchange.

How was that for an early mornin' bump? What was the idea, anyway?
Rupert had found a prospective backer, hadn't he? And was bein' taken
care of. What more could he ask? Unless--unless someone else had got
next to him. But who could have heard of this--

"Gee!" I groans. "I wonder?"

I couldn't stand there starin' foolish across the register and do the
wonderin' act all day, though. Besides, I wanted to follow a clew. It
ain't a very likely one, but it's better'n nothing. So I slides out
and boards a Columbus Avenue surface car, and inside of twenty minutes
I'm at Auntie's apartments, interviewin' Helma, her original bonehead
maid.

No, Miss Verona wasn't at home. She'd gone for her morning ride in the
park. Also Auntie was out.

"So early as this?" says I. "When did Auntie get away?"

"Before breakfast yet," says Helma. "She telephone long time, then a
gentlemans coom, and she go out."

"Not a gent with pale hair and plenty of freckles on his face?" I asks.

Helma gazes thoughtless at the ceilin' a minute.

"Yah," says she. "Den have funny face, all--all rusty."

"The sleuthy old kidnapper!" says I. "Could she have pulled any