thing and get some rest."

"All right," Prale said, laughing; and then he stopped still and gasped.

"What is it?" Farland asked.

"Kate Gilbert!"

"Where?"

"There--just getting into that limousine. See her? The girl with the red
hat!"

"I see her," Farland replied, signaling the chauffeur of a passing
taxicab. "This is what I was hoping for, Sid. Go on to the hotel with
Murk and guard. I'm going to find out a few things about Miss Kate
Gilbert!"

He gave the chauffeur of the taxicab whispered directions, and then
sprang into the machine.

CHAPTER XI

CONCERNING KATE GILBERT

Given a definite trail to follow, Jim Farland was one of the best
trackers in the business. He liked to know his quarry by sight, and
conduct the hunt in a proper manner. And so he rejoiced, that now he was
following a person he believed to be interested in some way in the
Shepley case.

The limousine went up Fifth Avenue toward Central Park, and the taxicab
with Jim Farland inside followed half a block behind. Farland did
nothing except look ahead continually and make sure that his chauffeur
did not lose the other machine. He wanted to discover, first, where Miss
Kate Gilbert was going, and after that he wanted to acquire all the
information he could concerning her.

There was little traffic on the Avenue at this hour, and the limousine
made good progress. It curved around the Circle and went up Central Park
West. In the Eighties it turned off into a side street, and finally drew
up to the curb and stopped. The taxicab came to a halt a hundred feet
behind it. "Wait," Jim Farland instructed the chauffeur, showing his
shield. "Wait until I come back, even if I don't come back until
morning. You will get good pay, all right."

The chauffeur settled back behind his wheel, and Farland stepped to one
side in the darkness and watched. He saw an elderly gentleman emerge
from the limousine and turn to help Kate Gilbert out. Then the elderly
gentleman got into the car again and was driven away, and Kate Gilbert
went into the apartment house before which the limousine had stopped.

Detective Jim Farland hurried forward, but when he came opposite the
apartment house he slowed down and walked slowly, glancing in. It was
not an apartment house of the better sort. The lobby was small, there
was an automatic elevator, and no hall boy was on duty, that Farland
could see. There was a row of mail boxes against a wall, with name
plates ov