opens silent,
they disappear. When they meet in the corridors they pass without
hailin', without even a look. You feel that there's something doin'
around you, something big and important. But the gears don't give out
any hum. It's like a game of blind man's bluff played in the dark.

And the sharp-eyed, gray-haired gent we talked to through the brass
gratin' acted like he'd never heard the name Gedney Nash before. When
Old Hickory cuts loose with the tabasco remarks at him he only smiles
patient and insists that if he can locate Mr. Nash, which he doubts,
he'll do his best to arrange an interview. It may take a day, or a week,
or a month, but----

"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory, turnin' on his heel, and he cusses eloquent
all the way down and out to the taxi.

"Seems to me I've heard how Mr. Nash uses a private elevator," I
suggests.

"Quite like him," says Old Hickory. "Think you could find it?"

"I could make a stab," says I.

But at that I knew I was kiddin' myself. Why not? Ain't there been times
when whole bunches of live-wire reporters, not to mention relays of
court deputies, have raked New York with a fine-tooth comb, lookin' for
Gedney Nash, without even gettin' so much as a glimpse of his limousine
rollin' round a corner.

"Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a few
Sherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I.

Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he gives
the directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how a
foxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duck
off Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subway
through the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper,
or---- But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. Funny
I hadn't thought of that line before--and me an A. D. T. once myself!

"Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on a
passenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we be
kidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And the
gentleman here has a present for you--a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?"

Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, and
the messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too.
I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to apply
the pump.

"What station do you run from, Sport?" says I.

"Number six," says he.

"Oh, yes," says I. "Jus