t some of my luck that I picks up
a clue less'n ten minutes later. Maybe so. But I had to have my ear
stretched to get it and even then I might have missed the connection if
I'd been doin' a sleep walkin' act. As it is I'm pikin' past the
servants' wing out toward the garage to bring around the little car for
a start home, and Stella happens to be telephonin' from the butler's
pantry with the window part open. And when Stella 'phones she does it
like she was callin' home the cows.

About all I caught was "Sure Maggie, dear--Madame Zenobia--two flights
up over the agency--Thursday afternoon." But for me and Sherlock that's
as good as a two-page description. And when I'd had my rapid-fire
deducer workin' for a few minutes I'd doped out my big idea.

"Vee," says I, when we gets back to our own fireside, "what friend has
Stella got that she calls Maggie, dear?"

"Why, that must be the Farlows' upstairs maid," says she. "Why,
Torchy?"

"Oh, for instance," says I "And didn't you have a snapshot of Stella you
took once last summer?"

Vee says she's sure she has one somewhere.

"Dig it out, will you?" says I.

It's a fairly good likeness, too, and I pockets it mysterious. And next
day I spends most of my lunch hour prowlin' around on the Sixth Ave.
hiring line rubberin' at the signs over the employment agencies. Must
have been about the tenth hallway I'd scouted into before I ran across
the right one. Sure enough, there's the blue lettered card announcin'
that Madame Zenobia can be found in Room 19, third floor, ring bell. I
rang.

I don't know when I've seen a more battered old battle-axe face, or a
colder, more suspicious pair of lamps than belongs to this old dame with
the henna-kissed hair and the gold hoops in her ears.

"Well, young feller," says she, "if you've come pussyfootin' up here
from the District Attorney's office you can just sneak back and report
nothing doing. Madame Zenobia has gone out of business. Besides, I ain't
done any fortune tellin' in a month; only high grade trance work, and
mighty little of that. So good day."

"Oh, come, lady," says I, slippin' her the confidential smile, "do I
look like I did fourth-rate gumshoein' for a livin'? Honest, now?
Besides, the trance stuff is just what I'm lookin' for. And I'm not
expectin' any complimentary session, either. Here! There's a ten-spot
on account. Now can we do business?"

You bet we could.

"If it's in the realm of Eros, young man," she b