"What!" almost shouts the detective, starting to his feet. "You mean"
"I mean that the man with the brown beard and stiletto optics who just left us is my friend of the mountain gorge. He is Ernest Stanley!"
"Well, he has slipped us this time," says the detective, disconsolately, as they stand outside the garden and sweep the street with anxious gaze.
"Not yet," Ashley rejoins cheerfully. "See! There he is beyond that third light, handing his magnificent companion into a carriage."
"Call a cab and follow them," says the detective, starting toward the line of conveyances pulled up at the curb.
"No need of that," Ashley interrupts. "He is not going to ride." At that moment it was that Van Zandt closed the door to the carriage which bore Mrs. Harding to the Kensington, and as he starts toward Broadway the detective and the newspaper man follow at a cautious distance.
Unconscious of the espionage Van Zandt starts uptown at a swinging gait. At Thirty-second Street he branches into Sixth Avenue, and the two men behind him wonder that he does not ride. At the park he turns down Fifty-ninth Street and finally enters the Wyoming apartment house, leaving Ashley and Barker staring up at the brownstone elevation.
The former waits five minutes and then pulls the bell. "The name of the gentleman who has just gone upstairs?" he asks the colored attendant who responds.
"Mr. Phillip Van Zandt," replies the sable youth, as he slips a half-dollar into his pocket.
"Van Zandt—is that his name?" queries Ashley, a trifle disappointed, although he might have expected a strange name. Then the porter tells him that the gentleman with the brown beard has been a resident of the Wyoming for several months; that he is a wealthy bachelor, and a variety of other equally important information.
"Well, what do you think now?" asks Barker, as they walk over to the elevated road.
