The Pi Rho Nu? . . . Can you get me a list of the members? . . . Rather lively crowd, eh? . . . Well, thank you, but you'll have to hurry. Telephone me here as soon as you can."
He hung up the receiver and turned to Valeska. "We have but little time, and there's much to be done. I can't explain till later. You'd better wait here till Masson telephones, and stay till I come. I'm off right away. Ring up Lieutenant McGraw, and ask him if he can get me a burglar's jimmy, and also ask him to investigate the Belgian Rubber Syndicate's office, 18 West Thirty-second Street. See if there's anything crooked about it. I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh! If Masson rings up soon, go out to Miss Wister's house, look it over outside, and hurry back and be ready to report the lay of the land."
Two minutes after that, Astro was in a green motorcar headed for West Thirty-second Street. Here he alighted and went in through a narrow doorway. There was a narrow hall with a single elevator, and a flight of stairs leading upward. A list of names on the wall showed that the office of "Edward Farralon, American Agent, Belgian Rubber Syndicate," occupied room twelve, on the third floor. Astro pressed the bell, and shortly afterward the elevator door rolled open. A red-headed man in shirt sleeves was inside.
"Mr. Farralon has an office here?" said the Seer.
"Yep; but he ain't in."
"Been in to-day?"
"Nope."
"Here yesterday?"
"Yep."
"Did you see him go out last night?"
