"Thanks for the hint,
Mr. Berg."
The delicatessen dealer lumbered into the elevator which had stopped;
Pendleton was about to follow, but his friend detained him, and the
car dropped downward without them.
"That cab," said Ashton-Kirk, "is sure to be a night-hawk; and more
than likely it is put up at Partridge's. Pardon me a moment."
There was a telephone booth at one side of the corridor; the speaker
went in and closed the door. After a few moments he came out.
"Just as I thought," he said, well pleased. "Partridge knew the cab
in a moment. The driver's name is Sams, and he lives at the place they
call the Beehive." He looked at his watch. "It wants but a few minutes
of four," he added, "and a night-hawk cabby will be just about
stirring. The Beehive is only three blocks away; suppose we go around
and look him up."
Pendleton agreed instantly; and after a brisk walk and a breathless
climb, they found themselves on the fourth floor of a huge brick
building where they had been directed by a meek-looking woman in a
dust-cap. A long hall with a great many doors upon each side, all
looking alike, stretched away before them.
"It's very plain that the only way to find Mr. Sams is to make a
noise," said Ashton-Kirk.
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