the chase a personal one, in ever letting his quarry slip in past the Port authorities.
So Wilsnach showed little enthusiasm as he turned to greet his colleague, an hour late, and on this occasion a spare-looking figure in clericals and horn-bow spectacles. He remembered that the taxi-cab trail had proved a blind one, that two days as a gas company employé had brought in nothing, and that each different drag-net at each cast had come up empty. So Wilsnach stood a little resentful of the fixed optimism of the gentleman in clericals as the latter struck a match, lighted the inevitable cigar, and for the second time peered out along the empty hallway.
His back was still to Wilsnach, for he was turning the key in the lock when he spoke.
"Well, I've found 'em!" was his quiet announcement.
At those four words the gloom suddenly went out of the day. Life took on a purpose and the face of the visitor from the Argentine took on a less morose expression
"Where?" was his quick query.
Kestner inspected the room, closed a window, and then came and sat close beside the other man. When he spoke, he spoke very quietly.
"Like monarchs, in a brownstone mansion on Fifty-first Street, just off the Avenue."
Wilsnach took a deep breath. "Posing as what?" he inquired.
"Not posing at all! Just sedately living there, the same as other people live on Fifty-first Street. They must have leased it furnished, for the season."
