In his eagerness to reach the detective’s headquarters, Patsy drove the runabout rather recklessly at a time when the streets were full of traffic. As a result, his machine was struck by a street car, and he was thrown out against the curbstone. He was rendered unconscious and removed to the hospital, where, owing to the fact that he was in disguise, his identity was not discovered.  
When he came to, he felt decidedly groggy at first, but insisted on dressing and leaving the hospital. After he had given his name, he was allowed to go under protest, and a taxi was sent for.
 
The hired machine took him home in record time, but when he arrived there, the chief had once more flown. To be sure, he had left word that he was going to Doctor Follansbee’s, but that only added to Patsy’s troubles.
 
On the one side, the young assistant felt it to be his duty to follow his chief immediately and reveal what he had learned, in the hope that his information would clinch the case against the doctor, and leave the latter no loophole or escape. On the other hand, however, he found himself hesitating and undecided. He did not know why his chief had gone to the physician’s house, and was afraid to spoil Nick’s plans in some way. The detective might be working under cover in such a way that Patsy’s coming would ruin everything. Anyway, even at best, it would be decidedly awkward for him to break in on an interview without previously preparing his superior for his revelations, or finding out if they would be welcome at that time.
 
If he only could have caught his chief before the latter had left, all would have been well, but as it was, Nick might already have left Follansbee’s, and Patsy’s inquiries for him might alarm the physician and lead to further complications.
 
“This is certainly my unlucky day,” Nick’s assistant complained inwardly. “What the dickens am I to do now? I could sit here and twiddle my thumbs, of course, while waiting for the chief to show up, but every time I get busy, I seem to learn something more of importance—something that the chief isn’t wise to. I think, therefore, I’ll have another try at the same game.”
 
He was already feeling much better, and a bath and a change of clothing left few traces of his recent accident. Before leaving the house, he scribbled a brief note to his chief and left it with the housekeeper. It read:
 
“Dear Chief: I have been having a mischief of a time trying to locate you. I am bursting with information about Stone and Follansbee, but have decided not to run the risk of spoiling your play by following you to the latter’s house. Stone has been removed from St. Swithin’s Hospital to Miss Worth’s private hospital for convalescents, on Flatbush Avenue. I saw him when he was put into the ambulance. He looked considerably the worse for wear, but was walking—with assistance. I’m going over to Brooklyn now to murder a little more time while waiting for you. For the love of Mike stay put this time until I can get back!
 
P.G.”
 
Young Garvan had already put one car out of commission that day, and did not know where it was, although he assumed that it was in the hands of the police—if there was anything left of it. That was only an incident in the day’s work, however, and he promptly sent for another of the detective’s machines.
 
In it he hurried downtown across the Manhattan Bridge, and sped up Flatbush Avenue. He had learned so much that he hoped to pick up some more information. Nick might know something about Miss Worth’s hospital, but he did not, and he wished to supply that deficiency if he could. This time he had brought the detective’s chauffeur along with him, and he remained with the car when Patsy left it a block or two from his destination.
 
It was an easy matter to find the private hospital, although the small brass plate affixed to one of the big gate posts was the only outward evidence that the building was more than a private residence. It was a large, old-fashioned house, with broad verandas, standing some d............