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"Sure I do." "When he comes along hail him. Say 'Good evening, Senator. I'll hear you." Clancy promptly moved off along the path which runs parallel with the railway. Nolan, though puzzled, put no questions, being well aware he would be told nothing more. Three gentlemen came down the cliff, and crossed the bridge. One was Van Hofen himself.
At night the approach is not well lighted. In fact, no portion of the beautiful and precipitous riparian park is more secluded than the short stretch between the landing-stage and the busy thoroughfare on the crest. That evening, as has been seen, Mr. Van Hofen was taking no risks for himself or his guests.
This arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so Clancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a card on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, "Please ring up when you get this." Now, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs. Tower was enjoying herself.
Especially did three great windows on the first floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within was the scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen, ex-commodore of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the Sans Souci, and multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the eccentric jests for which he was famous.
"Does my voice sound as if I were joking, Bates?" "No-no, sir; I can't say it does. But " "Start on the catalogue now, this evening. I'll look after you. Mr. Van Hofen wants a good man. Stir yourself, and that place is yours." He found his mother at home. She glanced at him as he entered her boudoir. She saw, with her ready tact, that questions as to his state of worry would be useless.
The Sans Souci, notable the world over for its size, speed, and fittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had marked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club, "to be followed by a surprise party," and the nature of the "surprise" was becoming known.
Van Hofen and his friends, startled and grieved, came ashore in the gig, and Clancy was striving to give them some account of the tragedy without revealing its inner significance when his roving glance missed Meiklejohn from the distraught group of men. "Where is the Senator?" he cried, turning on the gaping Nolan. "Gee, he's knocked out," said the policeman.
"Isn't there a motor launch on the yacht?" he asked. "Yes, sir, but it'll be all sheeted up on deck." "Have you a megaphone?" "Yes." The man ran and grabbed the instrument from its hook, so Clancy bellowed the alarming news to Mr. Van Hofen and the others already on board the Sans Souci that Ronald Tower had been dragged into the river and probably murdered. But what could they do?
Seven men were bidden privately to come on board the Sans Souci, moored in the Hudson off the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet session of auction bridge. "We'll duck before the trouble gets fairly started," explained Van Hofen to his cronies.
At last, approaching a girl among the sightseers, she put a timid question: "Can you tell me what is the matter?" she said. "They've found the boat," came the ready answer. "Yes, but what boat? Why any boat?" "Haven't you read about the murder last night. Mr. Van Hofen, who owns that yacht there, the San Sowsy, had a party of friends on board, an' one of 'em was dragged into the river an' drowned.
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