I had it from his chauffeur and will tell it to you later if you are in a hurry to go home." "Home! Come back with me into Headquarters.

I've got to sleep to-night." Sweetwater laughed, and together they retraced their steps.
"You see, sir," the young detective began as they drew their chairs together in an unoccupied corner, "you gave me a task the other day which called for the help of a friend--one at court, I mean, a fellow who not only knows the gentleman but has access to his person _and_ his wardrobe.
X does not keep a man-servant--men of his intellectual type seldom do--but does own a limousine and consequently employs a chauffeur.

To meet and make this chauffeur mine took me just two days.

I don't know how I did it.

I never know how I do it," he added with a sheepish smile as Mr.Gryce gave utterance to his old-fashioned "Umph!" "I don't flatter and I don't bring out my pocketbook or offer drinks or even cigars, but I get 'em, as you know, and get 'em strong, perhaps because I don't make any great effort.
"After an evening spent in the garage with this man, he was ready to talk, and this is what slipped out, among a lot of nonsensical gossip.
Mr.X, the real Mr.X this time, has, besides his apartment in New York, a place on Long Island.