CHAPTER XXIII 

Fischer, exactly one week after his nocturnal visit to Fourteenth Street, hurried out of the train at the Pennsylvania Station, almost tore the newspapers from the news stand, glanced through them one by one and threw them back. The attendant, open-mouthed, ventured upon a mild protest. Fischer threw him a dollar bill, caught up his handbag, and made for the entrance. He was the first passenger from the Washington Limited to reach the street and spring into a taxi. 

"The Plaza Hotel," he ordered. "Get along." 

They arrived at the Plaza in less than ten minutes. Mr. Fischer tipped the driver lavishly, suffered the hall porter to take his bag, returned his greeting mechanically, and walked with swift haste to the tape machine. He held up the strips with shaking fingers, dropped them again, hurried to the lift, and entered his rooms. Nikasti was in the sitting-room, arranging some flowers. Fischer did not even stop to reply to his reverential greeting. 

"Where's Mr. Van Teyl?" he demanded. 

"Mr. Van Teyl has gone away, sir," was the calm reply. "He left here the day before yesterday. There is a letter." 

Fischer took no notice. He was already gripping the telephone receiver. 

"982, Wall," he said--"an urgent call." 

He stood waiting, his face an epitome of breathless suspense. Soon a voice answered him. 

"That the office of Neville, Brooks and Van Teyl?" he demanded. "Yes! Put me through to Mr. Van Teyl. Urgent!" 

Another few seconds of waiting, then once more he bent over the instrument. 
Was the visit at night?
nocturnal 