CHAPTER VINext morning we drove up to Riverdale in Mme. Storey’s own limousine, but instead of her regular chauffeur, we had Crider at the wheel, an admirable fellow, quiet and keen; the chief of all our operatives. I pointed out to Mme. Storey that if anybody at the house was curious about us, it would be an easy matter to find out who we were by tracing the number of our licence.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “By tonight it will all be decided one way or the other.”
Riverdale, as everybody knows, is not a “dale” at all, but a bold hill on the mainland, just to the North of Manhattan Island. On the one side it overlooks the Hudson River; on the other the flat expanse of the Bronx with Van Cortlandt Park. The original village may have started down by the river, but now the whole rocky h
