Part 23 (1/2)

I'm in it, and I'm losing none of the motion, but what's turning the thing is more than I can make out.” He looked at Ashton-Kirk. ”What place is this?” he asked.

”It's a lodging-house, kept by a Mrs. Dolan. And it happened that several lines of action converged here. But,” and he took the automatic from the bed where he had thrown it and thrust it into his pocket, ”there is nothing more to be done here, so we may just as well go while the gentlemen across the hall are still absorbed.”

He put on a shabby coat, and with a worn hat pulled well down upon his head, he opened the door and took a look out into the hall.

”Quick, now!” said he to Scanlon. ”It's important that you should not be seen, for your acquaintance with these people may be valuable still.”

Bat slipped through the doorway and down the hall, and when Ashton-Kirk followed a few moments later, he found the big man awaiting him in the shadows of the alley.

”Where to?” asked Bat.

”There is a taxi station near here,” said the investigator; ”we'll need a cab.”

They walked through the silent street and finally saw the illuminated sign of a garage; they got into a cab, Ashton-Kirk saying:

”Police headquarters.”

The taxi rolled rapidly on its way; block after block was pa.s.sed. Bat endeavored to reopen the matter of his finding the investigator in the house they had just left, but Ashton-Kirk did not seem disposed to talk; he sat in one corner of the cab, apparently deep in thought. At length they brought up before the enormous pile in which the police, together with other munic.i.p.al departments, had their headquarters. Their feet echoed hollowly as they walked through the marble corridor; a drowsy elevator man ran them up to the desired floor, and in a moment more they were in the department devoted to the detective branch of the police.

A man with a deeply-marked face and iron-gray hair sat at a desk.

”h.e.l.lo, Scanlon!” greeted he, affably.

”How are you, Sarge?” replied Bat. ”Doing your little night trick, eh?”

”Yes.” The old plain-clothes man yawned a little. ”Nothing exciting in it, either; hasn't been a thing stirred since I came on.” Then with an indication of interest: ”But maybe you've got something that'll help keep us awake.”

”Osborne,” said Ashton-Kirk. ”Is he here?”

The old headquarters man bent his brows at the shabby figure; the slouch, the leering look, the head aggressively thrust forward, marked it plainly as of the cla.s.s against which he had been pitted for years.

”Yes,” he replied, briefly.

”We'd like to see him.”

”Right through the door,” said the veteran detective.

The two pa.s.sed through the door indicated, and saw the burly figure of Osborne, comfortably installed in an easy chair, reading a newspaper.

”h.e.l.lo,” said he, sitting erect. ”That you, Scanlon?”

”Me, with a friend.” Bat grinned, highly entertained. ”He wants to have a little talk with you, I think.”

Osborne examined the figure before him attentively. Ashton-Kirk leaned against the office rail, his hands in his pockets, the rat-like thief to the life. The detective examined him carefully, but no ray of recognition came into his face. Then, like throwing off a garment, Ashton-Kirk allowed the mannerisms he had a.s.sumed to drop from him.

Osborne at once sat erect with a laugh of pleasure at his own lack of penetration.

”Good!” said he. ”You almost fooled me.” He arose and shook the criminologist's hand. ”But what's the idea?”

”I've just been paying a little visit,” replied Ashton-Kirk. He seated himself upon the edge of a desk. ”Anything new?” he asked.

”Not much. We've still got young Burton, of course, but he's about as close-mouthed a proposition as I ever had anything to do with. He says he isn't guilty, but that's all he _will_ say. We've given our evidence to the district attorney's office, and they'll pa.s.s it on to the Grand Jury in a few days.”