"No. You won't get the right man, and you may lose one who points
straight at him. Take my advice. Watch the place. There's more to
be gained by going at it cautiously. These people understand the
old hammer-and-tongs game."
Just then the smaller outside door grated on its rusty hinges. We
sprang to our feet, startled. Dillon leaped forward. Stupefying
guns had no taming effect on his nationality.
"Well, commish, is that the way you greet an old friend?" laughed
McBirney, as a threatened strangle-hold was narrowly averted and
turned into a handshake. "How are you fellows? I got your message,
Garrick, and thought I'd drop around. What's the matter? You all
look as if you'd been drawn through a wringer."
Briefly, to the accompaniment of many expressions of astonishment
from the insurance detective, Garrick related what had happened,
from the raid to the gas-gun.
"Well," gasped McBirney, sniffing the remains of the gas in the
air, "this is some place, isn't it? Neat, cozy, well-located--for
a murder--hello!--that's that ninety horsepower Despard that was
stolen from Murdock the other day, or I'll eat my hat.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151