"
"Did he say anything?"
"Why, I tell you he was mad. He tore 'em up and threw them in the
river. I think he said there wasn't a damn thing in 'em except a
lot of mush, anyhow."
An amused smile crossed Garrick's face as he added,
parenthetically, "Good-bye to Warrington's love letters that they
took from his safe."
"At least there has been nothing they managed to get that night of
the fire that they have been able to use against Warrington," I
remarked, with satisfaction.
"Listen," cautioned Garrick. "What's that they are saying? Someone
has told the Boss--he's talking--that they can go over Dillon's
head and get back all the gambling paraphernalia? Well, I've been
there, at the raided place, to-day, and it doesn't look so. The
stuff has all been taken down to headquarters. Ah, so that is the
game that is in the wind, is it? Get it all back by a court order
and open somewhere else. Here's our boy."
The improvised newsboy had apparently stuck his head in the door
as he had been instructed, for we could hear them greet him with a
growl, until he yelled lustily, "Extry, special extry! All about
the big gambling exposure! Warrants out! Extry!"
"Hey, you kid," came a voice from the detectaphone, "let's see
that paper.
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