itation of the proprietor, and where even
yet on occasion a bit of the old exhilaration was brought to Gavegan's
table in a cup or served him in a room above to which he had had
whispered instructions to retire. The proprietor had in the old days
liked to stand well with the police; and though his bar was now devoted
to legal drinks--or at least obliging Federal officers reported it to
be--he still liked to stand well with the police.

Gavegan was at a table with a minor producer of musical shows, to
whom Barney had been of occasional service in securing the predominant
essential of such music--namely, shapely young women. Barney nodded
to Gavegan, chatted for a few minutes with his musical-comedy friend,
during which he gave Gavegan a signal, then crossed to the once-crowded
bar, now sunk to isolation and the lowly estate of soft drinks, and
ordered a ginger ale. Not until then did he notice Barlow, chief of the
Detective Bureau, at a corner table. Barney gave no sign of recognition,
and Barlow, after a casual glance at him, returned to his food.

Barney, in solitude at one end of the bar, slowly sipped with a sort of
indignation against his kickless purchase. Presently Gavegan was beside
him, having most convincing ill-luck in his attempts to light his cigar
from a box of splintering safety matches which stood at that end of the
bar.

"Well, what is it?" Gavegan whispered out of that corner of his mouth
which was not occupied by his cigar. He did not look at Barney.

"Any clue to Larry Brainard yet?" Barney whispered also out of a corner
of his mouth, glass at his lips. Like-wise he seemed not to notice the
man beside him.

"Naw! Still out West somewhere. Them Chicago bums couldn't catch a crook
if he walked along State Street with a sign-board on him!"

"Saw Larry Brainard to-night."

Gavegan had difficulty in maintaining his attitude of non-awareness of
his bar-mate.

"Where?"

"Right here in New York."

"What! Where'd you see him?"

"Coming out of the Grantham."

"When?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"Know where he went to?--where he hangs out?--know anything else?"

"That's everything. Thought I'd better slip it to you as quick as I
could."

"This time that bird'll not get away!" growled Gavegan, still in a
whisper. "Twenty-four hours and he'll be in the cooler!"

Finally Gavegan managed to get a flame from one of those irritatingly
splintery Swedish matches made in Japan. Cigar alight he walked