he case: although in this as
all others he was not known to be a professional sleuth.

In the quiet of his room he drew out magnifying glasses and other
instruments for a thorough analysis of the remains of the infernal
machine. He compared this with the mechanism of the gas-generator which
had been placed in the seat of the Death taxi. There was evidence that
it had come from the same source. Shirley sniffed at the generator and
the peculiar odor still clinging to it was familiar.

"Well, I think I will have a little surprise for Mr. Voice, the next
time we grapple, which will be an encore of his own tune, with a new
verse!"

He went to a cabinet, took out a small glass vial, filled with a limpid
liquid and placed it within his own pocket. Then he prepared for a new
line of activities for the day. His first duty was a call on Pat Cleary,
superintendent of the Holland Agency.

"The Captain is progressing splendidly," was his answer to the anxious
query. "He will be back in the harness again to-morrow. How are the
prisoners?"

"They have tried to break out twice and gave my doorman a black eye. But
they got four in return: Nick is no mollycoddle, you know. I can't quite
get the number of these fellows, for they are not registered down at
Headquarters, in the Rogue's Gallery. Their finger-prints are new ones
in this district, too. They look like imported birds, Mr. Shirley. What
do you think?"

Cleary's opinion of the club man had been gaining in ascendency.

"They may be visitors from another city, but I think the state will keep
them here as guests for a nice long time, Cleary. They say New York is
inhospitable to strangers, but we occasionally pay for board and room
from the funds of the taxpayers without a kick. We saved the day for the
Van Clefts, all right. The paper told of a beautiful but quiet funeral
ceremony, while the daughter has postponed her marriage for six months."

Then he recounted the adventure of the exploding car. Cleary lit his
malodorous pipe, and shook his head thoughtfully.

"Young man, you know your own affairs best. But with all your money,
you'd better take to the tall pines yourself, like these old guys in
the 'Lobster Club.' That's the advice of a man who's in the business for
money not glory. This is a bum game. They'll get me some day, some of
these yeggs or bunk artists that I've sent away for recuperation, as
the doctors call it. But I'm doing it for bread and beefsteak, while