feeling is," declared Blake.

"What?"

"That the right method would 've got him six months ago, without all
this monkey work!"

"Then why not end the monkey work, as you call it?"

"How?"

"By doing what you say you can do!" was the Commissioner's retort.

"How 'm I going to hold down a chair and hunt a crook at the same time?"

"Then why hold down the chair? Let the chair take care of itself. It
could be arranged, you know."

Blake had the stage-juggler's satisfaction of seeing things fall into
his hands exactly as he had manoeuvered they should. His reluctance
was merely a dissimulation, a stage wait for heightened dramatic effect.

"How 'd you do the arranging?" he calmly inquired.

"I could see the Mayor in the morning. There will be no Departmental
difficulty."

"Then where 's the trouble?"

"There is none, if you are willing to go out."

"Well, we can't get Binhart here by pink-tea invitations. Somebody 's
got to go out and _get_ him!"

"The bank raised the reward to eight thousand this week," interposed
the ruminative Copeland.

"Well, it 'll take money to get him," snapped back the Second Deputy,
remembering that he had a nest of his own to feather.

"It will be worth what it costs," admitted the Commissioner.

"Of course," said Copeland, "they 'll have to honor your drafts--in
reason."

"There will be no difficulty on the expense side," quietly interposed
the Commissioner. "The city wants Binhart. The whole country wants
Binhart. And they will be willing to pay for it."

Blake rose heavily to his feet. His massive bulk was momentarily
stirred by the prospect of the task before him. For one brief moment
the anticipation of that clamor of approval which would soon be his
stirred his lethargic pulse. Then his cynic calmness again came back
to him.

"Then what 're we beefing about?" he demanded. "You want Binhart and I
'll get him for you."

The Commissioner, tapping the top of his desk with his gold-banded
fountain pen, smiled. It was almost a smile of indulgence.

"You _know_ you will get him?" he inquired.

The inquiry seemed to anger Blake. He was still dimly conscious of the
operation of forces which he could not fathom. There were things,
vague and insubstantial, which he could not understand. But he nursed
to his heavy-breathing bosom the consciousness that he himself was not
without his own undivulged powers, his own private tricks, his own
inner reserves.