by a Mrs. Dolan. And it happened that
several lines of action converged here. But," and he took the automatic
from the bed where he had thrown it and thrust it into his pocket,
"there is nothing more to be done here, so we may just as well go while
the gentlemen across the hall are still absorbed."

He put on a shabby coat, and with a worn hat pulled well down upon his
head, he opened the door and took a look out into the hall.

"Quick, now!" said he to Scanlon. "It's important that you should not be
seen, for your acquaintance with these people may be valuable still."

Bat slipped through the doorway and down the hall, and when Ashton-Kirk
followed a few moments later, he found the big man awaiting him in the
shadows of the alley.

"Where to?" asked Bat.

"There is a taxi station near here," said the investigator; "we'll need
a cab."

They walked through the silent street and finally saw the illuminated
sign of a garage; they got into a cab, Ashton-Kirk saying:

"Police headquarters."

The taxi rolled rapidly on its way; block after block was passed. Bat
endeavored to reopen the matter of his finding the investigator in the
house they had just left, but Ashton-Kirk did not seem disposed to talk;
he sat in one corner of the cab, apparently deep in thought. At length
they brought up before the enormous pile in which the police, together
with other municipal departments, had their headquarters. Their feet
echoed hollowly as they walked through the marble corridor; a drowsy
elevator man ran them up to the desired floor, and in a moment more they
were in the department devoted to the detective branch of the police.

A man with a deeply-marked face and iron-gray hair sat at a desk.

"Hello, Scanlon!" greeted he, affably.

"How are you, Sarge?" replied Bat. "Doing your little night trick, eh?"

"Yes." The old plain-clothes man yawned a little. "Nothing exciting in
it, either; hasn't been a thing stirred since I came on." Then with an
indication of interest: "But maybe you've got something that'll help
keep us awake."

"Osborne," said Ashton-Kirk. "Is he here?"

The old headquarters man bent his brows at the shabby figure; the
slouch, the leering look, the head aggressively thrust forward, marked
it plainly as of the class against which he had been pitted for years.

"Yes," he replied, briefly.

"We'd like to see him."

"Right through the door," said the veteran detective.

The two passed through the door