t him to
attention.

"Headquarters?" he called. "Inspector Burke speaking. Who's in my
office? I want him quick." He smiled as he listened, and he spoke again
to Gilder. "It's Smith, the best man I have. That's luck, if you ask
me." Then again he spoke into the mouthpiece of the telephone.

"Oh, Ed, send some one up to that Turner woman. You have the address.
Just see that she is tipped off, that Joe Garson and some pals are going
to break into Edward Gilder's house to-night. Get some stool-pigeon
to hand her the information. You'd better get to work damned quick.
Understand?"

The Inspector pulled out that watch of which Aggie Lynch had spoken so
avariciously, and glanced at it, then went on speaking:

"It's ten-thirty now. She went to the Lyric Theater with some woman. Get
her as she leaves, or find her back at her own place later. You'll have
to hustle, anyhow. That's all!"

The Inspector hung up the receiver and faced his host with a contented
smile.

"What good will all that do?" Gilder demanded, impatiently.

Burke explained with a satisfaction natural to one who had devised
something ingenious and adequate. This inspiration filled him with
delight. At last he was sure of catching Mary Turner herself in his
toils.

"She'll come to stop 'em," he said. "When we get the rest of the gang,
we'll grab her, too. Why, I almost forgot her, thinking about Garson.
Mr. Gilder, you would hardly believe it, but there's scarcely been a
real bit of forgery worth while done in this country for the last twenty
years, that Garson hasn't been mixed up in. We've never once got him
right in all that time." The Inspector paused to chuckle. "Crooks are
funny," he explained with obvious contentment. "Clever as he is, Garson
let Griggs talk him into a second-story job, and now we'll get him with
the goods.... Just call your man for a minute, will you, Mr. Gilder?"

Gilder pressed the electric button on his desk. At the same moment,
through the octagonal window came a blinding flash of light that
rested for seconds, then vanished. Burke, by no means a nervous man,
nevertheless was startled by the mysterious radiance.

"What's that?" he demanded, sharply.

"It's the flashlight from the Metropolitan Tower," Gilder explained with
a smile over the policeman's perturbation. "It swings around this way
about every fifteen minutes. The servant forgot to draw the curtains."
As he spoke, he went to the window, and pulled the heavy drape