"Larry, better
be a nice boy and come with us."
"Oh, it's you, Casey!" said Larry. "If you say I've got to go, I'll
go--for you're one white copper, even if you do have Gavegan for a
partner. Come on. What're we standing here for?"
The trio made their way out of the narrow street, and after some
fifteen minutes of walking through the twisting byways of that part of
the city, they passed through the granite doorway at Headquarters and
entered the office of Deputy Commissioner Barlow, Chief of the
Detective Bureau. Barlow was talking over the telephone in a growling
staccato, and the three men sat down. After a moment Barlow banged the
receiver upon its hook, and turned upon them. He had a clenched,
driving face, with small, commanding eyes. It was his boast that he
got results, that it was his policy to make people do what you told
'em. He had no other code.
"Well, Brainard," he snapped, "here you are again. What you up to
now?"
"Going to try the straight game, Chief," returned Larry.
"Don't try to put that old bunk over on me!"
"It's not bunk, Chief. It's the real stuff."
"Cut it out, I say! Don't you suppose I had a clever bird like you
picked up the minute you landed in the city, and have had you covered
ever since? And if you are going straight, what about the session you
had with Barney Palmer and Old Jimmie Carlisle the very night you blew
in? And I'm on to this bluff of your going to that business institute.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98