He found the vanguard of another contingent sitting patiently on his doorstep when he got back to the Albany, and was instantly deluged with questions. "I can give you no information at present," he repeated for the umteenth time. "Also, I want to get a couple of hours' rest before breakfast. Try your luck later." Fifteen minutes afterwards he rolled into bed and fell at once into a calm, untroubled sleep. He breakfasted at seven-thirty in his dressing-gown, already bathed and shaved, and he was looking as cool and fresh as if he had had nine hours' healthy slumber instead of two. The table was littered with newspapers, and folded sheets were propped up against every available support in front of him. He read while he ate. In spite of his own reticence, someone at the Yard had evidently talked unguardedly, for the stop-press columns were full of sensational hints in small closely set type. "This will be all over the world in three hours," he said resignedly, and Inspector Teal, who had dropped in for a cup of coffee, nodded. "I don't know that it matters much. The real point of advertising a crime is to call up the noses, and I doubt if there'll be much nosing the Triangle. Do you know, when they searched Lew he had five hundred pounds on him? You can't nose a gang who can pay that well." Storm drove down to the hospital after breakfast to see the injured gunman, and found him confidently defiant. "Ef yew think yew're gonna git a squeak outer me, yew sure gotten another guess comin', Cap." Storm sat down by the side of the bed and lighted a cigarette. He had already surmised that it would be difficult to make Lew Mecklen talk, and he had the disadvantage of being on the right side of the law, which put the more obvious methods of securing information out of the question. "I don't know what the law is in the States," he said, "and I don't know if you know what it is over here. Anyway, in England we have a thing called King's Evidence, and it's saved one or two people's necks before now." Lew shook his head. "Quit kiddin', son," he advised. "Yew cain't hang me fer doin' a bit of fancy shootin' around yore haid. Yew weren't injured any. All yew bulls c'n do is ter lock me up fer a time--an' then I've gotten yew all skinned a mile!" The thought seemed to amuse him, for his big chest heaved with silent guffaws. "You can get your sentence reduced by helping us to round up the rest of the gang," Storm pointed out. "And I can get you a longer stretch if you're obstinate." "Yew c'n go ter hell any time," said Mecklen, and chuckled again. "Aw--mother! Take 'im outside an' tie a halo round 'is baby braow. Tell me good-bye, buddy, an' go home, or yew'll make me die laughin'! Put ole Lew in jail?" he scoffed. "I'm an Amurrican cidizen, bo, an' don't yew fergit it."