“You’ll find that it isn’t a bluff. We don’t care anything about your people down-stairs, though it might make trouble if it was known that your place is one where a fellow could have knockout drops given to him in a glass of water. What we want to know――what we’re going to find out――is who bribed them to do it, Mr. Clanahan.” It was just here that the real explosion came. Bounding to his feet and making a move as if he would come around the desk to throw them out, the fat-faced ward boss blew up. “There’s the dure!” he shouted, pointing to it with a pudgy finger. “Shut it whin ye go out! ’Tis babes in ar-rms yez are to be comin’ here and talkin’ knockout drops to Patsy Clanahan! I’d have yez to know――――” Little Purdick led the way out as he had led it in, carefully closing the door upon the remainder of the explosion. On the sidewalk Dick drew a long breath. “You sure had your nerve along with you, Purdy, just as he said,” he gasped. “Did you think you could do anything with a man like that?” “I gave him his chance,” was the cool-voiced rejoinder. “You remember the story in the old spelling-book, about the farmer who caught the apple thieves up in his trees and threw clods at them first before he began to throw stones. I was just throwing a little clod or two; but now we’ll go and see if we can’t rustle up a few stones.” The next place Purdick headed for was the _Micrometer_ office, on the top floor of the _Chronicle_ Building. Luckily, they found Havercamp there, and he was alone in the little editorial den of the college daily. “Hello, you near-Soffies!” he grinned as they entered. “What are you doing out at this time o’ night?” “Time o’ night’s time o’ the early evening,” said Purdick. Then: “It’s about Larry Donovan. Of course, you’ve heard the story?” Havercamp’s grin faded. “I never was so knocked out in my life. He was here with me up to eleven o’clock that night, and I remember when he left he said he had to go home and work on some test stuff that was still waiting.” “And you haven’t seen him since?” “Not a sign of him. He’s chucked the reporting job, along with everything else. Hacked about being dropped from the team, I suppose.” “Listen, Havercamp,” said Purdick; and he briefed the real facts in the scandal case for the managing editor in true newsman fashion. “Oho!” said Havercamp; “so that’s it, is it?――tolled in with a smooth lie and then drugged. What have you done about it?” Again, and in the same crisp speech, Purdick told of their late call upon Mr. Patrick Clanahan. “Of course, you knew _that_ wouldn’t get you anywhere,” said Havercamp. “You have to pull a gun on Pat when you want to hold him up. Wait a minute.” He was gone possibly ten minutes instead of one, but when he came back his eyes were snapping. “Just been having a little heart-to-heart talk with Mr. Bolinger, of the _Chronicle_,” he explained. “The _Chronicle_ will back us if we want to make it a fight to a finish. Let’s go.”