Harrigan noticed Lanagan for the first time and sprang for him, raising his manacled hands. But Leslie stopped him with a drive to the jaw that sent him staggering back against the machine. “Take him in, Maloney,” ordered the Chief. “I’ve seen enough of him. We’ll get along without you now.” Harrigan said not a word. He stumbled into the machine, Maloney following. It drove away. “Jack Lanagan,” said Leslie, “I wish you were on my staff. You could have O’Rourke’s job to-night.” “Thanks, Chief, I’ll be satisfied if you send O’Rourke to the fog belt,” replied Lanagan, sardonically. “Put a man like Royan in his place and you’ll have the kind of head the bureau needs.” “Royan goes,” said the Chief. “You’re entitled to something on this night’s work.” “We’ve got to hurry. Our man may have noticed that taxi incident.” “I don’t think so. Harrigan came out of the house.” We walked up the street. “Take the rear, Brady,” said Leslie, and the detective stepped quietly down the cement path at the side of a fairly pretentious home. Leslie, Lanagan and I tiptoed up the front steps. We stood to one side, while Lanagan took the door. He rang twice. Footsteps came. It was evident Harrigan’s host had not yet retired. “That you, Harrigan?” the voice came from inside before the door opened. Lanagan mumbled a yes. The door swung back and Donald Cutting, Esq., proprietor and general manager of the Phoenix Vacuum Cleaning Company stood staring at Lanagan from the brilliantly lighted hallway. For an instant he was speechless. Then he shouted: “Well, what the devil do _you_ want around here at this hour of the morning? What gets into you reporters, anyhow? Has a citizen got any rights in his own home at all?” “There aren’t many that you have.” It was Leslie. He had swung to the door directly before Cutting. His revolver was at Cutting’s waist. “Just keep your hands a little higher, Cutting: you’re pretty nifty with those digits of yours. Now back in there, so we can all sit down and talk.” Cutting stood an instant as though frozen, and then mechanically stepped back. We all walked in. The door was closed. “‘Swallow,’” said the Chief, “you’re through. We’ve got Harrigan with the goods. Where’s the rest of the loot? I mean outside the Robbins stuff. We’ve got that located.” Cutting’s head dropped to his hands. He sat in silence, bowed. “Donald, what is it? Is there any trouble?” A woman’s voice came over the balustrade. He straightened up, as though an electric current had shot through him. “Nothing, Molly,” he said. “Just some old friends dropped in on me. I will be at liberty soon.” “Your wife?” asked Leslie. “My wife,” replied Cutting. In another moment she was sweeping from the broad stairway in a silken kimono, her hair flowing loosely, and stood before us. Cutting looked directly at her, and in her eyes there was a light of questioning. “I must leave you, Molly,” he said. Still looking at him in that singular way, she asked: “For how long?”