He handed the bit of plastic to Fitzgerald, who took it without conscious volition. Then Brink said briskly: "If there isn't anything else--" "You won't swear out a warrant against Big Jake?" demanded Fitzgerald bitterly. "I haven't any reason to," said Brink amiably. "I'm doing all right. He hasn't harmed me. I don't think he will." "O.K.!" said the detective bitterly. "Have it your way! But he's got it in for you an' he's goin' to keep tryin' until he gets you! An' whether you like it or not, you're goin' to have some police protection as soon as I can set it up." He stamped out of the cleaning-and-drying plant. Automatically, he put the bit of plastic in his pocket. He didn't know why. He got into his car and drove downtown. As he drove, he looked suspiciously at his pipe. He fumed. As he fumed, he swore. He did not like mysteries. But there was no mystery about his dislike for Big Jake Connors. He turned aside from the direct route to Headquarters to indulge it. He drove to a hospital where four out-of-town hoods had been carried two days before. He marched inside and up to a second-floor corridor door with a uniformed policeman seated outside it. * * * * * "Hm-m-m. Donnelly," he growled. "How about those guys?" "Not so good," said the patrolman. "They're gettin' better." "They would," growled Fitzgerald. "A lawyer's been to see 'em twice," said the patrolman. "He's comin' back after lunch." "He would," grunted the detective. "They want out," said the cop. "I'm not surprised," said Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald. He went into the sick room. There were four patients in it, none of them looking exactly like gentle invalids. There were two broken noses of long-ago dates, three cauliflower ears, and one scar of a kind that is not the result of playing lawn tennis. Two were visibly bandaged, and the others adhesive-taped. All of them looked at Fitzgerald without cordiality. "Well, well, well!" he said. "You fellas still here!" There was silence. "In union there is strength," said Fitzgerald. "As long as you stay in one room everybody's sure the others haven't started rattin'. Right?" One of the four snarled silently at him. "It was just a accident," pursued the detective. "You four guys are ridin' along peaceable, merrily takin' the air, when quite inadvertently one of you almost blows the head off of another, and he's so astonished at there bein' a gun in the car that he wrecks it. And when they get you guys in the hospital there ain't one of you knows anything about four sawed-off shotguns and a tommy gun in the car with you. Strange! Strange! Strange!" Four faces regarded him with impassive dislike. The bandaged ones were prettier than the ones that weren't. "That tommy gun business," explained Fitzgerald, "is a federal affair. It's against Fed law to carry 'em around loaded. And your friend Big Jake hasn't been leavin' presents on the White House steps. Y'know, you guys could be in trouble!"