A few moments later the taxi arrived, and after putting a fresh coat on the body—one of Larry’s, by the way—and closing the eyes, we rang for the elevator. When the boy finally woke up and arrived at our floor, I had an opportunity to observe something of the quality that had brought the captain his rank. He marched into the elevator with his arm around the body, supporting it. He set it down on the seat and sat down beside it, and as the elevator door closed on the round, startled eyes of the operator, I heard the captain gruffly admonishing his charge, in the usual tone: “Come on now, you ain’t as drunk as all that.” As soon as I rejoined Moore, he turned away from the window where he had been standing and, walking up to me, held out his hand. “I’m sorry—damned sorry—that this happened here, Clayton. Of course I’m sorry that it happened at all, except that it’s one less to reckon with, and of course that bump on the head you got is at my door. But what you’ve seen to-night is a little—just a very little shadow of what you’re up against—if you only knew it. Now I must go. Be at 7th Avenue and 16th Street to-morrow at 3.30. There’s no need to mix you up with this yet until you make up your mind. And it will be best, I think, if we’re not seen together. Will you do it?” “I’ll be there,” I told him. “Right,” he answered. “Good-night. Don’t come out to the elevator with me. I’m going to walk down a few flights anyway,” and with a smile and a graceful wave of the hand that brought back his original simpering manner, he let himself out and was gone. I called Larry at last and set him, sullen and rebellious, to picking up the pieces of the broken picture glass and to washing away the blood-stains on the floor. Then I sat down to ponder upon the events of the night and the new features they had introduced into my search. Chapter III “That’s All We Know” Next morning I had to deal with a suspicious and indignant Larry, with smoldering rebellion in every line of him. Nothing would convince him that the shot that broke the picture was not intended for me. In fact, I found him, just after breakfast, polishing up the revolver of his lawless days and whistling softly the while. I felt pretty certain that another such unconventional visitor as the man who had died at my feet would get a warm reception in my absence. Larry had a grievance that morning; in fact, two of them. In the first place I told him that I was going to meet Moore, but had not told him why, nor what I was going to do. This was grievance number one, for up to now he had shared my plans.