He had half a dozen rooms which he always kept in readiness for such adventures as this. He rented them furnished in small hotels which never asked questions of their patrons. To one of these he went as fast as his weary legs could carry him. He always carried the key. Once in his room he donned fresh wearing apparel, linen, shoes, and shaved. Then he proceeded down-stairs, the second-hand hat shading his eyes and the upper part of his face. At half past twelve Norton entered the Knickerbocker cafe-restaurant, and the first person he noticed was Braine, reading the morning's paper, propped up against the water carafe. Evidently he had just ordered, for there was nothing on his plate. Norton walked over and laid his hand upon Braine's shoulder. The man looked up with mild curiosity. "Why, Norton, sit down, sit down! Have you had lunch? No? Join me." "Thanks. Came in for my breakfast," said Norton, drawing out the chair. Braine was sitting with his back to the wall on the lounge-seat. "I wonder if you newspaper men ever eat a real, true enough breakfast. I should think the hours you lead would kill you off. Anything new on the Hargreave story?" "I'm not handling that," the reporter lied cheerfully. "Didn't want to. I knew him rather intimately. I've a horror of dead people, and don't want to be called upon to identify the body when they find it." "Then you think they will find it?" "I don't know. It's a strange mixup. I'm not on the story, mind you; but I was in the locality of Duffy's warehouse late last night and fell into a gunman rumpus." "Yes, I read about that. What were they after?" "You've got me there. No one seems to know. Some cock and bull story about there being something valuable. There was." "What was it? The report in this paper does not say." "Ten thousand bags of coffee." Braine lay back in his chair and laughed. "If you want my opinion," said Norton, "I believe the gunmen were out to shoot up another gang, and the police got wind of it." "Don't you think it about time the police called a halt in this gunman matter?" "Oh, so long as they pot each other the police look the other way. It saves a long trial and passage up the river. Besides, when they are nabbed some big politician manages to open the door for them. Great is the American voter." "Take Mr. Norton's order, Luigi," said Braine. "A German pancake, buttered toast and coffee," ordered the reporter. "Man, eat something!" "It's enough for me." "And you'll go all the rest of the day on tobacco. I know something of you chaps. I don't see how you manage to do it." "Food is the least of our troubles. By the way, may I ask you a few questions? Nothing for print, unless you've got a new book coming." "Fire away." "What do you know about the Countess Perigoff?" "Let me see. H'm. Met her first about a year ago at a reception given to Nasimova. A very attractive woman. I see quite a lot of her. Why?"