"Two thousand!" The Irishman whistled and looked thoughtfully down at the table. "Isn't it enough?" Fischer asked. "Enough?" was the hoarse reply. "Why, there isn't one of my toughs that wouldn't go rat-hunting for a quarter of that. If it's any one in these parts, twelve hours is all I want." "It isn't!" The Irishman's face fell. "Some swell, I suppose? Fifth Avenue way and the swagger parts, eh?" Fischer assented silently. His host poured himself out some whisky and drank it as though it were water. "You see, boss," he pointed out, "it's no use sending greenhorns out on a job like that, because they only squeak if they're pinched, and pinched they're sure to be; and all my regulars are what we call in sanctuary." "You mean they are hiding already?" "That's some truth," was the grim admission. "The cops ain't going to trouble to come after 'em, so long as they keep here, but they'd nab 'em fast enough if they showed their noses beyond the end of Fourteenth. Still, I'd like to oblige you, guv'nor. I don't know who you are, and don't want, but my boys speak fine of you. You know Ed Swindles?" "Not by name," Fischer confessed. "He did that little job up at Detroit," the Irishman went on, dropping his voice a little. "I tell you he's a genius at handling a bomb, is Ed. Blew that old factory into brick-ends, he did. He's in the saloon upstairs--got his girl with him. They've been doing a round of the dancing saloons." "That's all right, but what about this job?" Fischer inquired, a little impatiently. The Irishman glanced behind him. Then he dropped his voice a little. "Look here, guv'nor," he said, "I've some idea, if it pans out. You've heard of the Heste case?" "You mean the girl who was murdered?" "Yes! Well, the chap that did it is within a few feet of where we're sitting." Fischer took off his spectacles and rubbed them. In the dim light his face looked more grim and powerful than ever. "Isn't that a little dangerous?" he observed. "The police mean having him." "You're dead right," the Irishman replied. "They've got to have him, and he knows it. They'd keep their hands off any one in these parts if they could, but this bloke's different. He done it too thick, and he's got the public squealing. Now if we could get him out for long enough, he's the man for your job. Come right along, boss." He rose heavily to his feet, crossed the room, and threw open the door of what was little more than a cupboard at the further end. The place was in darkness, but a human form sprang suddenly upright. His white face and glaring eyes were the only visible objects in a shroud of darkness. "That's all right, kid," the Irishman said soothingly. "No cops yet. This is a gentleman on business. Wait till I fix a light."