"Sounds like it might be a warm trail," said Sergeant Tish, puffing out his plump cheeks. "Y'see--well, I'll have to give you the inside for you to understand just what the situation is." Despite his first impatience, Constable Griggs became interested and offered no protest. "This bird I'm after," pursued Tish, "is named Don Haskins. He's got a record as long as an income-tax report. Done a couple of short stretches at Sing Sing, one out West--Illinois--and has been in the line-up down at headquarters and in the Tombs. It would take an expert accountant to keep the count. He used to be a slick crook, nifty dresser and free spender, but he'd started slippin'. They all do. Clever--and hard-boiled." Here Tish told the constable of his encounter with Haskins. "Humph!" grunted Constable Griggs. "I see. And you're looking for your man in these parts. Sorry I ain't got the time to help, but----" "Just a minute," broke in Sergeant Tish. "I ain't quite through yet. I'm right at the nub of it. Eighth Avenue Annie, I guess, wanted to cover up; anyhow, she runs out on the street yellin' bloody murder, and a couple of uniform men rushes in to find me laid out, dead to the world. But they brings me around, and then--oh, the grillin' we did give old Annie! We still got her locked up on a technical charge. "Before we got through with her, she comes through with a lot of dope she didn't want to cough up. She hadda admit that Haskins had paid her big for his hide-out, and that he was gettin' ready to make the big jump out of town; that he had a rich sister, a real swell, who made him a visit and give him some dough. She was goin' to come back with more. "Now, that's the funny part of it; one of the boys down at headquarters knows Don Haskins from the first time he went to Elmira Reformatory, and he says that Haskins did have a sister, but that she died eight or nine years ago, and that she didn't fit the description which Annie give us. No matter about that, it's a cinch that some swell jane did bring him the money. Annie says she was the class. "Now, I was just wondering, gents--Haskins leaves the swiped taxi out on Hudson Road. The engine was O. K. That's proof that he left it there because he wanted to, and not because the car stopped on him. Where was he headin' for? Mebbe this swell who calls herself his sister lives around here. Now, you've got the whole works. I want somebody to help me check up. See?" Ham Griggs' cap was on the desk which belonged officially to the borough council's president, his honor, Mayor Ripley. The cap accidentally--not from any design--covered the automatic pistol which had killed Helen Gilmore. "As I told you," reiterated the constable, "I'm too busy this mornin' to do anything for you. Mebbe this afternoon, when I've got a confession outta the prisoner I got downstairs, I'll have more time." He reached for his uniform cap with a gesture of unshakable finality.