They soon came to a stop in one of the blocks on Broadway within a stone’s throw of old Trinity, and, descending, entered a dingy four-story building pinched in among the skyscrapers. At the second flight of worm-eaten stairs, Gunther pushed open a smoky glass door and entered a short antechamber inclosed in sanded glass with sliding pigeon-holes for observation. Their arrival being expected, they were immediately shown down a contracted hallway studded with doors, to an open room, comfortably furnished, with a fire burning in the grate. "Join you in a moment, gentlemen," said McKenna, nodding around the door of the adjoining room. Gunther unceremoniously helped himself at the open box of cigars. "Ted," he said enthusiastically, "why the deuce do the novelists concoct their absurdly stalking detectives, who deduce everything at a glance, with their impossible logical processes? Don’t they see the real thing is so much bigger? It’s not the fake individual mind that’s wonderful; it’s the system—this system. A great agency like this is simply an expression of society itself—organized order against unorganized disorder. It’s an unending struggle, and the odds are all on one side. By George, what impresses me is the completeness with which society has organized itself—made use of all inventions, telephone, telegraph, the photograph, the press, everything turned on the criminal to run him down. For a hundred detectives employed here, there are a thousand allies, in every trade, in every depot, in every port, along every line of travel. When you think of the agencies that McKenna can stir up by a word, then you begin to realize the significance of the detective in the structure of society." McKenna, who had heard the last words, entered, vitally alert and physically excited by the joy of unusual labor. "Now I’m with you," he said, appropriating an easy-chair. "Let’s see where we’ll begin. Oh, Mr. Beecher, you wanted certain information about that broker Garraboy, didn’t you?" "What have you found out?" said Beecher, with a conscious eagerness that struck both hearers. "It just so happened I had a line on your man from another direction," said McKenna. "Well, he’s hit the market right. What would have happened if this panic hadn’t come just right, is another question—a rather interesting question. However, Garraboy’s known to have been heavy on the short side, and, from all reports, stands to make a killing." "Then Miss Charters’ stocks are all right?" "They’re all right—yes—now," said McKenna carefully; "but my advice is to get hold of them—P.D.Q. Mr. Garraboy is somewhat of a gambler. Now, here’s a bit of history about a certain ruby that will interest you," he continued, drawing out a memorandum. In his manner was a little amused self-satisfaction, as one who relished the mystification of the outsiders. "In the first place, your ruby ring is not worth fifteen thousand." "No?" said Beecher in amazement.