"I’m on," said Quirk. "Come back in two hours. I’ll run right upstairs and get my hat. An’ here, if you won’t take a drink, have a cigar: it’s a long wait. See you later." §6. The great bulk of Police Lieutenant Donovan was hunched up in an upholstered armchair beside the table in his private office when Quirk entered. He looked as if his caller was not welcome. "Nothin’ doin’ so far," he said. Quirk, too, was serious. "I know it," said he. "They fell down so hard in that raid scheme that they must have had all the sense knocked out of them. Well, you’ve got to put some in." Donovan’s growl was wordless. "You’ve got to," said Quirk. "To-night." "To-night?" Donovan stood up. "What in hell do you think I am?" The lawyer leaned across the table. "I think you’re a bluff," he said. "Do you? Well, I’d just like you to have my job." "Donovan," said Quirk, "if you don’t put this thing across, an’ do it soon, somebody’ll have your job sooner than you think." "What’s that?" thundered the lieutenant. But before a reply was possible, his tone changed; his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he turned away, his shoulders drooping. "Oh, I know you’ve got the evidence to use for an excuse," he said: "I know you could do it, an’ I know you would." "I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to," said Quirk gently; "but you know how I’m fixed myself. Don’t take it so hard, Hughie. You can pull this thing across, if you’ll only try. I’m sorry, but if I haven’t something to show pretty soon, I’ll get it in the neck—hard, I will." Donovan walked to the door of the rollroom. He opened it. "Say, one o’ you fellows," he called to a group of officers in plain clothes. "Go out an’ find Guth an’ tell him to come in here right away. I want him." Then he turned to Quirk: "It’s got to be to-night?" Quirk nodded: "Make it an hour and a half if you can." "Well, I can’t." "Then as near as you can." "Gee," said Donovan, "I certainly am sick of this whole business! Well—come back in an hour an’ forty-five minutes an’ we’ll see what’s doin’." §7. He greeted Guth with a roar. "You’re a hell of a cop, you are! What sort of a job do you think you’ve got, anyway? Rag-pickin’?" Guth, who was used to these rages, stood at attention. The scar from his mouth to the corner of his jaw-bone twitched heavily. "I done all I could, Lieutenant," he said. "You’re a liar!" said Donovan. "You’ve been on this job Gawd knows how long, an’ your foot’s slipped twice. All you’ve found is that he hasn’t got any safety-deposit box. You know he must have the goods at his office, an’ you’re afraid to get ’em." "They might be at his apartment house," said Guth. He shifted his feet uneasily. "They might be, but they ain’t. I had Anderson play that end of it. What d’you mean lettin’ Reddy Rawn t’row you down this way?" "He ain’t t’rowed me down. He wouldn’t dare."