“They tried to soak me once, without cause,” lamented Durkin, indignantly. But his hopes had risen. After all, he felt, it might be only some old, unhappy far-off thing. “Who the devil was it, then?” “Twas MacNutt!” said O’Reilly, watching him. “MacNutt’s turned nice and good. He’s a stool-pigeon now!” “MacNutt!” echoed Durkin, and as before, a great rage burned through him at the sound of the name. Hope withered out of him, but he gave no sign. He wondered what, or just how much, MacNutt dare reveal, even though he did stand in with the Central Office. It was dark a minute or two for him, as his mind still leaped and groped at the old blind wall. Then suddenly into the depths of his despair swayed and stretched a single slender thread of hope. It was Custom House Charley’s saloon so artfully disguised as a soda-bar. There the second waiter was Eddie Crawford—the same Eddie Crawford who had worked with him on the Aqueduct pool-room plot, and had been discharged with him from the Postal-Union. It seemed eons and eons ago, that poor little ill-fated plot with Eddie Crawford! Eddie had struggled forlornly on as an inspector of saloon stock-tickers, had presided over a lunch counter, and had even polished rails and wiped glasses. But now he mixed drinks and dispensed bootlegger’s gin for Custom House Charley. If Eddie was there— “Look here, you two,” cried Durkin decisively, coming to a full stop to gain time. “I’ve struck it heavy and honest this time, and, as you people put it, I’ve got the goods on me. I can make it worth five thousand in spot cash to each of you, just to let this thing drop while you’ve still got the chance!” The Central Office man looked at O’Reilly. Durkin saw the look, and understood it. One of them, at any rate, if it came to a pinch, could be bought off. But O’Reilly was different. “Look here, you two,” said Durkin, showing the fringe of his neatly banded packet of notes. The Central Office man whistled under his breath. But O’Reilly seemed obdurate. “Double that, young man, and then double it again, and maybe I’ll talk to you,” Doogan’s detective said easily, as he started on again with his prisoner. “And if I _did_?” demanded Durkin. “Talk’s cheap, young fellow! You know what they’re doing to us boys, nowadays, for neglect of duty? Well, I’ve got to get up against more than talk before I run that risk!” “By heaven—I can do it, and I _will_!” said Durkin. O’Reilly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The prisoner could feel the two officers interrogating each other silently behind his back. “Step in here, then, before you’re spotted with me,” said Durkin. “Come in, just as though we were three friends buying a soda, and shoot me, straight off, if I make a move to break away!” “Oh, you’ll not break away!” said the man with the steel grip, confidently, still keeping his great handful of loose coat-sleeve. But he stepped inside, none the less.