And for the next few minutes I was making words mean something, drawing a picture of the Skeels I knew, so that others could visualize him. And it brought me a word of commendation from Miss Wallace, and made Worth exclaim, "Sounds more like Clayte than Clayte himself. You've put flesh on those bones, Jerry." "You keep busy at that phone and help land him," I growled. "Finish, please: 'Wire information to me. I hold warrant. Jeremiah Boyne, Bankers' Security Agency,' That's all." The girl pulled the sheets from the machine and sorted them while I was stabbing the buzzer. Roberts answered, breezing in with an apology which I nipped. "Never mind that. Get this telegram on the wires to each of our corresponding agencies as far east as Spokane, Ogden and Denver. Has Murray got in touch with Foster?" "Not yet. Young and Stroud are outside." "Send them to bring in Steve Skeels," I ordered. "Description on the telegram there. Any word, Worth?" "Nothing yet." Worth was calling one after another of the taxi offices. Little Pete came in with a tray. "All right, Worth," I said. "Turn that job over to Roberts. Here's where we eat." The kid's idea of catering for Barbara was club sandwiches and pie à la mode. It wouldn't have been mine; but I was glad to note that he'd guessed right. The youngsters fell to with appetite. For myself, I ate, the receiver at my ear, talking between bites. San Jose, Stockton, Santa Rosa--in all the nearby towns of size, I placed the drag-net out for Silent Steve, tin-horn gambler. They talked as they lunched. I didn't pay any attention to what they said now; my mind was racing at the new idea Worth had given me. So far, I had been running Skeels down as one of the same gang with Clayte; the man on the roof; the go-between for the getaway. My supposition was that when the suitcase was emptied for division, Skeels, being left to dispose of the container, had stuck it where we found it. But what if the thing worked another way? What if all the money--almost a round million--which came to the Gold Nugget roof in the brown sole-leather case, walked out of its front door in the new black shiny carrier of Skeels the gambler? Could that be worked? A gambler at night, a bank employee by day? Why not? Improbable. But not impossible. "I believe you said a mouthful, Worth," I broke in on the two at their lunch. "And tell me, girl, how did you get the idea of walking up to the desk at the Gold Nugget and demanding Steve Skeels from the Kite?" "I didn't demand Steve Skeels," she reminded me rather plaintively. "I didn't want--him." "What did you want?" "A room that had been lived in."