“But we must do something the police will know nothing about,” urged Gladwin. “Let’s concentrate again. Maybe a real idea will break out.”
Again the two young men wrinkled their brows in profound absorption.
They succeeded so well in their effort at concentration that neither was aware of the precipitate entry of Bateato and Michael Phelan, both of whom had sprinted a distance of two blocks. Phelan was puffing like a tugboat and stopped at the threshold of the room to catch his breath. He had prepared his mind for all manner of excitement and had burst in upon a tomb-like silence to be greeted by two inscrutable backs.
“What’s this,” he panted. “Eden Musee or a prayer-meetin’?”
Barnes glanced over his shoulder and frowned.
“Keep quiet,” he said. “We’re thinking.”
Gladwin strove to invent an excuse for getting rid of the policeman.
“What do you want?” he bluffed, as if amazed at the sudden invasion.
“What do I want?” shrilled Officer 666. “I come to find out what youse want.”
“I don’t want anything,” said the young man with 125 exaggerated politeness. “Thank you very much, but I don’t want anything. Good evening!”