"Nothing."
"Good. Take four of these men and put two on each cloak room. Have you attended to searching any new employees who might have taken employment here lately?"
"Yes. All done. The management furnished me a list of everyone they weren't sure of. I looked them all over. Everything's safe there—they're all loyal!"
"Thank goodness for that. They may help us."
"That's been attended to. They all have instructions from Mr. McBowman, the general manager."
Grant smiled.
"You've been on the job, I see," he said. Then he glanced at Cavanaugh's immaculate evening clothes. "Looking the way you do, Billy, I don't think it would be a bad idea for you to see if you can't pick out a nice little German girl to dance with. It might cause her escort some worry." Cavanaugh winked and stepped away. Grant turned once more to a group of policemen whom Stewart was hiding in the palms at the head of the stairway.
"Take no excuse," he ordered quietly. "If necessary, shoot to kill. And in any event, if anything looks suspicious, arrest first, investigate afterward."
Grant turned at a touch on his arm. It was Turner, his operative, assigned to the roof.
"I've placed men all around up there," the operative said. "There were two or three places—at the head of the dumbwaiter and that sort of thing, that would have made good hiding places. So I took no chances."